(A/N: Happy Birthday, thatmasquedgirl! For her birthday one-shot, she suggested I tackle the huddling-for-warmth trope. And then this happened. Things got kind of carried away-I think Felicity would agree. :P And a quick thank-you to all of the new followers from the last week or so!)
Path—Turn Right and Change the World
Felicity had never driven to the Queen mansion before, and that was the problem. Oliver, drugged up on painkillers for his broken ribs, was snoring in the passenger seat. She had declared she'd drive him home since Diggle's arm was in a sling, which would hinder his steering ability. But she hadn't counted on the snow.
As she drove farther away from the city, the snow came down harder and the wind increased. Her grip on the wheel tightened. Her turn was coming up, but Oliver stirred. She glanced over at him. He took a deep breath and then relaxed. Felicity turned at the next exit, though she couldn't see the sign in these near-whiteout conditions.
After about fifteen minutes, Felicity wondered why they hadn't come across the mansion yet. When ten more minutes had passed and she could barely see the lane markings on the road, she admitted to herself that she was lost. There was a GPS app on her phone, but it had slipped from her pocket when she was helping Oliver into the car. She was pretty sure the phone was under his seat.
Felicity pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and turned off the engine. She drew her purple coat tighter around her shoulders and opened the door. She had to push against the force of the wind to open it enough that she could get out of the car. Immediately she was being pelted in the face by wind-driven snow. Felicity slammed her door shut and ran around to the other side of the car.
She yanked open the passenger side door and crouched down, shielding herself from the elements between the door and the frame of the car. She reached in and blindly groped on the floor for her phone, but Oliver's long legs folded up into the little front seat were totally in her way. When a large hand dropped onto her shoulder, she screamed.
"Do I want to know what you're doing?" Oliver asked, his voice rough and sluggish.
"Looking for my phone," she muttered, reaching under the seat as far as her arm would go. Her fingers brushed against the edge of the phone. She turned to the side to give herself a couple more inches of reach.
"Aha!" She popped up, triumphant, phone in hand, and bonked heads with Oliver. Hard. She rocked back on her heels, but Oliver grabbed her arm before she could fall on her butt or tumble into the ditch. He winced at the twisting motion, and she quickly shook off his hand and stood up.
"Arms and legs in!" she commanded. Oliver complied, and she closed his door. Wind slammed into her face, and snow swirled before her eyes. She ran around the car and got back into the driver's seat.
"Is it snowing?" Oliver asked.
Felicity glared at him. "Yes, Oliver, it's snowing. Blizzarding, actually, and I took a wrong turn somewhere."
He looked out the window. "It's almost a whiteout. Why didn't you turn around?"
She pierced him with another withering look. "It didn't start snowing until I was already past the halfway point. Turning around wouldn't have been any better than moving forward." She turned her attention to her phone, bringing up the GPS app to try and figure out where they were.
Oliver shifted in his seat, and she saw him grimace out of the corner of her eye. "You need to hold still," she said. "I can't give you any more oxycodone for at least two more hours."
"I still can't believe you force-fed me painkillers," he muttered darkly.
"Yeah, well, you were being an idiot," Felicity said, focused on her phone. "It was either shove a pill down your throat, or knock you out and call an ambulance."
Felicity had coverage, even in this isolated area—she'd hacked her phone to give herself coverage everywhere—but for some reason, the GPS app wasn't loading. She had no way to know their location.
"Great," she mumbled.
"What?" Oliver asked.
"We're lost in a blizzard, and my GPS isn't working." Felicity sighed. "I guess I'll just turn around and try to retrace my steps." She turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed and sputtered but wouldn't turn over. She tried again, pumping the gas pedal. Nothing.
Oliver's hand closed over hers. "You'll flood it," he said.
"I know that." She released her grip on the key and pulled her hand away from his. "Jessica doesn't do well in the cold," she said. "She is a rare and delicate flower."
"Are you developing a split personality?"
Felicity turned to punch him in the shoulder but stopped herself. Any touch of hers could hurt, with his broken or at least very bruised ribs. "Jessica is my car. And she's put her foot down. She won't be going anywhere until the temperature goes up a little bit."
"How's your phone's signal?" Oliver asked. "Does it have enough juice to call Dig?"
"What could he do? He can't drive with only one good arm."
"I'm sure he could manage in order to rescue us. Or he could send someone out here."
Felicity called up her list of contacts. Diggle was number two after Oliver. When he'd gone back to the island last year, she considered deleting his number from her phone because that's how mad she was at him. But she couldn't bring herself to do it, though she did move him down from the number one spot until he came back. It was only fair.
Dig picked up before the first ring had played through. He said he'd been worried about them driving in the snow and was just about to call them himself.
"Well, we're kind of stuck," Felicity said. "You know how Jessica hates the cold. And I'm not really sure where we are."
"Did you put that emergency kit in the back like I told you to?" Diggle asked.
"Yes."
"Good. That should keep you taken care of until I can track you down and get there. Jessica has a GPS tracker, so it shouldn't be too hard."
