Hey guys so so so sorry it took me so long to update! I was away and then work was crazy and then Comic Con happened (I'm 1028% sure I'm still recovering from all those Olicity spoilers - it's really happening guys!) but anyway, I'm back and I finally got this chapter finished. Hope you like what you read :)
Alas, I do not own Arrow.
When he finally made it to the foundry, Oliver found Diggle writhing in pain on the medical table, his whole frame locked in convulsion causing the furniture to grate against the metal floor in ominous fashion. He took long, purposeful steps toward the man, his body tense in case whatever had taken hold of his friend forced him to lash out. Hands outstretched, he circled the table, eyes fixed on the figure.
"Digg?"
His voice sounded strange even to him. A mixture of fear and concern.
John's head snapped up, eyes wide. "Ol-Oliver?" His face contorted in discomfort. "What the…what hell is happening to me?" he ground out through barred teeth. Pushing himself into a seating position, a string of curses fell from his lips as his limbs seemingly refused to cooperate with his brain's demands. Oliver immediately came to his aid, slinging his arm around his shoulders to keep him steady while using his other arm to grab the blanket that hung off the chair and draping it over him. The gesture itself seemed futile but Diggle secured himself under it right away, fists clenching the material like a lifeline.
"Tell me what happened," Oliver said, standing in front of him.
"I…don-don't know," he stammered out, utilising whatever strength he had left to look the man in the eye. "I just – I fel-felt weird all day…" he turned his head into his body, letting out a cry of anguish, "…and I som-somehow made…it he-here and," he sucked in air through his teeth, "tha-that's…that's when I called you."
"Okay well we need to get you to a hospital-"
His face fell, head shaking defiantly. "Oliver I don't think," he took a deep breath, "I c-can leave this place."
Oliver gaze was firm. "You need medical attention, Digg. We need to find out what's in your system."
Somewhere in the back of his mind a niggling idea was pressing forward, distracting him, attracting his attention, and though he tried to cast it aside, still it burned like a raging fire.
The sweating, the incessant shaking, and the bouts of agony - his partner's symptoms looked oddly similar, if not a little more severe, to withdrawal. A withdrawal from Vertigo to be specific.
But that was impossible.
On every level.
The Count was locked away.
The last strain of the drug had been burned.
The city was clean.
And John Diggle would never, under any circumstances, use it.
Yet…he couldn't really overlook it, could he?
"Digg," he started, ducking his head so that his friend would meet his stare. Any sense of colour from his depths had diluted, leaving nothing but eerie pupils searing through him. "I need to take a blood sample, okay? I'll get in analysed by Applied Sciences in the morning so we'll know exactly what we're dealing with."
Diggle shook again but kept his head as still as possible, one eyebrow asking questions. "Wha-what do you…think is wro-ng with me?"
He began rubbing his fingers together, the habit becoming impossible to break as time wore on. Once starting as a way of easing the bounding agitation, of centring his aggression into one place, it had steadily become a part of him; something that he absolutely had to do when placed in difficult situations. "I just want to eliminate a few things, that's all."
"Oliver." It was more of a grunt than a word but loaded with demand nevertheless.
The man sighed, his head dropping in exasperation. He didn't want to say it aloud; voicing it made it a viable lead, and that meant that something he thought he had buried months ago had somehow crawled back to the surface, endangering his city yet again. "I just want to make sure it's not…Vertigo." The word squeezed through his throat, his own body practically rejecting it.
John wrapped the blanket around him further. "I've ne-never taken Vertigo i-in my life," he insisted defiantly, his breaths ragged and worn.
Oliver stood taller, chin raised. "I know but with your symptoms…we just need to cross it off the list."
"Wh-what is it with you and lists?"
He snickered. "At least you can make jokes – bad ones, but jokes nonetheless."
"Just d-do it." Digg removed the blanket from his left arm. The sleeves of his shirt had already been rolled up past the elbows and he offered his arm to Oliver, sighing deeply.
Grabbing the kit from the opposite table, the blonde-haired man prepped himself, holding the arm as steady as he could. He turned his head in his direction, face calm and assuring. "I promise we'll find out what's wrong," he said, drawing a resolute nod in return.
He prayed his hunch was wrong.
They were lazily sprawled out on the couch with Felicity's head rested snugly in the crook of his neck and her legs hooked around his while Oliver's arm draped around her as he sat cross-legged. It shouldn't have been comfortable – but it was, and neither of them had moved in what felt like hours. TV was pretty mindless and for most of the Saturday they just kept it on the background for the noise. It was such a simple thing really, watching TV together for no other reason than they could, but yet it didn't strike any of them as odd that they could just be content in each other's presence. After all, that was the essence of their relationship.
"We should really get something to eat," Felicity said into his shoulder.
