He awakens in a fog, and the first thing he realizes is that he's far too comfortable to be in Felicity's tiny sedan. His hood has fallen back, the eyepatch is (mercifully) gone, and his jacket is unzipped. Hot air fans across his cheek, and he knows it's not right for a car's heating system. After enough of the fog has lifted to open his eyes, he tilts his head to the side to find two very large dark eyes staring at him, attached to the biggest dog he's ever seen in his life. It's black and... woolly, its head is titled downward to stare at Oliver.
The dog's tail is wagging, but Oliver has had enough experience with security dogs to know that doesn't always mean anything. The beast simply watches him expectantly, waiting for him to make a move. When Oliver stays still, the dog finally prompts him to action with a sudden, loud bark that makes him jolt into a sitting position. Then he groans as the bullet wound tears.
"Grendel," Felicity's voice calls from another room, "leave him alone. He's not a toy." Her head pokes out of what looks like a kitchen, and she smiles at Oliver. "Good, you're up. That monster at your feet is Grendel. But don't worry—he's a gentle giant. You're only in danger of being licked to death."
Oliver doesn't say anything, watching the dog warily. When he manages to sit up on what he now knows to be a couch, the dog crawls up next to him, and he notices the white patch on the dog's chest and belly for the first time. Oliver pulls up his shirt to look at the bullet wound, surprised to find it already sewed up. Whoever set the stitches was an expert; they almost look like a doctor did the work. He doesn't have much time to look at it, though, because Grendel demands his attention with a heavy paw on his leg. Warily, he pets Felicity's monster of a dog, and he apparently takes it as permission to lay his head on Oliver's lap—but only his head, because there's no room for the rest of the dog.
He absently scratches the dog's ears while staring around the room, taking in the two three-cushion couches in the room, both purple. The lights are low, but she's painted the walls a canary yellow, and it feels surprisingly warm.
Felicity limps out of the kitchen with two mugs in her hands, and Oliver notices an ice pack on the table on the opposite end of the couch. She's changed into pajamas at some point, flannel with what looks like llamas on them, and he shakes his head. Of course. It's Felicity, so he's not asking questions anymore.
She hands him one of the mugs with a smile, her ponytail swinging behind her with some hint of the previous curls. "It's cocoa," she explains as he takes it from her. "I don't have any marshmallows, but I thought something warm would be nice after the cold tonight." She chuckles when she sees the dog draped across his lap. "He likes you, and he doesn't usually like people." She frowns. "I found him under my doorstep one day after work, and it took me a whole bag of baby carrots to lure him out. I think he'd been abused. He was just a puppy then, and I had no idea he was a Newfoundland until I took him to the vet." She chuckles. "He was just thirty pounds then, and I thought he was full-grown." Her expression changes as she meets Oliver's eyes and says, "But, by that point, I'd already fallen in love with him—I couldn't have let him go if I wanted to."
She swats at the dog, and he reluctantly climbs down off the couch so that she can sit on the opposite end from Oliver, facing him. But Grendel climbs between them immediately, laying between her legs and resting his head on her thigh. He's big enough that his tail flops onto Oliver's leg.
Oliver takes off the green jacket, draping it on the arm of the couch next to him. "You seem to have a knack for taking in strays," he answers quietly, clearing his throat when his voice comes out in a rasp.
She chuckles, even though she seems surprised that he's speaking to her at all. "Well, birds of a feather," she answers with a wave of her hand, sipping on her cocoa. "And I like strays. Anymore, it seems like no one understands that the well-tempered blade is the strongest." She studies him again with those intelligent eyes. "Grendel's a survivor. So am I. So are you, I'd bet."
"How did you know?" he asks then, and her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "How did you know who I am?" he clarifies. "The world thinks I'm dead, so what made you realize they were wrong?"
She shakes her head, smiling. "You're an open book to anyone paying attention, Oliver," is her answer. "You gave me your name—thank you for being honest about that, by the way—and then I saw the way you tensed when Diggle mentioned your sister." She shrugs. "And then when you saw Thea again, you had those big, sad, puppy-dog eyes, and it all clicked. And then tonight, you went all... grr"—she completes the description by clawing the air—"on that sniper when he almost hit Thea. Between that and the laptop, it wasn't a huge stretch."
He looks around again, the realization that this is Felicity's home finally setting in—that he could be interrupting something. "I hope I didn't scare any roommates when I came in." He frowns, asking the question, "How did I get here, by the way?"
