Hey there! :) I can't believe it's been so long since I updated this story! :/ Life just kept getting in the way so I told myself that whenever I reached a certain part of this chapter I'd post it (it was originally supposed to be much longer) - so here it is! It's probably a little rough around the edges because it's been ages since I've written for these versions of the characters but I do hope you guys still enjoy what you read and are still interested in this story. Anywho, I hope you like what you read! :)

(P.s. How crazy was that finale?! I'm still in shock. And I'll continue to be that way for the foreseeable future. In fact, I'll never be okay ever again.)


It was dark and isolated.

That should have been Felicity's first warning.

Nothing good ever came from dark, isolated places. She'd seen too many horror movies that proved that to be true. And in true horror movie stupidity, she wandered up to the lone flu truck, furtively glanced from side to side, knocked on the door and when no one replied, pulled at it only to discover that it was open. It was all just a little too easy, a little too convenient for her liking really. That should have been another sign.

Everything happened in a flurry all in the space of thirty seconds.

Locating the formula had been simple (there were rows of syringes lined up behind frosted glass that immediately caught the eye as soon as you entered the vehicle…talk about convenience) and just as Felicity slid the glass back to reveal the cascade of evidence and murmured the word, "Gotcha", he spoke in a voice an octave higher than expected, causing her to jump and whirl around to face him in a fluster.

"Funny, you took the words right out of my mouth."

He was a peculiar kind of man; almost comical in the way he held himself. Maybe even verging on cartoonish. He talked as though he was constantly on the cusp of singing, his movements embodying a musical quality – the combination perplexing and chilling all at once. Plus, he wore a trench coat. Who wore trench coats anymore? Subtlety was not what he was going for.

Somehow the blonde assumed that if faced with an obstacle like, say, a villain hell-bent on injecting a whole city with a dangerous drug, she'd react with a clear mind. You know, somehow slink her way out of trouble with a few words and a shove. In her mind it seemed like it would work, that she'd be the exception and rather than fall prey and allow herself to be dragged into a further web of trouble, she'd rise to the occasion and rescue herself. She was no damsel in distress. Sure she wasn't the most skilled fighter – did one tae-kwon-do class when she was 15 count? – but she was almost positive that she'd hold her own if thrust into that kind of particular situation.

Obviously her idealism had reached dizzying levels.

She only had time to gulp before he happened upon her…

And then everything faded to black like the closing of a movie.


Pure terror: the only thing flooding through her entire body as she broke to the surface of consciousness.

Throat dry, tears pooled, lip quivering and The Count hovering over her like an ominous angel (and he was much more terrifying up close and personal), Felicity noticed that her coat had been discarded and her blonde hair, that had been put up in the tightest of ponytails – seriously it was like it was cased in plutonium – had been loosened to the point where tendrils flapped about her face and the tie was at the nape of her neck. And she was shaking, squirming against the zip-ties that sewed her to a chair.

She was at Queen's Consolidated. Oliver's office to be exact. The one whose view scanned over Starling City; a city that was bathed in vibrant light while she struggled in the dark room, the only light available to her coming from her phone that her assailant tossed from hand to hand with an impish smirk on his face. His breath came in long, measured puffs as though he was trying to keep his irritation at bay and every now and again, his neck twitched and in doing so, forced his whole frame to convulse for a nanosecond.

Tears gathered at the corners of her ears, the fear finally taking over. As much as she struggled and danced against the binds, there seemed to be no escape. She was trapped.

And maybe it was the adrenaline or perhaps just the reality of her plight setting in but she couldn't keep her mind off stupid trivial things. Like…did she remember to turn the stove off? Or when did she eat last? Or why did she insist on wearing this dress?

Then, just as quickly, those thoughts were usurped by slightly bigger issues, like forgetting to buy that coffee maker for her house, or never getting around to booking a holiday off work or not visiting her mom enough.

And then Felicity heard his name.

Oliver.

Oh, Oliver.