"Be nice to my computers. No punching the space bar repeatedly in frustration," Felicity warned him.
"I think you have me confused with Oliver." She could hear the smile in his voice. "I would never do such a thing."
"Dig, I would never confuse you with Oliver."
When she ended the call, she felt Oliver's stare. "What?"
"You know what. What was that supposed to mean, you'd never confuse Dig with me?"
"Just . . ." She waved her hand. "That I wouldn't. You two don't have that many similarities, beyond not talking about your feelings. And being incredibly ripped, though Dig's arms are bigger than yours. Not that there's anything wrong with your arms. They're perfectly respectable, nothing to be ashamed of."
"I like to think so," Oliver said. His lips quirked upward. "What did he say? I assume he's on his way."
Felicity nodded. "He can track Jessica's GPS." She buttoned her coat all the way up to her chin. "I'm going to get out the emergency kit."
"This car doesn't have a trunk," Oliver pointed out. "Just a very tiny back seat."
"Which you are intimately familiar with, I know." Felicity slapped her forehead. "Oh, that did not come out right."
"The point is, you don't have to go outside to get your kit," said Oliver. "You shouldn't go outside. You'll lose your body heat, and you'll let out whatever heat is left in here."
"I know, but I can't reach the bag from here," Felicity said. "It's squashed in behind the back seat."
"You could climb over the seat."
She considered that for a moment. But then she pictured herself turning in her seat and crawling over the center console to get into the back. She was wearing a pencil skirt, which hindered her movement somewhat. She would either rip her skirt or end up giving Oliver a free show.
"No, that won't work," she said, feeling her face heat with a blush. "I'll get out. It'll just be for a second."
Flustered, she jumped out of the car, slammed her door and threw open the back door. Her eyes lit on the faint brown stain on the seat. She'd never quite been able to get Oliver's blood out of the upholstery. She stretched her arm behind the seat, feeling for the shopping bag that contained her emergency supplies, but it was just out of reach. She got in the back seat and twisted around in order to grab the bag. It was caught on something, but she yanked anyway, tearing a hole in the side. She had to bump against the back door twice with her hip to get it shut against the wind. That second hit would probably leave a bruise.
Once she was in the front seat with the bag in her lap, Felicity struggled to get her own door to close. The wind was absolutely crazy. Oliver leaned way over, with a pained grunt, and helped her pull. With the door finally shut, she settled back in her seat with a sigh. Oliver was sitting up, breathing shallowly as if every inhale hurt, which it probably did.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "I wish I could give you another pill, but I can't. I'm sorry."
"I'm fine. It's just—moving hurts. And breathing."
"If you're going to keep insisting on not going to the hospital, you really should invest in an X-ray machine." She started digging through the bag on her lap.
"What good would that do? It would only tell us if my ribs are broken. Either way, there's nothing to be done besides taping them up, which Diggle already did, and waiting for them to heal."
"You're really not good at waiting, though," Felicity pointed out.
She took an inventory of the contents of her emergency kit, out loud for Oliver's benefit. Partly to inform him of their supplies, and partly to distract him.
"Flashlight, flares . . . we can use those when Dig gets closer, so he can see us in the snow. There are still three protein bars, but I ate all the beef jerky. Two big bottles of water, my Mickey Mouse rain poncho, matches, batteries. A first-aid kit, but we don't really need that since Dig took care of you. Pepper spray, which we don't need either. Unless you can't keep your hands to yourself." Her jaw dropped. "Not that you wouldn't. Or would? Anyway, the pepper spray probably isn't effective anymore. I bought it four years ago."
"Is there a blanket?" Oliver asked.
"Yeah, in the bottom," she said. "Why? Are you cold?"
"You are," he replied. "Your hands are shaking."
"That's because I'm freezing. I did have to run out in the snow twice."
"You should wrap up in the blanket," he said. "It could be a while before Dig gets here, and if you can't start the engine, you can't run the heater."
"Oh, poor Jessica," said Felicity, patting the dashboard.
"Blanket, Felicity."
She hated the way he said her name sometimes. She loved it too, but the way he did it—it made her want to promise him anything.
"You don't have to be so bossy," she said. "I'll get the blanket in a second, but you're the one who's hurt. I have to take care of you first."
"I thought I still had two hours to go before another pill."
"You do, but you should also drink some water and put something on your stomach. I don't know how you're not all loopy and weird like I was when I got shot." She set everything on the floor by her feet and pulled the blanket out of the bag.
"I'm bigger than you are, and Diggle gave you two pills because having a bullet removed from your shoulder and stitched up hurts a whole lot more than a bruised rib or two."
"It's more than one or two, and they're more than bruised, I can tell," Felicity retorted, holding out the protein bars. "Now stop ordering me around and pick a flavor."
He smiled then. "Yellow is a good color," he said, plucking a bar from her hand.
"I'm pretty sure that's banana-flavored."
Oliver tossed the bar on the floor with the other items from the kit. "Yellow is a bad color. What else is there?"
"Vanilla. And chocolate crisp. There were some chocolate mint ones, but I ate them ages ago."