"But then we'd have to move," he countered with a dramatic whine. "And why would we ever want to do that?" He pulled her closer – if that was even possible - to him then, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head. "I'm happy here."
And he was.
More than happy.
"So am I," she placated cutely, "but I would be way happier if I was snacking on, say, a cookie or something…"
"You seriously want to move to get a cookie?"
She beamed, all straight teeth showing. "I really do."
Unable to resist her charm, a chortle escaped him and he began to disentangle himself from her. Immediately he missed her warmth; they had been sat like that for so long that it almost felt as though they were an extension of each other. As soon as they stood, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder, taking her by enough surprise that she yelped at the touch first before relaxing back into him.
"You seriously didn't want me to get a cookie, did you?" she teased, leading them both out of the study and into a very dark kitchen. When had the sun set?
He reached out to flick the light switch, illuminating the vast space. "Well now that you mention it, sugar sounds so good right now."
"See? I'm full of good ideas," the blonde chirped proudly, ducking out of his stronghold and skipping over to the pantry.
One of the first times she had been in his house, Felicity had been pretty upset at the fact that the Queen mansion was severely lacking in the junk food department – her words, not his - and insisted that they go shopping for 'essentials'. It turned out that these 'essentials' consisted of chocolate of any kind, potato chips of almost every different flavour, chocolate chip cookies, Oreos and a pint of mint chip ice cream. Oliver was only too happy to oblige to his girlfriend's demands and even cleared out a part of the pantry specifically for their purchases. Ever since then, Raisa made sure that that particular section was readily stocked with everything they could ever need and then some.
"Oh I know that," he replied, raising his eyebrows suggestively before hopping up onto the island in one fluid movement.
Felicity looked over her shoulder at him, rolling her eyes. He couldn't help but grin at her inability to hide her smile. That was one the things he loved most: being able to put a smile on her face. He'd be damned if he ever tired of that.
She pulled out the box of chocolate chip cookies and wasted no time in shoving one into her mouth. He guessed she really wasn't joking around about wanting one. Oliver, amused at her eagerness, snatched the box from her hands and brought it close to his chest, covering it from her as if protecting it from a vicious beast.
"Come on, Oliver," she laughed, trying and failing to retrieve it as he evaded her touch at every attempt. He was quick to move from side to side making sure that she had no chance of getting the box and after a few seconds of her attacking with determination and yet being unsuccessful, he raised it over his head as high as he possibly could.
"If you want them, you're gonna have to come up here and get them," he teased, smirking down at her.
The blonde stared at him and rested her hands on her hips as she deliberated his offer. Suddenly a flicker of something crossed her eyes and without any more hesitation, she clambered atop to position herself next to him, wedged between his body and the sink. Her chin raised, she dropped her hand in front of him, a sweet smile stuck in place as she waited for him to give in.
"You really think that's gonna work?" he posed, eyebrow quirked.
"You tell me."
Oliver eyed her carefully, watching for changes in her depths. The cookie box came down toward her slowly and Felicity, in all of her impatience, reached out to grab it from him, but before she could gain a firm hold, he darted it away from her again, angling his body so that they were practically chest to chest and that his arm that held the object of desire was fixed behind his back. Before she could utter a complaint, his lips crashed into hers, swallowing them up.
She relaxed immediately, kissing him back with the same amount of intensity. Arms came up to snake around his neck as he let his hand fall to her waist, the two of them gradually edging forward as they became lost in one another. The box bounced off the island and fell to the floor when Oliver disposed of it so he could cup the back of his girlfriend's head, tilting it back for better access.
God, he loved kissing her. While he had his share of kissing girls from school, nothing compared to the feeling he got when his lips came into contact with those of Felicity Smoak. It was like the calm after the storm; a drink when thirsty; heat when cold. Salvation, even.
What wasn't salvation, however, was the accidental turning on of the tap which caused a colossal spray of water to somehow erupt and soak both of them. Felicity screamed initially and then proceeded to laugh herself senseless as Oliver tried his best to stop the onslaught with his hands and then with tubs and utensils that were within his reach.
"You know you could try to help me!" he yelled over her giggles as bats at the taps became progressively more aggressive with its lack of cooperation.
Her laugh was infectious, his own following suit in no time, and then it was just the sound of them and the whizzing from the sink filling the room.
Eventually, after his t-shirt was thoroughly saturated and the delirium had faded, he managed to put an end to it, the last spurt of water flopping onto the counter in climax.
"The whole wet t-shirt thing is good look on you," the blonde quipped. "Really good stuff."
Oliver pulled at the soaked cloth with an amused huff and hopped down from the counter. "Glad you think so." He bound his arms around her waist and dropped a chaste kiss to her lips, a little resentful that they'd been interrupted.
"What the hell happened in here?!"