The name snarled from her enemy's lips, a malevolent grin curling onto his face as he took his feet down from the desk and sat forward in his chair. "Oliver? Is it okay if I call you Oliver? Surprised to hear from me, right?" The tone playful, he rose from his seat and cantered towards her. Felicity whimpered, struggling again, the heightened emotion of her predicament swelling with each drum of a second. "Not as surprised as I was. You see, I find this not unattractive blonde getting all up in my business," he continued, running the tips of his finger down her arm, causing her to lose any semblance of control she had left. Tears shook from her eyes, her whole body shuddering under his touch. "And what does she have on her? A Queen's Consolidated I.D. badge." The badge, sitting idly on the desk, was snatched into his grip and left swaying in front of her face, "Now I think to myself: why does that name ring a bell?" He flung the object across the room. Felicity squeezed her eyes shut. "Oliver Queen! You tried to buy from me last year just before The Hood put me in a padded cell. Ipso Facto, Arrow!"

Her sobs intensified with his exclamation, heart hammering so much that she couldn't hear anything else but the erratic thump, thump, thump smothering her senses.

A gun that had been on the desk, smiling sadistically at her since she had been tied up, swam into her eyeline. The Count chuckled in malicious delight at the terror so perfectly blazing in her depths, the shock taking over her frame to the point where she was sure she'd never get enough air to fill her lungs.

Suddenly he leaned over her, one hand covering hers in the process, mouth brushing the shell of her ear. Her hand stilled. "And now we wait for your friend to come to your rescue. If I were you, I'd pray he comes soon; I have a tendency to get bored very easily."

And then the firearm was recklessly dangling in front of her face again, the barrel glaring at her as he swiped at a glass on the table and sent it shooting onto the ground in spectacular fashion. His lips snaked over his teeth, eyes wild with excitement.

Felicity gulped, her breath quaking violently as her mind tried and tried to grapple with what was going to happen.

Oliver was coming for her.

Oliver was The Arrow.

Oliver…Oliver was The Arrow.

The Arrow.

Oliver? Oliver.

Her Oliver.

Everything would be okay.

That she had to believe.


"Ah, Oliver. Come in, come in," Mrs Smoak greeted, pulling open the door fully whilst manoeuvring her phone to her other ear. With a wave she beckoned for him to come inside.

Though he had met Felicity's mother numerous times since they had got together, every time he came face-to-face with her he was on edge, fearful to say something that'd come across as impolite or give off some unruly impressions. It was no secret that Oliver Queen, even still a teenager, had quite the reputation in Starling City; Donna Smoak, albeit almost always preoccupied with work, was no fool.

About the same height as Felicity, Mrs Smoak had fair hair cut to just above her shoulders and was in killer shape. In fact, his girlfriend was pretty much a carbon copy of her mother.

"Here to see Felicity, I assume?" she asked him, moving her phone into her shoulder. Oliver nodded but before he could get a word out she was in full flight, "I honestly don't know why that girl never answers the door when she hears the bell. She was obviously expecting you and you're pretty much the only person who uses it anyhow so she really should be the one down here." She sighed…or maybe just stopped to take a breath. It was hard to tell. "Yet still she locks herself away in her room of hers, planted in front of that computer screen as though she'll find the meaning of life hidden in her codes or whatever it is she's into. God help her when she goes to London and actually has to meet new people and socialize…FELICITY!" she yelled up the stairs, a boom so loud and abrupt that it made him start. "OLIVER'S HERE!"

And then something struck him. Brow furrowed, he scrunched his face in confusion and asked, "Wait…London?"

The woman cocked her head to the side with raised eyebrows, studying him. "Of course. The MIT study abroad scholarship? Apparently, she was accepted. I'm sure she told you."

You know those moments where you hear something that just makes your heart drop and you wish you could just un-hear it? That was Oliver Queen in that moment.

Actually he was certain he heard his heart crack in half.

Of course she got the scholarship; she was incredible.

Still he pushed the highly probable outcome aside and instead focused on the life they had planned together at Harvard and MIT – attending as many parties as they could, spending lunches and evenings together, getting an apartment together after they experienced their first year in the dorms, just being Oliver and Felicity. And now that future shook ferociously in front of him, the images blurring so much that they were indecipherable.

She was leaving.

He was staying.

And she didn't tell him.

"Oliver?" Her mother's hand waved in front of his face, bringing him back to reality.

