Thanks to quisinart4 for the reassurances, enthusiasm and beta-ing.
I think the worst thing about this site is that I can't reply to guest reviews (especially on one shots).
To the four other guests and people who alerted and/or favourited: Thank you so much! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far.
To the guest who left a nasty review: I don't think it's fair that you're so quick to write something off that's barely began. This fic doesn't fit under a love triangle scenario, IMO. And though the concept may be unoriginal, they're realistic with so many paths to take it, so I wouldn't say they're predictable (who they end up with might be, but that's most likely why you're here in the first place). But you can do/think as you please because no one is forcing you to watch the show or read this. Thank you for your thoughts, but I don't appreciate the way you expressed it.
two
You know that sinking feeling in your stomach after you realise you made the wrong decision? That's how Oliver's feeling. On top of the headache from going back and forth on whether it is the wrong decision in the first place. He tries to convince himself it was the right move telling Felicity he can't be with someone he truly cares about, but every time he sees her, he wonders what flavour her lipstick is, what her hair smells like, if she likes blueberry pancakes or waffles with strawberries and whipped cream.
That sinking feeling only amplifies when he sees her with Allen from Applied Sciences for the seventh time since he first came up to his office. He supposes they're just friends, but with the way he leans into her pushes the friend line a little too dangerously for his liking.
He had so badly wanted to get things back to the way they were before Russia that he hoped pretending everything was fine will do exactly that. (It didn't.) He's never realised how much he looks forward to talking with Felicity, how much he counts on her word fumblings to brighten his day, shed light on a dark situation until all that was left of her is reservation and tight smiles.
He had hoped that what he told her after Russia is enough, for now at least. Losing Tommy is still a wound he needs to lick better. Watching someone die in front of you is difficult. Watching your best friend; someone you grew up with, someone you stole legos with from Thea when she wasn't looking, someone you trusted enough to look after your first love… Watching the life from your best friend's eyes dim while there's nothing you can do about it is another world of pain completely. He can't be too close to anyone, let alone be romantically involved with someone, in his line of work. It's too much to risk with too much heartbreak that follows.
From day one he knew Felicity would be someone of great importance in his life, and that belief only grew with time. Oliver had never been challenged when he asks people to do something. It caught him off guard when Felicity questioned the objects he brought to her. (Granted, they were very suspicious.) He knew then that she wasn't like any other girl. Felicity is someone who believes the good in people until they give her reason not to. She's someone who doesn't discriminate by social status, or race, or intelligence; she treats everyone with equal respect - the same way she wants to be treated. It's in this way that she's different from everyone he knows. For that, he has a special place in his life carved out for her to remind him to be the same. He makes room for her as the source of his only light and conscience during the darkness.
He's in his office bored out of his mind when he finds himself curious about what she's doing at her desk, constantly flicking his gaze in her direction. He's more than mildly interested with what's on her computer screen that has her so engrossed and a bowl full of emotions. Her facial features shift quickly and frequently. When she laughs lightly, a smile stretches across his lips; when she pouts, his head tilts to get a better angle of her lips; when she rolls her eyes and looks put out, he itches to walk over there and say something to hear her laugh, see her smile, make her happy. He's just about to do exactly that and suggest an early lunch when Barry struts in and says something that makes her laugh, before she grins brightly at him, looking happier than the week after Russia.
The first time he met Barry Allen, the younger man seemed strangely familiar. As he studied him, the physical similarities between the two struck him, but the feeling of accomplishment quickly faded and the itching sensation on his brain heightened. When Allen's ears turned red and he started stuttering an apology, rewording his sentence so it didn't sound suggestive, Oliver's heart stopped.
Not only does he look like a younger version of himself, but he shares Felicity's mannerisms and quirk. His company record showed a similar line of history with hers. Education, interests, social status, age - as the list goes on Oliver feels the rational side of the brain being swallowed by anxiety of losing Felicity. (Which he'll later comprehend is completely ridiculous because he never had her to begin with.)
He's not proud of what he's about to admit, but he follows them out to the cafe two buildings down. It's only when they're seated on a couch with Felicity's lips moving fast as her hands fly around (looking more animated and happy than he's seen her in a week) that he realises how much of a creep he's being.
"Where's Felicity?" Digg inquires half an hour later before digging into his sandwich.
He glances at him from his computer. "With Barry."
"You say that like he touched your precious crossbow."
"I don't trust him."
"Seems like a pretty decent guy to me. And I trust Felicity's judgement."
"I knew she had a crush on me," he admits, looking down at his untouched club sandwich. "But I didn't think it was anything more than that."
"Oliver," Digg warns, his tone dangerous.
"She's my friend. I miss her. She used to tell me about her hard days and what she's feeling. Most of the time, though, her face is so expressive that I can tell when she's mad or excited. I have enough secrets to last me two lifetimes. I don't want anymore, much less from her."