Felicity pats Grendel's head as she sits the mug behind her. "Grendel's my only roommate—apart from Roy crashing in my guest room on occasion—and he likes you, which earns you a few extra points." She hesitates. "And, well—no offense—but you're ridiculously heavy and I can barely put my own weight on this ankle. So I called in some reinforcements to carry you in." She waves both hands wildly, and Oliver realizes his expression has turned dark. "But they didn't know who you were!" she adds quickly. "I made sure of that. It was Digg and Roy, so they'll keep it quiet." She points to his hip. "I patched you up after they left."
His eyebrows rise in surprise. "These stitches look like I went to a hospital," is his slow reply. It's meant to draw information out of her, but he's also surprised that she doesn't mention the myriad of scars across his torso that he knows she saw when she patched him up. But then he remembers how surprisingly considerate she is, and he's not surprised any longer.
She shrugs. "I've been patching up Charon's residents for a long time, Oliver," is her short explanation. Then her eyes flick to another doorway behind Oliver, and she nudges Grendel, who finally climbs off the couch to sit at her feet. She rises behind him, motioning Oliver to follow her as Grendel pads along beside her. He grabs his jacket before doing as she asks, and he watches the pair with a faint smile, the dog's nose even with her elbow.
Oliver enters carefully, but then he realizes by the generic feel of the room that it's the guest room. She lays a pair of nondescript gray sweatpants on the bed, then studies him for a moment before pulling out a black t-shirt. "I like to keep extra clothes on hand, just in case someone hears about Charon and comes to me in tatters," is her explanation.
"I think these will fit you, if you want to get out of those clothes." Her eyes fall over him in an appreciative way he doesn't expect—in a way he hasn't received from a woman in five years. "That shirt is covered in blood, and those pants are tight. Like, really tight." He raises an eyebrow as the corners of his mouth lift involuntarily, and her face heats. "Not that I've noticed," she adds quickly, and he chuckles in a way he hasn't in a very long time.
"Thank you, Felicity," he says then, and, for the life of him, he has no idea which act of kindness he's thanking her for. She's done so much for him, and he's done so little to deserve it. He isn't worthy of it, but perhaps he's been too long in the world without people like her, and he's selfish enough to want some semblance of normalcy. Still, she knows he's the Arrow and she isn't running.
She hesitantly reaches out to him, intentionally with her left hand, and he tries not to flinch when she puts her hand to his face, her thumb running just under his damaged eye. Maybe he likes that she doesn't try to pity him, that she doesn't treat him as damaged goods. "You're welcome, Oliver," she answers quietly. She bites her lip. "And you're welcome to stay—for as long as you'd like."
Part of him knows this is a dangerous situation, but he can't find it in himself to care because he wants this. She's somehow worked her way through his walls and defenses, and he doesn't deny the attraction between them. Judging by the way she's staring at him, if he were to act, she'd let him. He places his hand on her shoulder tentatively before sliding it up to her neck. She bites her lip, showing the same nervousness he feels, but she doesn't stop him. It gives him confidence that is completely unwarranted, and he steps forward, leaning toward her in a way that makes his intent unmistakable. Her only response is to let her eyes fall on his lips, and she still doesn't stop him.
But the knock at the door, however, does.
They jump apart instantly, and Felicity turns a not-so-delicate shade of crimson, suddenly refusing to look at him. "You go ahead," she says, motioning to the clothes. "I'll just—" She makes an awkward hand motion, uncertainty all over her features. "I'll just get the door." She points to the opposite one. "There's a bathroom through there—feel free to use whatever you need."
She bumps into him, and he steadies her, tilting her head up so that her eyes meet his. "We'll revisit this conversation later," he murmurs quietly, and he doesn't think it's possible, but her blush darkens again. He can't fight back the smile because he enjoys the effect he has on her.
Apparently she enjoys the effect she has on him, too, because she offers him a smile that immediately puts him on edge. Her eyelids flutter, her gaze dropping to his mouth in a way that makes him want her to just forget their visitor altogether. "I'll look forward to it," she answers quietly, and it's all he can do not to kiss her right then.
The knocking is insistent, though. "Come on, Felicity," a voice calls, and they both freeze when they recognize it, the color suddenly draining from her face. "I know you're there, and we need to talk—now."
Felicity takes a step back. "Your decision, Oliver," she states calmly, then motions to his attire. "But, either way, you probably need to get out of that green gear." He nods, and then she's gone, closing the door behind her.