"What? Oh, yeah, of course she told me. Yeah it's…it's great. Really great. In fact, we're going out to celebrate right now." His sneakers squeaked against the floorboards. Even the house could read him like an open book.

Mrs Smoak, to her credit, narrowed her eyes knowingly for a millisecond before quickly resuming her blasé façade. Despite her tendency to leave Felicity to fend for herself and show next to no encouragement for her daughter's passion, deep down he knew she didn't really want her to go either. It was just the two of them after her dad left and even though they weren't that close, they were all each other had. It was just a pity that she could never find a way to connect with Felicity.

"You know, for a girl who kicked up such a fuss about moving cities that are only a couple hundred miles apart, you'd think that she'd be a bit more freaked about the idea of moving continent. To be perfectly honest, I think she's still in a state of shock. She hasn't spoken much since she found out – which as you know is not something that ever happens."

"She's probably just processing. It's a lot to take in. A big deal."

A massive deal. Life-altering.

Too good an opportunity to miss.

The woman gave him a sad, knowing smile but Oliver couldn't find it in himself to return the gesture. It was like all of his joy had been zapped from him.

Thumping from above distracted Donna from whatever it was that she wanted to divulge and instead of continuing the conversation, she took her daughter's rather loud shuffling as a means to end their chat and finally went back to focusing on her phone call. A slight gesture with her hand, she stalked into the kitchen, her mother mode shifted to the backburner.

When Felicity emerged at the top of the stairs looking as beautiful as she did every day, Oliver mustered all the courage he had to block out the leeching disappointment that was spreading through him like spilled ink on a piece of paper and somehow twisted his face into something a little more person-friendly.

Though at a loss as to why she hadn't brought it up, he figured she'd tell him on her own time - probably later that day.

Their date itself was normal, nothing out of the ordinary. Felicity wasn't her usual bubbly, babbling self but she wasn't off enough for it to be so noticeable.

But she never mentioned London or MIT or college.


He had lost all sense of reason.

All that flowed through him was rage. And fear.

Somehow, vaguely, he could sense that he was shaking. His hands dancing so quickly that from a distance they looked to be perfectly fine but up close they looked to be on the cusp of ejecting themselves from his arm. His heart sped too fast, the thumping deafening in his ears, drowning out everything else.

His senses fell away to a nothing, all focus on getting her back.

No plan had been formed, no decisions made.

Hood down, his war paint nowhere to be seen; a warrior heading into battle without his mask. Because he wasn't The Hood on a mission to save some innocent bystander who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time; he was Oliver Queen on his way to save the girl that he would do anything for. The girl he vowed to protect until his dying breath. The girl he loved.

His Felicity.

Each step was calculated, his legs tense so as to be as quiet as possible. The bow sat heavily in his hand as if it was itching to be loaded, ready to be used at any moment and never before had it felt like such an extension of himself.

Queen's Consolidated hummed with tension, the air thick with uncertainty and he fidgeted, just about keeping his nerve in check as he approached the offices.

But then Oliver saw her.

Her expression so stricken, her frame so unstable, sheer terror twisted into every fibre of her being. In an instant, all of his rage centred and transformed into desperation. Any shade of doubt that coloured his thoughts washed away, determination firmly in its place.

Felicity's eyes barely focused on him as though she were looking through him rather than at him. A myriad of emotions flickered across her face until they settled on something he couldn't quite read, but whatever it was, it only served to fuel his intent.

The Count ran his grubby hands through her ponytail in a way that made his skin crawl. "Pretty swanky offices," he remarked slyly. "You can see all the destruction your mom caused from up here."

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"World peace and personal satisfaction…though," his fingers danced across the blonde's shoulders, slightly digging into the exposed flesh above the cut of her dress, and she whimpered in distress under his touch, "not necessarily in that order. You poisoned me and put me in a hole. You have no idea how much I hated you for that. Turns out someone else hates you, too."

Oliver's jaw clenched. "Who?" he hissed.

"Who?" the man repeated with a sadistic chuckle. "Oh you're going to be surprised when you find out. He's a man of means; set me up with my new operation so I could draw you out."