Felicity practically jumped out of his hold, the blush instant in her cheeks as Robert Queen imposingly stood in the doorway, his eyes raking over them and then shifting over to the mess on the counter. He couldn't have been too thrilled with his undoubtedly expensive kitchen now coated in a layer of water. Droplets slid down the wood grain, creating tiny puddles on the marble tiles; the black countertop and everything on top of it was drenched to the core. His brow collapsed, hooding over his eyes.
"Uh…Dad…" He really wished he had come up with something a little more articulate there.
"Hi, Mr Queen," Felicity contributed sheepishly, raising a timid hand in a half-wave, half-air punt.
Robert only narrowed his eyes more. If there was one thing Oliver understood about his father, it was that he was a powerful man and he used that power to great advantage whether it be in the business world or at home. Maybe it was that fundamental thought that often encouraged Oliver to provoke him in any way that he could. They seemed to be always at odds with one another, a weird dance they had started and never finished, circling and bending around issues, arguing and warring over the simplest things. That was their relationship: a push and pull until the rope snapped.
"What happened?" he repeatedly sternly.
"The sink just…went crazy. Water everywhere. I stopped it though so it's okay. No harm done." His beam fell slightly flat.
The man regarded him tiredly, disappointment etched into his features. There was nothing worse than that look. "When are you going to grow up, Oliver?" The question was so direct and so loaded that it was almost as if he had been practicing it long before he happened upon them.
"Wha-"
A hand came up to stop him. "I don't want to hear it. In fact, I'm sick of hearing your excuses. Every time I think you're finally taking things seriously, you prove me otherwise."
"Dad, it was an accident; it's not like we planned it-"
"You're eighteen," he sighed, keeping his distance by the door jamb, "and you've only a few months left in school. You're supposed to be going to college. And then you'll work under me, learning the ropes of what it's like to work in this industry – of what it's like to run a successful business." Oliver swallowed hard at the image of him in an oversized, over-expensive suit, shadowing his father in meetings and conferences and other soul destroying appointments, a pensive look permanently cast on his face. He struggled to suppress the shudder. "You're going to be the CEO of a multi-billion company one day, son. At some point you have to realize that your future is in touching distance; you can't always be fooling around and using that smile of yours to get what you want. You'll have responsibilities. You'll carry my name – your name – with you with every decision you make. Doesn't that mean anything to you? Sometimes we have to make choices and sometimes, even if we don't want to, we have to look at the big picture. We have to plan for the future purely because we don't know what it'll hold." A shadow crossed over the man's face, his jaw clenched. "So, just…grow up, Oliver." Robert picked up a towel that hung beside the door and tossed it over to him. "Clean up this mess. Raisa shouldn't have to deal with your immaturity."
And then he strode out of the room, the clacking of his polished shoes unnerving as he traipsed down the hall and away from them.
The silence that ensued was deafening.
Without even a glance in his girlfriend's direction, he went about the work straight away, using whatever rumbling irritation that had built up in between his shoulders to good use. At some point Felicity began to help him but never once did she speak. She just helped.
But even still, after what felt like an enormous time had passed, the quiet started to grate on him. "He didn't even acknowledge you," he said to the counter as he mopped with extra rigour. "I mean, what's his problem? He knows who you are, he knows your name, he knows what you mean to me and he didn't even have the decency to say hi. I guess that's Robert Queen for you."
"It's okay, Oliver," she replied softly.
"But it's not, Felicity." Straightening his back, he planted both hands on the counter, looking at her. "I…I can't stand the way he just…he just disregards everything in my life right now because he's so focused on what I should be doing or what I will be doing." God, he hated the way his dad made him feel. Like he was nothing. Like he had no say. Like he was just a pawn and his father was the playmaker. And in a way, he was. "Why…why can't he just leave me alone and let me make my own choices?" Tears pooled in his eyes, praying to be released but he held them back, kicking himself for being so damn emotional over something like this.
Felicity smiled at him sadly and rested her head on his shoulder, hands wrapping around his middle. She knew his question didn't really require a response, but rather an intention to listen.
"I just…all this talk about the future – I hate it. Whatever happened to 'living in the present' and all that stuff they feed us in school? I'd much rather do that than think about colleges and leaving Starling and…" he let the sentence die with a heavy sigh, his arms folded on top of the island. His eyes couldn't meet hers, his fears and concerns undoubtedly swirling in them, revealing the extent of his distress.
"Hey," she whispered. "It's okay to be worried about all that stuff, you know. No one's ever ready for this."
"You are," he replied gently, training his view on the fridge and the numerous drawings Thea made that were stuck to the door. "You know what you want to do. You have the choice to do what you want to do. I…don't."
"But you do, Oliver. It's your life; you have a say."