"She's my friend too," he reminds him. "You're sacrificing your own happiness to potentially save her life. It's noble, Oliver, and I'm on your side for that. She has another chance to be happy with someone else, please respect that."
"But what if-"
"Oliver, you can't do this," he interrupts harshly. "You tell her that you don't want to be with someone you care about, and then rub it in her face about how much you care for her but can't be with her? And you certainly can't tell her she shouldn't be with Barry because - what? He's not good enough? You're jealous? You'll be sending mixed signals and stringing her along. I won't let you hurt her again."
He regards him for a moment, the words coming in one ear and out the other. "Did she tell you something?"
The man avoids his gaze. "We talked last week."
Sitting forward in his seat, Oliver pushes his food away, ignoring his spiking heart rate. "About what? What did she say?"
"That's between me and Felicity. Drop it." The colour of Digg's voice stops Oliver from continuing the line of questioning, but it burns in his throat. He pokes at his sandwich.
His words echo and shatters the monster that had consumed his logical side. "You're right. I promise I won't do anything." He swallows down the burn.
Digg knocks on his door. "Ready?"
"Just a sec." He quickly closes the police file before shutting down his computer.
(Okay, so he was looking up Barry Allen's police history - he's picked up a couple of things watching Felicity. He was just making sure Felicity isn't hanging around a criminal. (The guy's clean - not even one little speeding ticket.))
Heels clicking through the office floor bounces around in his ears, and Oliver's heart beats faster at the thought of Felicity. She said she'd meet them at the Arrow's base. Did she forget something? His eyes sweep her desk through the glass and frowns when he doesn't see her favourite orange coffee mug in its usual place.
"Oliver."
His frown deepens when it's not her voice that calls his name.
Isabel passes Diggle without a glance in acknowledgement to him; her laser-sharp eyes trained solely on him. "I'm glad I caught you before you left."
"Ms. Rochev," he addresses politely. The first week after Russia, they'd met up once or twice after work, but he immediately put an end to it when she hinted that she wants more after a night of scotch. It didn't help that it was the same day he saw Felicity and Barry walking out of the building, smiling bashfully at each other. Isabel's been relentless in spending time with him since then, asking him if he's busy, if he wants to go for a bite, if he wants coffee because Felicity can grab them for them both. She'd joke during meetings and he'd smirk courteously before he'd look over helplessly at Felicity so she'd give him a mock stern look before feigning falling asleep, like they always do - only she wouldn't be paying any attention to him. When Isabel calls her in for a coffee run, she doesn't make a face at him when the woman turns her back, instead she'd ask him if he'd like a cup. He doesn't hesitate to decline every time. (Even though he needs one to keep awake during those lifeless meetings.)
"Are you busy tonight?" she asks, a certain look in her eye.
He twists his mouth wryly. "Actually, yes."
Her head tilts slightly, her thin eyebrow raising. "With what?"
"Work." That's all he gives as he tips his head at her and heads for the door. "Oh." He stops in his tracks and turns back to her. "Can you turn the lights off when you leave? Thanks."
"Hey," Felicity calls out from her place in front of her computers. "Hayes' gone dark. I can't find anything."
"It's fine," Oliver replies. "We'll be waiting. It's the twenty-first century - we'll get him and he'll wonder if that pack of cigarettes was worth it."
"I don't think he smokes," she guesses, eyes glued to her monitor.
"Good. It's bad for his lungs," Digg adds dryly, throwing his gym bag over his shoulder as he heads to the training mat. "We might as well get some training in tonight."
After they've all changed out of their work clothes and into more comfortable ones, Oliver quickly takes his place in front of Felicity, who's already jumping on her toes, ready for the workout.
"Hey," Oliver breathes some time later. "What happened to your mug?"
"Hm?" she murmurs, throwing a left hook and narrowly striking his jaw as he dodges in the last second.
"On your desk?"
"Oh. Barry accidentally dropped it." She drops her arms and straightens her stance as her face shifts to a pondering expression. "Come to think of it, he still hasn't gotten me a new one," she declares, tone accusing.
His mouth twitches, but rolls them together to keep from smiling. He may not be guilty of illicit activities, but-
"Less talking, more hitting, Felicity," Digg chimes.
"Sorry." She pulls herself quickly in the correct posture and smoothly dodges an uppercut he throws her way.
"When did he drop it?" he questions, taking in her quick jab and blocking a quick and powerful roundhouse kick just in time.
She drops her stance again and huffs at Digg. "Can I change punching buddies? Oliver's distracting me."
He waits eagerly for her to stammer and fall into a spiel correcting herself, but it doesn't come. Instead, he's nudged aside and spends the rest of the night on the sidelines watching Felicity and Digg laugh and train without him.
He's starting to think that the last three weeks of pretending things are the same isn't the right strategy. What happens in Russia definitely doesn't stay in Russia.