His eyes barely ever left her face and every part of him ached for her; to comfort, to rescue, to save. The realization that he would do whatever it takes to keep her safe alighted every nerve-ending in his body, the itch to act gaining in intensity. "To do what?" he ground out.

"This!" The Count snatched at his pocket and revealed a gun, firing a couple of times in his direction, but Oliver, reading the psycho like a book, anticipated the turn and moved first, racing out of the room and hopping over some chairs in the process for cover.

A slice of pain tore through his upper arm but he easily ignored it. He wasn't what mattered; she was. He had to keep his focus. "You're gonna have to try harder."

"Done!" Two more shots rang out, the bullets obliterating idle objects that lay near him.

The stalled silence that followed offered him the chance to make his move. His plan, or semblance of a plan, was shaky at best but if there was one he could do, it was fight.

In all of his aggravation, The Count cut Felicity's ties and roughly hauled her to her feet by her hair. The woman let out choked cries as she was ushered across the room, one hand gripping the one he had around her.

Oliver then emerged from the darkness, his looming figure harsh against the shadows, bow nocked and ready to be fired at any given moment.

"So now we move onto Plan B!" The Count exclaimed malevolently when he caught sight of him. From under his coat he whipped out a syringe rich in the Vertigo formula, the amount enough to kill almost instantly, and suspended it roguishly around her neck.

The Arrow's blood ran cold.

No. God, please, no.

His bow began to shake in his hands.

And then she spoke, cutting through the cloud of fear that encompassed him. But her voice didn't soothe him. No, rather it only swept a wave of fresh horror over him. "Oliver, don't! Not for me!"

His eyes narrowed in sorrow, helplessness consuming him.

Felicity! No!

"Quiet, please! I'm threatening." Oliver pursed his lips, his heart beginning to hammer so hard that it was becoming more and more difficult to breathe. "Lower your bow," the other man commanded.

Her blue depths met his for a flash of a second and he had no other choice but to obey him. The Count had the woman he loved literally in his hands, her life hanging in the balance – what else could he do? His shoulders dropped heavily, the air whooshing out of his lungs so fast that he was practically panting. He ignored the film of tears that covered his eyes.

The arrow that sat in his bow was removed and tossed to the side, the ping of its impact with the floor grating to the ears.

"Your problem is with me – it's not with her!" Oliver cried, his voice verging on begging.

"Well consider this your penalty for making me go to Plan B in the first place-"

The second his nemesis moved to inject her with the serum, fury devoured him and without another thought, he snatched at his quiver and fired.

One.

Two.

Three.

Three arrows perfectly embedded in the centre of his chest.

The action prompted Felicity's release, her terrified self falling onto the floor. With each blow the man moved backward toward the window, the last one – the assured fatal hit – sending him crashing through the glass down to his death below.

It was over.

It took Oliver a moment to compose himself, his eyes closing as the relief sunk in. He had come unbearably close to losing her – to losing Felicity. Even to think such a thought caused his stomach to churn.

But she was safe.

She was safe and she was here.

And The Count was dead.

He had killed again. For her.

A breathy sniffle from mere feet away dragged him from his stupor and his blue orbs snapped onto her immediately, his body automatically moving over to her.

"Hey," he soothed, reaching for her gently.

Her arm shot back instantly in fear, eyes unfocused.

"Hey, it's alright," he shushed. "You're alright. I'm here. You're safe."

Breathing heavily, the woman met his gaze. "Oliver?" she posed thickly, eyebrows forging together.

The man swallowed hard. "It's okay, Felicity. It's okay," he breathed uncertainly.

With that, her line of vision transferred to his arm. "You were shot." Her trembling fingers gingerly grazed the wound the bullet had made.

His hand came up to cup the side of her face, the touch compelling her to look at him once again. "It's nothing," he assured her. "We're okay."

A fresh bout of tears threatened to fall but, in her apparent relief, she forced a smile, somehow finding solace in his calm assurance. "Okay," she affirmed, her voice barely audible.

Oliver wasn't stupid; he knew there were so many things they needed to talk about but right there, in that moment, both of them just needed the comfort of the other. The time for talking was for later.

Moving slowly and deliberately, he leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering there a few seconds after.