"But my whole life I've had a pretty good idea of what my future looks like. I go to some Ivy League school that my parents paid for and study something I don't want to and then, when I come of age, I shadow my dad at work until he retires and I become CEO. That's it; that's all there is." Finally, he met her pondering stare. " I hate not being in control, not being able to make my own decisions, and the closer we get to having to make choices and sort out our future plans, I just want to lock myself away and pretend it's not happening." He thread his fingers through hers. "Why do things have to change? I love everything just the way it is right now."
"I wish I knew," she said with a hint of sorrow, burrowing her head into his shoulder. "I really do."
"In a few months nothing will be the same and I don't even want to think about u-"
"Then don't," she interjected suddenly, solemnly. "Let's do what you said and just live in the now."
She was right – of course she was right. And he didn't want to ruin what had been a pretty perfect day just because his dad managed to hit a nerve; that would be letting him win again.
With his pointer finger he lifted her chin and lightly brushed his lips over hers. "You got it."
As much as he wanted to ignore it – and he really did – he couldn't shift the weight that held him down like an anchor. Time moved by so quickly and eventually everything he knew was going to change for better or for worse and there'd be nothing he could do about it.
Maybe it was time he accepted that.
The sun had just begun its ascent when Oliver pulled up outside of Felicity's house, the boom of his engine unnerving in the dawn air. There was something so calming about the stillness that time of the morning; aside from a couple of early risers jogging, her street was vacant, its world still lost in slumber.
Removing his helmet, he peered up at the top window, looking for a sign that she was awake. But he couldn't wait. Needing to know whether Digg was poisoned with Vertigo far outweighed every other issue that plagued his mind – even what had transpired between him and Felicity the night before. His friend had barely slept all night and it was obvious that without some kind of antidote to counteract the effects he was only going to get worse.
No, he needed her help.
Oliver stalked up to the door, his confidence eking away from him with every step until there was barely any semblance of it left. The man knocking three times on the hardwood door was not the same one who had hopped onto the bike and sped across town the second the light of day showed its face. What was he going to say? He left her at his house last night after pouring out his heart and finally kissing her like he had wanted to for seven years…
Surely the first thing she'd want to know was where he went…and he wasn't prepared for what could potentially be an interrogation.
Thoughts dipped in and out of his mind as he waited, the blood sample burning in his pocket. Oliver was not an impatient man, but this was a whole new level of complicated that he was not used to and trying to stack everything into a coherent pattern was inflaming the pressure point in his head. He just needed to get this done.
When the door finally opened just a crack, a wary Felicity sneaked her head out, suspicion written in her brow. "Oliver?" she asked in surprise when she caught sight of him, opening the door wider. Her hair was untidily put up in a messy bun with loose tendrils falling on either side of her face, and she squinted due to the ever brightening sun and lack of sleep. The belt off her fluffy bathrobe, that matched her equally fluffy slippers, scraped the floor. To Oliver, she was beautiful. "What are you doing here?"
He couldn't afford to spend the time dancing around the reason why he was beating on her door at an ungodly hour – no matter how much he wanted to. The smile that had slipped onto his face in the space between her inquisitive glare and her sleepy realization faded. "Look, I know it's early and I know you probably have a million questions right now but I really need your help."
"What's wrong?" She crossed her arms, tone laden in concern.
Different excuses weaved through his mind as he tore down the streets on his way, each one possibly more ludicrous than the last, but all of them vanished the second he was faced with having to offer an explanation. Gone up in a puff of smoke, it was like he was reaching for something that was just always just out of his grasp.
"It's Digg," he struggled, head shaking. "He's, uh, he's really sick and he's only getting worse." The blonde's eyes turned searching, her expression melancholy, compassion flowing from her pores. Oliver, breaking their trance, retrieved the vial from his pocket, holding it away from him, mid-way between them. "I need to know what's in his system, Felicity. It's important." He presented the sample to her. "Could you please take this down to Applied Sciences and run a spectro-analysis on it to find out what it is we're dealing with?"
"Oliver, if he's sick he needs a doctor, not some scientists running tests on his blood - and last time I checked, you're not exactly licenced to practice medicine and neither am I so what's really going on here?"
A heavy sigh wracked through his body. Felicity hated mysteries and not providing her with enough information was risky as it was, but it wasn't the time or the place to be sifting through the layers of secrets he kept.
"I promise I will explain everything to you later." Whether consciously or not, she took a step back. "Look," he whispered, pleading, "I know what I'm asking is a lot and that it makes no sense and I'm not stupid, I know I haven't exactly given you much reason to trust me but Diggle really needs our help right now and there's no one else I can turn to. I guess…I guess I'm just asking you to go on blind faith."
Seconds ticked by as she eyed the sample, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
Eventually, and with a humourless laugh, she took it from him.
"Does that mean you'll help?" he posed quietly.