"So you routinely raid your emergency kit for food?" he asked.
"Extreme hunger is an emergency."
Oliver took the chocolate crisp bar. He unwrapped it with one hand, and Felicity realized that helping her close her door must have hurt him a lot more than he was letting on.
"Water?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Neither of us should leave the car unless we absolutely have to."
"Why would we—Oh, you mean to pee."
"Yeah."
Oliver took a bite of his protein bar and chewed noisily. Or maybe it was just the small confines of the car that made it seem so loud. Either way, it was annoying.
"Felicity Megan Smoak."
"What?" she snapped without thinking. Only her mother ever called her by her full name, and it was always a precursor to a major scolding.
"Pick up that blanket and wrap yourself up," Oliver demanded. "Now."
"Oh my God, Oliver. You sound like my mother. If you give me one more order, I'm going to poke you in your injured ribs."
"I don't care what I sound like," he said. "Wrap up."
It wasn't much of a blanket. More like a throw. It was a throw, now that she thought about it. She'd never really liked it. The synthetic fiber made it feel kind of slick, and it tended to shed burgundy fuzz everywhere. That was why she'd put it in the emergency kit in the first place.
"That's not much of a blanket," said Oliver as he continued munching on his protein bar.
"I realize that now," Felicity replied. "But I never thought I'd actually need it."
Felicity unfolded the blanket and draped it over her bare legs, tucking the edges underneath her. She was freezing in spite of her coat, and a skirt wasn't really blizzard-compatible.
Oliver swallowed a huge bite and then started to unbutton his pea coat with one hand.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm going to warm you up," he replied, "but you'll have to come over here."
"Oliver, I'm fine. I can just burrow under this blanket until Dig gets here."
"There's no way to know how long that will take, and that pathetic excuse for a blanket isn't doing you any good."
"Hey! It might be a pathetic excuse for a blanket, but it's my pathetic excuse for a blanket."
Oliver finished unbuttoning his coat and pushed the lapels back to either side of his torso. He was smiling, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, which were full of concern. "Look," he said, tilting the rear-view mirror toward her. "Your lips are blue."
Felicity glanced at her reflection. Her bright coral lipstick had mostly worn off, and her lips did indeed have a pretty pronounced blue cast. She almost didn't notice her chattering teeth anymore, but the sight of her lips was difficult to ignore.
"Come over here," Oliver said again. "Please."
She sighed noisily, untucking the blanket. "You have no regard for my personal space and boundaries, do you?"
"Felicity. Your lips are blue. Survival trumps personal space."
She sighed again, mostly for his benefit, and considered how to climb over the center console in her skirt.
"Legs first," he suggested.
"This is weird," she mumbled as she drew up her knees, edged around the steering wheel, and swung her legs over onto his.
"Now just slide over the rest of the way," Oliver said.
Felicity's eyes widened. "But then I'll be sitting in your lap."
"That's the idea."
"Oliver, I don't—"
"The alternative is hypothermia," he said, his breath lifting the loose hairs around her face. "So ask yourself how cold you really are."
"I don't know," she replied. "I was pretty cold before we left the Foundry, and now . . . I'm not even really feeling it anymore. I guess—"
His arm slipped around her waist and he moved her the rest of the way onto his lap. She was too stunned to speak or move as he drew her under his coat and wrapped his arms around her. She started shivering, big, full-body tremors. It was as if her numb body had just woken up and realized how cold it really was.
"So, um, how's life?" she asked brightly.
He smiled against her forehead. "You already know how it is. We spend almost every day together."
"I am trying to smooth over this awkward situation with idle chatter. Humor me."
"Idle chatter?"
"That's what my mom always said to me about my chatter. It was idle. Or banal. She likes words like that. It's funny how many times she'd tell me, 'Use your words, Felicity.' She didn't mean use even more words—she meant use the right ones."
Another big shiver caused her to curl into him, instinctively seeking warmth. When she realized what she was doing, she thought about pulling away, but he'd probably just hold her tighter. So she held very still and mentally told herself over and over to be cool.
"I like your chatter," said Oliver. "It's one of the first things I noticed about you."
"Hmmm, that's nice," she mumbled, turning her face toward his chest. She tried to nose her way into his coat, not caring at all anymore how it looked.
"Your mom is wrong, by the way," Oliver continued. She liked the way his voice rumbled against her ear while he spoke. "It's not idle or banal. It's . . ."
"Excessive," Felicity suggested.
"Entertaining."
"Occasionally inappropriate. Unintentionally inappropriate, I might add."
"Endearing," Oliver countered.
"Seriously?" she asked his armpit.
"Seriously." He sighed. "Wait, are you nuzzling my armpit?"
"No!" she cried, pulling back. "I'm just trying to get warm. Ugh, Dig better hurry up and get here. I'm pretty sure I can't do anything else to make this more awkward, but it won't stop me from trying."
He chuckled, and her breath caught. He had just laughed. It was a sound she'd never heard, not once, from the day he approached her cubicle in the I.T. department until now. It was kind of beautiful, and now all she wanted was to hear it again. Just once.