She didn't pull away.


"I got here as soon as I could," Tommy declared. The boy shuffled in from the door to flop onto the bed that Oliver was currently lying on with an arm draped over his face. A few seconds of silence passed and then, "Wow, not even a greeting…this must be bad. Is it your dad?"

Beneath the shadows of his arm, Oliver winced, his breath coming out as a stutter. He hated dealing with anything to do with his emotions but this was a desperate time and desperate times called for his best friend. "Felicity's leaving," he murmured into the fabric of his sweater.

"Leaving? Leaving what?" The surprise was evident in his voice. Clearly, he didn't think she'd be the topic of conversation.

"Leaving Starling. Leaving…me."

"Whoa, she broke up with you?! Dude, what the hell happened? What did you do?"

Oliver slowly dragged himself upright, pushing himself back into the headboard. Shooting Tommy a disgruntled glare (of course his friend would think he had done something to drive her away), he then fixed his stare straight ahead of him. "I didn't do anything," he defended, tired, "and we haven't broken up…not yet anyway." He drew in a deep breath. "But she's moving to London for college."

"London? But what about MIT? I thought you guys had your whole futures mapped out."

"She won a scholarship with MIT that allows her to study in Europe," he recited as if from a screen in front of him. "So any plans we had don't matter anymore."

Tommy's eyes widened. "Whoa, that's…that's huge. She's definitely going? What did she say when she told you?"

The boy clucked his tongue, hating the feeling that nestled in his chest. He hated everything about the way he'd been feeling since the moment he found out. He just…hated it all. "She hasn't told me yet." He glanced at his best friend. "Her mom was the one who let it slip – because she obviously assumed that I already knew."

His bitterness lingered in the air for a few unsavoury seconds, the other boy nodding his head in understanding.

"When did you find out?" he asked quietly.

"2 weeks ago. And Felicity hasn't said a word about it. I've seen her almost every day-"

"And not a word?"

Oliver shook his head.

"Maybe she's not going?" he offered hopefully. "Maybe her mom just assumes she is but she's gonna go to MIT like she planned?"

A part of him, selfishly so, wished that were true. That Felicity would toss the Europe rumours out the window by declaring that he and MIT were all that she wanted. That their plans, that their future was set in stone. Solid. Unchangeable. And everything would just change organically in the way it ultimately had to and that they, in their own way, would change along with it as a team, growing ever stronger for it.

Oliver was never a wisher, really. He had everything he could have ever dreamed of. He wanted for nothing.

But right then, God he wished that this wasn't happening. Because no matter how much he was hurting, he knew that she had to go. Felicity came first; her hopes and aspirations were more important than their relationship – he knew that.

It didn't mean that it didn't hurt like a bitch though.

"No," he whispered, pursing his lips. "She has to take this. The scholarship, studying in Europe - it's a once in a lifetime opportunity. People…" he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, making it transform into funny shapes, "they would kill for that chance. Broaden your horizons, experience new cultures, meet new friends you'll have for life. I looked it up online," he tagged on when his best friend shot him a dubious look. "She has to go."

"I'm sorry, Oliver."

"Yeah. Me too."

"But hey," he punched his arm, "this doesn't mean that you guys have to break up. Long-distance, man. People do it all the time."

"I don't know, Tommy. This whole thing – it kinds feels like a sign."

"For what?"

He laughed humourlessly. "I wish I knew. Everyone says you don't take the girl with you when you go to college. You move on, meet other people, life continues. I think I've just been kidding myself the whole time. I really thought we were it. And…and I guess I was wrong."

Any other futile, empty words of encouragement that Tommy imparted disintegrated the moment they hit his eardrum, the irritating platitudes having little to no success in helping him deal with the situation.

He just wanted to know what to say, or how to act, or figure out how to think straight. It was as though he was lost in a maze with every turn, every opening, proving useless.

Never before had he ever felt like this. This was something else entirely. Something he was sure he'd never really comprehend. And maybe he never wanted to.

They do say there's nothing more painful than the pain of heartbreak.


So what did you guys think? I'd love to know your thoughts! Please drop me a review and let me know - it seriously means so much to receive feedback! :) Hope you enjoyed it!