Felicity raised her head, her tongue jutted to the side of her mouth. "Apart from the fact that this is so bizarre and it's way too early to be thinking this much…" she shook her head, "…I can't believe I'm actually saying this but yes, I will."
All the breath shot out of him at once, the relief a welcome change. "Thank you," he breathed, smashing through the emotional barriers and bridging the gap so that he could place a swift but sweet kiss on her forehead. She closed her eyes at the contact and he brushed the stray strands of hair off her face, the moment as intimate as it could be.
Felicity Smoak trusted him even when he gave her no reason to – it's possible that he fell in love with her all over again.
If there was one thing on this earth that Felicity hated, it was mysteries. They bugged her; they needed to be solved. And usually she was rather good at the whole mystery-solving thing, but there was one that seemed to always evade her. It taunted her really, dangling itself in front of her as though she was a cat and it was a shiny object, never fully revealing itself even when she had thought that a breakthrough had been made.
Yes, there was no other mystery more intriguing and infuriating than Oliver Queen.
Ever since she was eighteen and his boat was shipwrecked, he had left question marks hanging over her life. Not that she would ever admit to anyone, much less herself, trying to find out what happened to him, his chances of survival, conspiracy theories, became almost a staple of her daily life. It never reached the point of obsession, but it was always hovering in the back of her conscious, toying with her sense of knowledge, teasing her. Maybe it was her broken heart or her grief, she didn't know, but it took at least two years of no answers for her to truly put that whole incident to rest.
And yet, it turned out that he lived. Oliver survived.
Which of course dredged up even more questions but, despite her thirst for knowledge, understanding that there were some things she would never really be clued in on, that the island was more than a troubling time for him, pushing to know every aspect, every facet, of his life at that time was pretty much off limits to her – unless he was willing to share details of it with her. When she imagined those five years, she thought of horror and pain; of suffering and sorrow. Sometimes she'd draw pictures with her mind – vivid ones of desolation and evil; other times she heard sounds of anguish and cries for home. In each picture, a lone Oliver Queen stood, shaking amongst the throes of chaos, reaching out but to what she could never see.
The island changed him, and that change was obvious in every part of his self. Smiles took longer to form, eyes shifted rapidly as if always on alert, shoulders tensed in stiff squares, jokes felt harsh and awkward. But beneath that rough exterior, the old Oliver, the one she knew, was still there. Maybe experiences smothered and choked that life out of him but his heart still beat the same as it always had. That fact alone surely breathed hope.
And this version, this damaged man, had declared his love for her after all these years despite everything he had faced. After all the horrors and the evil, he was still capable of feeling, of expressing emotion, of loving her. Ofloving her. Not anyone else.
Her.
Even now as he proffered nothing but half-truths and limited information, she still trusted him. Still believed him when she had no reason to. Why? She didn't really know. Oliver was always the exception to her trust issues, squirming his way into her heart when she wasn't looking and refusing to leave even when she had turned off the lights and told him it was time to go. He never budged. Not an inch.
So as she went down to Applied Sciences and, through some deft persuasion, managed to get Digg's blood sample analysed and the results given back to her in record time, Felicity briefly wondered if it mattered what little she understood about this Oliver. At the end of the day, she would trust him with anything and if he would do the same for her, could she really allow it to become a stumbling block for both her and them? Could she allow herself the joy in moving onward with him regardless of history? He kept secrets; everyone did. He was still Oliver. She was still Felicity. The odds of them pulling back to one another like magnets were stratospherically high – and maybe that wasn't so bad.
He was still a mystery. But perhaps he was a mystery that didn't need to be solved all at once; maybe she could learn bits and pieces as time went on, collecting and gathering shards of information when he opened himself up to her.
And for once, she was at peace with that.
The beauty of mystery was the challenges, the difficulties, the possibilities. Oliver was all that and then some.
If we had all the answers then we'd never fully appreciate anything; wonder would be nothing but a beautiful archaic concept.
And Felicity would gladly spend a lifetime finding out all the answers to the puzzle that was Oliver Queen.
"Felicity," Oliver said in surprise, rising from his seat and knocking over an empty glass in the process. Both of them jerked at the noise. "Uh, I didn't expect to see you so soon." He righted the tumbler and pushed it over to the other side of the desk, far away from any more potential collisions.
"Yeah, well I was gonna call you but then I thought we work in the same place and I could just take the elevator and travel up eighteen floors and save us all the hassle but now I feel a little exposed…" she gazed around the glass room, making awkward eye-contact with whom she assumed was his EA and pointedly turned back to him when the woman raised her eyebrow in a challenge, "…wow you can see everything from up here…"
He cocked his head to the side and waited for her to finish. He knew all too well how easy it was for her to become enraptured with the world; regular and mundane didn't exist for her, everything becoming interesting in her mind. When her bout of awe seemed to subside and her depths appraised him properly once more, he prompted her, "Felicity."
