A/N: Feeling a little rusty with these two, but the muse thought this was a good idea. Thanks for reading! Enjoy.
Felicity's been through this before.
So many times.
So much loss.
The finality of it all is the worst.
The finality and the shattered look on Oliver's face. The one she knows is mirrored on her own, as well as Thea's and John's.
Quentin had stumbled into the room ninety seconds too late. She'd looked up when the piercing wail that told them Laurel was gone was replaced by the low moan of a father who had lost again.
She didn't remember them being ushered from the room, or how she ended up sitting next to Thea holding her hand while Oliver stood staring out the window and John paced a track in front of the closed door muttering about how they'd spent too much fucking time in that hospital the past year.
The rapid staccato of high heels on industrial linoleum made them all turn to see Donna Smoak rushing their direction and after only a brief hug she slipped through the door leaving them once again in silence.
"Dinah," Oliver said suddenly, his voice not sounding like his own. "She needs...someone has to-"
Thea rose to her feet, hand already digging her phone from her back pocket, "I'll do it."
"No, Speedy, I can-"
"Please, Ollie. I need to do something and...just let me, okay." she rasped, looking as if the task she'd given herself was the only thing keeping her standing just then before she disappeared down the corridor.
Felicity slid her now empty hand back to her lap, eyes locked on the two lost men in front of her. She'd only gotten the bare update on what had happened but she knew they were both drowning in guilt. Andy's betrayal, had cut them both deep but for different reasons.
In slow, mechanical moves she stood, carefully pulling on her coat, taking the time to do up the buttons and tie the belt. There was nothing else they could do there. Much like Thea she'd given herself a mission and she didn't intend to fail.
She reached for Oliver first, her hand landing on his forearm where she waited for him to acknowledge her with the slightest of head turns before she slipped her hand into his, tugging once to get him to follow.
John took more effort, as if he didn't know how to leave his post.
They made their way down the hallway three once more, at least for the moment.
No one protested when she asked for the keys, the car silent as she piloted it without thought. Lyla and baby Sara stood waiting on the sidewalk when she pulled to the curb, John practically falling from the car to gather his family to him.
Felicity waited until Lyla gave her a sad wave before she drove away again, the car almost driving itself back to the loft.
It wasn't until they were in the elevator that she realized what she'd done. Oliver hadn't said a word if he'd realized as well, but she suspected he didn't.
She still loved him. He still loved her. That hadn't changed. And as they walked through the door together the familiarity was what they both needed just then.
The keys were placed on the table by the front door, her heels at the bottom of the stairs. If it wasn't for the oppressive silence and the grief she was barely keeping at bay she thought she could close her eyes and imagine nothing had happened.
Oliver still stood stoic three steps into the loft. Numb and in shock.
Without thought she took him by the hand again, towing him along as they climbed the stairs.
Somehow it wasn't awkward walking into what had once been their bedroom. She guided Oliver towards the bathroom, their eyes locking for a brief, heartbreaking moment just as the door shut. When she heard the water turn on she went into the closet and stripped letting her clothes fall in a heap to the floor, exhaustion and sadness giving way to apathy.
Oliver's t-shirts were still in the second drawer down and she took the one on top, not even bothering to notice the color.
The sheets were cool as she slid into them, the tears she'd been fighting for so long steadily dripping down her face as the final, futile wall she'd built fell. She made it as far as the middle before the sobs overtook her.
It was warmth she noticed first when Oliver joined her, pulling her into him so tight she couldn't see or feel anything but him as she struggled to just keep breathing. As her tears subsided she noticed his shoulders shaking as well and it was her turn to hold him, to comfort him, to be his rock once again.
Their sleep was fitful and dreamless, but he never let her go and she never pulled away. As if making up for the lost weeks they'd been apart they stayed wrapped around each other, drawing on the strength of their connection that was bent but not broken.
When she cracked open swollen, dry eyes the following morning she gave herself a few minutes to remember how it had been until she had to force herself to sit up or risk ruining everything.
Even in sleep he looked tortured, the furrow between his brows deeper than she'd seen it in almost a year. With a shaking hand she smoothed it gently until he'd relaxed some and leaned down to brush her lips over his.
She didn't know what another loss would do to Oliver. She didn't know what it would do to them.
The only thing she did know six hours after she'd lost a friend was that she would do everything she could to put a stop to Damien Darhk's plans and make him pay for what he'd done.