He takes her advice, changing into the clothes on the bed quickly and efficiently. Then he listens at the door, though he doesn't need to sneak around to eavesdrop; Thea is predictably loud and her voice is rising. "...heard what you said to the Arrow. You called him Oliver, and then you pointed to me." There's something in her voice that sounds like a strangled sob, and she stops. It's immediately followed by the click of heels on hardwood flooring and Felicity's low murmurs of comfort.
"Look," she says finally, her voice so quiet he has to strain to hear her, "I know it's crazy—I know I'm crazy—but I—" She sighs. "I never thought Ollie died when the boat went down. Mom was distraught and she didn't want to hear it, but I knew better. I want to believe he made it somewhere safe, that he came back home." Something changes in her tone, and it destroys Oliver because he knows she's crying. "And I know it's a crazy leap, but tonight gave me hope and… Please, Felicity. If my brother is alive, just tell me. I promise I won't look into it or try to find him if he doesn't want to be found—I just want to know I'm not imagining things. If not, I need someone to help me let this go."
He can't take it any longer when he knows she needs him, that all it would take to comfort her is for him to step out of the shadows and say something. He turns the doorknob, stepping out into the living room to find her facing away, though Felicity looks up at Oliver, waiting and watching. "I think," she says slowly, "that it's okay to miss your brother."
He takes a deep breath, steels himself for what he's about to do. This was supposed to be anonymous, and now he's about to do exactly what he wanted to avoid. "Especially since he's missed you so much over the past five years," he adds quietly. He finds himself still in the shadows, and he hopes she still can't see how damaged he is. Not yet.
Thea whirls, not hesitating to stand up and move closer, gasping when she recognizes him from Felicity's office. "You were right there in front of me," she whispers. "I knew it. I should have trusted my instincts." She wraps her arms around his neck, and his arms fold around her.
"I can't come home, Speedy," he says finally, warning her of the inevitable heartbreak she's about to face, and she laughs at the familiar nickname. "I'm not the same person anymore."
She pulls back long enough to say, "If you think you're going to scare me off, you're wrong. I'm not the same person anymore, either. But you're still my brother, and I'll take you any way I can have you."
She releases him, and Felicity says from the distance, "He's going to be staying here, so you're welcome here any time you want." She doesn't ask Oliver's opinion of this because she probably already knows how he feels about it.
Thea releases him to turn back to the other woman, pointing a finger. "I trust you to take care of him, Felicity," she states, her voice taking on a dark tone that doesn't even make the blonde flinch. "I lost him once, and I don't want to lose him again." Part of Oliver wants to protest that he's not anyone's responsibility, but they all know Felicity is going to look after him—whether he wants her to or not.
"I'll do my best," Felicity answers with a smile, "provided you keep this quiet." She looks at Oliver before looking back to Thea. "Not that he'd admit it, but I don't think Oliver is ready to be Oliver Queen again just yet."
Thea nods, going back to give her brother one last hug. "I have to go before Mom realizes I'm gone," she says quietly, "but I'm coming back tomorrow—first chance I get." She looks at him as though she thinks he'll disappear again, and it's a valid concern since it seems to be what he's best at.
"I'll be here," he promises her, and he means it. She nods once before leaving, and Felicity closes the door behind her, sighing deeply. For a moment, the room is too quiet, filled with too much emptiness, but then Oliver remembers the other promise he made tonight.
He takes steady steps toward Felicity, all the while wondering if he should forget it and revisit it another night. But he can't because he already knows that he'll never take the opportunity again, and something about that just seems unacceptable after all that Felicity is to him. "I believe we had a conversation to finish," he murmurs to her once he reaches her, letting his hand cup the side of her face.
"So we did," she answers, maybe a little breathlessly. "But I'm willing to wait until you're ready to finish what you started." It's a subtle challenge, uttered with a smile and a raised eyebrow.
He answers it by meeting her lips with his own.
The kiss is slow and tentative, as if both of them are afraid to move too fast into whatever this is that they're creating. But then it becomes so hesitant it's almost agonizing, and Oliver grows more insistent, surprised when Felicity pulls him closer in a silent plea for more, one hand clutching at his shoulder blade and the other at the back of his neck. He has no idea how long they stay like that, but when they break away, she leans back against the door, desperately trying to catch her breath. Admittedly, he's not in much better shape.
For a long moment, they just stand there, but then she breaks the silence for them. "I'm sorry you couldn't go home, Oliver," she says carefully, even though they both know he could if he wanted to. But then he realizes that the Queen mansion will never been home for him again; he's lost too much, and he would never be the same to him now that so much has happened.
Finally he answers her with, "I am home, Felicity."