The blonde lifted a finger and swiped the air, "Right, yeah sorry," she rambled with a sheepish smile. "Okay so I sent the sample to a chemist I know in Applied Sciences - the guy owes me a favour; long story, I fixed his parking ticket. Huh, I guess it's not that long." She shrugged, knocking herself back on track. "Anyway, it came back positive," she lowered her voice to a whisper, head rotating from side to side to make sure that no one was in earshot, "for trace amounts of Vertigo."
Vertigo.
The confirmation rocketed through him, his blood pumping with aggression. This wasn't supposed to happen; the drug, that poison, was supposed to be gone. Obliterated. Nothing but a gloomy memory of a passed time.
"Digg would never have taken Vertigo, he must have-"
"Been exposed to it somehow," she finished definitively with a nod. Although she didn't know Diggle all that well, it was evident in her body language and the gentle timbre in her tone that she cared about the man.
"I didn't know Vertigo was in play again," he grumbled, unable to cover up his irritation. His tie started to choke him all of a sudden and he loosened it immediately, releasing a sigh.
Felicity moved closer to his desk, thighs brushing against the edge yet still remaining opposite him. "Neither did I, but he needs an antidote, Oliver. He's only going to get worse."
The man looked her in the eye, jaw tight. "I know and I have one. I'll make sure he gets it right away."
That statement alone boded many questions but she didn't voice them. Instead, she simply pushed up her glasses and then interlocked her fingers. "How do you think he got it in his system without his knowledge?"
"I…I don't know." Chagrin flaming through his veins, Oliver checked his watch. "And we need to find out, but right now Diggle is the main priority and he needs the formula." He circled the desk, stopping in front of her, her eyes never once leaving him. "Thank you for what you did, Felicity," he said so softly that were she not paying such close attention to him she perhaps wouldn't have heard it. "I don't know what I would do without you." It was not a conscious thing with him – lowering his voice when he spoke to her – but every time he moved to say something, it was as though all of the gruff and callousness faded, dissolving into a wisp in the wind.
Her smile was sad but still there. He wished he could have mustered one for her.
But as he left, he took her hand in his, and pumped it twice.
Just like the very first time they met.
News of other similar instances broke out all over the city. Even the chief officer at the DA's office, Adam Donner, had somehow had the same fate befall him. Only his particular plight was plastered all over news bulletins because, well firstly, he was severely unfortunate, and secondly he was in the middle of a high profile case when he came down ill. The fear and panic of the dubbed 'mystery illness' hitting any unsuspecting people spread across the masses like an infectious disease.
Felicity had been glued to her computer for hours, tracking every new story that appeared, looking for a sense of pattern in those affected. Every time she thought she was onto something, a new case showed its face and her theory would go sailing out the window, leaving her back at square one. And she hated square one. Her usually bright office had darkened over time, the sun giving up on the day's work earlier than usual, and her head started to pound with the lack of information. Or caffeine. Or both.
Maybe more caffeine more than anything.
Wow, she'd been sitting there for a long time.
In fact, it had been so long that she just knew in her bones that her butt would leave the perfect imprint on her office chair. She was just happy that she finally decided to purchase her own chair for her space instead of using that hard as nails one they gave her when she first arrived, because at least her back didn't ache nearly as much as it would have. That chair had chiropractor written all over it, and she was all about good posture and comfort.
Plus, this one swivelled. The other didn't. Pretty much a deal-breaker there.
The light from her screen burned her eyes causing blotches of colour to blend into her vision and she shoved the heel of her hand into forehead, willing herself to carry on. Deep down she knew it was none of her business, and lord knows it wasn't exactly her place to go digging, but the sheer abundance of cases springing up piqued her interest far too much for her to just let it slide.
She hadn't heard from Oliver since earlier that morning but in her mind she was hoping that no news was good news. That was what people said, right? Yeah, she was sure everything was okay.
Or at least she hoped it was.
Flexing her fingers, Felicity danced her head from side to side, working out any kinks before they had the chance to root. With a few clicks across the keyboard she pulled up a map of the city, red dots signalling the homes of people who were experiencing withdrawal symptoms.
"It's completely random," she whispered to herself with a shake of the head, feeling somewhat deflated that the dots hadn't magically revealed the answer to her. "Okay Smoak, time to think. Think, think, think…"
Her brain zoomed from one thought to the next.
And it kept doing that for ages – until one in particular struck her.
"What if they weren't exposed at home…" she breathed, forehead pinched, "what about work…?"
Her hands typed away frantically, changing the criteria of her search to employment addresses and she watched as the dots blinked into different locations, the bones of a pattern finally eking its way out. It was a trail. A path through the city.
A finger followed the route in search for clues.
"59th and Dale. 59th and Dale," she repeated as if it meant something.
And it did.
The day before, one of the guys in IT was badgering on about how people should get the flu shot – which had no impact on the blonde whatsoever because she hated needles and, well, all pointy things really – but Felicity distinctly remembered him saying that he got his at 59th and Dale from one of those roaming flu trucks. And it just so happened that he was out sick.
That was the key. The flu vaccination.
Feeling a thrill of pride, Felicity pumped her hand in the air and shouted, "Yes!" - and then subsequently blushed in the privacy of her own office.
Leaning her elbows onto her desk, she perused the route, taking note that the truck was now downtown. Though she knew her immediate reaction should have been a call to the police, the thought of having actual evidence instead of just empty claims proved to be the dominant force in her mind. If she could get one of the syringes and then bring it to the police without causing too much disarray, then everyone would benefit. Plus leaving an anonymous tip with accusations like that would ultimately lead nowhere.
No, she could do this.
If it ended up being too risky, she'd back out of it as fast as she could.
That much she could do.
Minimizing her screen, she grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and headed out the door on her own little mission.
"I've been thinking," Oliver declared suddenly mid-bite into his burger.
"Well that's an ominous statement if I ever heard one," Felicity teased, spinning the straw of her milkshake around.
He lowered his food, tilting his head to the side. "You think you're so funny, Smoak-"
"Oh I don't think it; I know it," she interjected, full beam on display. "But go on because I'm absolutely dying to know what you were thinking about," she added sweetly, leaning forward onto the table.
Dropping the remains of his burger pack into its packet, he picked up a napkin and wiped his hands, feeling nervous all of a sudden. It shouldn't have made him feel that way, and it wasn't really a big thing per say, but he couldn't deny the slight niggle at the back of his mind that she wouldn't be exactly fond of his idea. It was almost a done deal really. Once Oliver had made his mind up all he had to do was talk to his parents and convince them that he was serious and that it was a decision made after much thought and consideration. They seemed happy enough to help him in this particular venture (they were probably just content that he had actually made a decision) – but it wasn't really them he was worried about.
He cleared his throat, feeling self-conscious. There were a lot of people in Big Belly Burger; that was all he seemed to be able to focus on. It felt like every single person was waiting in anticipation for him to divulge all his secrets.
"It's about what you were talking about a few weeks back…when you told me that I should start thinking about myself and what I want and about controlling my own future and stuff…"
"Yeah?" she prompted, her full attention all on him now. The corners of her lips curled upwards just slightly, the beginnings of her smile oddly comforting.
"I made a decision. I know what I want."
"Well don't leave me waiting in suspense, Oliver Queen! Spill."
Mirroring her, he folded his arms on to the table, body practically hanging off the edge of the seat as he rocked forward. "I know I always kind of avoid the topic of college but, you know, high school isn't going to last forever and if I ever want to have some say in what I do for the rest of my life then I have to act soon. So I did. I picked a college."
Felicity practically bounced out of her seat, her milkshake teetering dangerously from side to side with the momentum but luckily she caught it before it died in horribly splashy fashion. "Where?"
"Wait," he laughed nervously, putting a hand up to ease her enthusiasm, "I just want to say that I put a lot of thought into this. I never realized how many things there were to think about when it came to making this kind of decision – or maybe that's just me because I've barely had to make a decision for myself my whole life, spoiled rich kid and all that," he laughed, dropping his eyes, "but when I put everything into context, it basically came down to one thing."
She eyed him curiously, picking up on the serious shift in conversation. "Okay…"
Licking his lips, he inhaled deeply. "What I really want is to make my own decisions. And I know that when it comes to my education, studying business is the route I should take and will have to take whether I really want to or not, and maybe that'll turn out to be the best thing I'll ever do, but," he quickly continued before she had time to comment, noting that he had to say it now or risk chickening out, "what I really decided on was…us."
"Us?"
"Yeah," he affirmed breathlessly. "I want us, Felicity. All I've been hearing is people telling me that you don't bring the girl with you to college, that it's just high school and that we'll grow up and move on and this will just be a memory – but I don't want that. That's the last thing I want. I don't want us to break up just because it's the norm; we're not the norm. I don't want to be thousands and thousands of miles away from you; I want to be next to you. Always."
Though the sentiment obviously resonated with her, indicated by her soft blues, her eyebrows drew together immediately. "Oliver, I don't really know what you're trying to say here."
"I'm saying that I want to study business at Harvard."
Her eyes bulged. "Harvard?"
"Yeah." The boy gulped. "I choose to do what my parents want me to do but I'm choosing it on my own terms. If I go to Harvard…we can still be us."
In his mind this was a grand romantic gesture that would sweep her off her feet and result in declarations of love and excitement over a viable future together; in practice, however, he was beginning to think that his idealism had clouded his expectations.
"You can't make a decision this big based on our relationship, Oliver. College is a major deal."
"Felicity, I chose Harvard. One of the best colleges in the world. Decisions don't get more major than that," he retorted a little petulantly.
She ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it, and then, tentatively reached over and covered his hand with her own. "But you've chosen it for the wrong reason. This decision should be based on what Harvard has to offer you, what it can do for you, what you want to experience." She sighed sadly, twisting her straw with her free hand. "You can't just base it on what you feel right now. It's a four year deal; you might feel differently in a few months and then it'll be too late."
"Felicity Smoak I cannot believe you think my feelings for you are that changeable. I'm actually hurt that you think so little of me." When in doubt, go for that Queen charm.
"Come on, Oliver. Be serious."
Except this time apparently.
Lacing his fingers with hers, he made sure to look her directly in the eye, hoping that every emotion that thrummed through him was somehow shining through his open expression. Of all the things for her to question he never once thought that his feelings for her would be called into play. Not when that's the only thing he was definite about. "I've never been more serious about anything in my entire life. I want this. Harvard offers what I want and it allows me to be close to you, what's so wrong with that?"
"I just don't want you to…base something so pivotal in your life on something that, I don't know, you might not consider that important in a few months, a few years…I mean, there are studies on how quickly the human mind changes it preferences and I'm pretty sure there are in depth essays written about the correlation between love and raging teenage hormones and-"
"Felicity," he whispered, encroaching even further forward, their huddled forms creating their own little world outside of everything else, "in case you've forgotten, I love you. That's not going to change. I don't have to read text books to tell me how I feel; I know how I feel. And I'm telling you that what I feel for you isn't a temporary passing thing. It's real. It doesn't matter how old we are or whether we're supposed to branch out and try different things and see new people or whatever – we're it. I know you know that."
A flicker of fire flashed through her spheres, an unmistakable gleam making itself home there. Biting back her sheepish smile that was ever growing as he spoke was enough evidence for him. He knew she loved him. It was the only thing keeping him believing in miracles.
The blonde hummed, face stern all of a sudden. "It's a tough school to get into, you know. They're not just gonna let you walk in because your name happens to be Queen."
Her tone was lighter now he noted, and a pressure that neither of them seemed to notice before, lifted.
"Well, I have ways and means. And there's talk about donating toward a new wing of the library…"
Felicity's mouth formed an O. "Are you serious?"
"You bet," he remarked wryly.
Her giggle radiated around them, settling down the tension, ironing out any wrinkles that had shown their faces. The sound was so full of hope, bursting with possibility and light and warmth and everything that he had ever wanted.
Lifting their intertwined hands, his girlfriend cocked her head to the side, the blush that had crept into her cheeks starting to fade. "I choose you too, by the way. Just for the record." She beamed. "Always."
He was pacing in the lair when he got the phone call. After injecting Digg with the serum, his partner had taken root by the computers, his body worn and beaten as the formula worked through his system and he only offered tight advice whenever Oliver happened to glance in his direction. The Arrow had rescued Adam Donner from The Count's clutches earlier but was still nowhere close to figuring out how his foe was poisoning the city – and it infuriated him. He needed to be shut down and now.
The ring was harsh against the tense silence that enveloped the foundry but one look at the caller calmed Oliver. It was like a cool breeze on a sticky day. "Felicity," he answered, stilling his movements. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Diggle sit up straighter, whatever attention he was capable of all on him at that moment. If he had the energy he probably would have cocked his eyebrow knowingly at the softer tone he employed when talking to her.
But it wasn't the blonde's voice on the other end of the line.
"Oliver? Is it okay if I call you Oliver?" the voice snarled through the phone, making the hair on the back of his neck rise. "Surprised to hear from me, right? Not as surprised as I was. You see, I find this not unattractive blonde getting all up in my business and what does she have on her? A Queen's Consolidated I.D. badge." Oliver closed his eyes as Felicity's whimpers in the background amplified, striking through his heart one second at a time. Fury ripped through his entire frame, setting him alight. "Now, I think to myself: why does that name ring a bell? Oliver Queen! You tried to buy off me last year just before The Hood put me in a padded cell. Ipso facto: Arrow!"
Oliver, in the blind rage that consumed him, hung up the phone and charged toward his Arrow suit, wasting no time in putting an end to this nightmare.
The Count wasn't going to win. He wasn't going to touch one hair on his Felicity's head.
Oliver was going to damn well make sure of that.
So things are finally moving along swiftly in present day and hopefully you'll continue to find the journey interesting. Those flashbacks were a nightmare to write to be honest haha but I do hope you like what you read! Please drop me a review and let me know what you thought - they make my day and give me motivation when the story is being stubborn :) You guys are awesome!
