2.

"if you were to kiss me,
right here, right now,
my lips would taste like lemon and honey
and uncertainty
and love"

oh, you are all of the stars' by ffalling-through-clouds

o

It's a strange thing, watching her work. She possesses the kind of concentration and iron discipline that Oliver's has had to learn through literal pains of hell. But for Felicity, it's innate. She is made this way, it's who she is. She sits on that chair and rips into whatever she has to with a single-mindedness that would be chilling, if he didn't know her as well as he does.

She resurfaces to say goodnight to Digg and Roy, though neither bats an eye when she does so in her 'I'm coding' voice. They've been talking around her for a while but she's so deep in whatever it is she does that she's hardly derailed for more than some hot coffee and the occasional 2% brain-powered answer they might need from her. They all know better than to interrupt anyway.

Now she's leaning against the back of her chair, swinging from side to side a little bit as she reads from her tablet. The screens behind her are all active, multiple windows of data scurrying through, things Oliver knows he won't understand unless she explains them for him the way she might to a five year old. She's so focused on whatever she's reading that she's completely unaware of her surroundings even as he comes close enough to stand right in front of her desk. There is a part of him that wants to be annoyed at her for being so completely lost in her natural habitat, holding on to that tablet like it's a lifeline, free hand close to her chin, thumb annoying the cuticles of her forefinger as she reads on.

It's not annoyance that has him stopping and studying her though.

Oliver makes a bet with himself: will this finally be the time that she startles so much that she'll drop that tablet.

He knows he'll lose. There's a snowflake's chance in hell that Felicity Smoak will drop a piece of tech she holds that dear.

"Hey."

Felicity inhales sharply, and holds her tablet that much closer to her chest even though she jumps in her seat as a full-bodied shiver rip through her. And yes, maybe that is a little funny.

The glare she gives him a fraction later: less so.

"You know, sometimes I think that you guys enjoy how I yelp and that is why you're all ninja around me."

A small, genuine smile softens his face. "Sometimes?"

"Cute. One of these days, I'm gonna get creative and make you jump like a ten year old kid, and then where will we be?"

"Approaching the apocalypse, probably." Oliver says, daring a smile as he walks around her desk.

Felicity's narrowed eyes follow him.

"Was that a challenge? Cause it sounded like a challenge. I'd say it's a challenge."

Oliver put his one free hand up, palm facing her, disarmed.

"The last thing I need is a prank war with you." He says, meaning every syllable. Felicity shakes her ponytail off her shoulder, turning her nose up at him a little bit.

"Wise choice," she says drily, though she can't hold it forever and finally a smile breaks through. When she looks at him her eyes are bright with amusement and a hint of mischief. "A prank war sounds all kinds of fun though. I can just imagine your face."

Oliver sobers up immediately, just a little bit tense, and she laughs at him. The sounds shivers over his skin, raising goosebumps and it's nice. It's… yeah. He really doesn't want that thought following him though, probably because Felicity already has him crawling up the wall without even trying. He doesn't know what would happen if she actually did try.

"Peace offering." He says instead as sits down on the chair close to hers, holding out a steaming mug. Felicity takes it (that tiny moment when her fingers brush his registers with annoying clarity), though from the look on her face, she's not very enthused.

"I'm not sure I can take anymore caffeine tonight." She tells him, lips pursing in a pout that makes the word 'adorable' curl around his thoughts with the softness of a purring cat.

"It's herbal tea," Oliver explains.

"Oh. Okay. Thanks."

She wraps her hands around the mug and brings it close to her face, blows a bit on it, to cool it down before she dares a sip.

Oliver watches.

She's dressed all in black tonight – a rare sight. Usually she's a burst of fresh colors.

And skin.

Summer comes with a lot of Felicity's skin showing, apparently. Dresses with strategic cut-outs that make his throat feel dry. Pleated short skirts that flirt with the creamy skin of her thighs. Loose tops held up by dangerously fragile-looking straps – like the one she's wearing right now . He hadn't noticed before, but now that her leather jacket has been discarded somewhere and the thin black hoodie she had underneath hangs off the back of her chair, Oliver notices everything. From it's dark flowery prints and how smooth it looks, to how it leaves the arch of her round shoulders bare.

Felicity leans forward a bit to tinker with the keyboard, concentrated on the screens in front of her, and Oliver finds his eyes drawn to the nape of her neck, tracing the dip of her spine; following the movement of the smooth expanse of skin between her shoulder blades. A wave of heat slams into him like a high summer midday sun in , leaving Oliver struggling for a full breath for a moment there. He licks his dry lips and drags his eyes away. He expels a long, slow breath and gulps down with difficulty, caught completely off guard by how immediate her presence is, how warm her skin looks even in the harsh white light of the foundry.

She looks like she's dipped in gold sometimes. When did she get a tan?

His eyes immediately fly up to her throat, slide along her collarbones. The missing tan-lines tell an interesting story. The image that burns behind his eyelids, alive and vivid, makes his mouth water.

He blinks fast and looks down again, rubbing his thumb on the palm of his other hand in soothing circles.

Jesus!

But then Oliver catches sight of her feet and he has to bite back a grin. Because of course. Of course she's wearing fire-red socks spotted with neon-green polka dots. This is Felicity.

Her sneakers have been discarded under the table and he watches her toes curl in every now and then, wonders what color her toenails are today. Probably white.

Felicity has patterns. About what shoes she wears, which skirt and different combinations with the many shades of her lipsticks. The most unpredictable thing about her is the shade of her nail polish. It's a guessing game Oliver likes to play in his head every day before he meets her. It's not really about her mood, though sometimes it matches. More than once he's been curious to ask but hasn't dared.

Her fingernails are painted bold red today. They have been for a few days now – though one of them is always painted white – which is why he thinks her toes are white too. Yesterday it was her pinkie, today it's her ring finger.

Oliver's eyes follow the arch of her palm to her wrist.

She has such tiny hands, really. The bone structure of her fingers is so fine that it reminds him of the wings of a bird.

The errant thought of what those red-tipped fingers would look like scratching down his chest is so bright that he can see the very image flashing in front of his eyes and it shocks Oliver into himself almost as much as her eyes on him do.

He clears his throat, straightens in his seat. Open and closes his mouth before he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. (did she notice him staring?)

"Any progress from Steelgate's accounts?"

Felicity tilts her chin towards her screens.

"Decrypting as we speak. Transferring the money out won't be a problem but the Cayman's banking system has surprisingly complex security. Which is not that surprising, when you stop to think about it, considering how many dubious people hide their money there, but anyway. That'll take a while."

She brings the cup close, breathes in the fresh scent of lemon and herbs coming from the cup and sighs. He knew she'd like it.

A small smile curves one corner of his lips up. "You mean you can't do everything in under three minutes?"

There's enough genuine feeling behind that tease, as if it's never occurred to him that there are things with computers that she actually can't do, to make Felicity smile.

"No. Sadly, I can't. Though it would be sadder if I could." She adds after a moment of thought. "I mean, I like a quickie as much as anyone, but every once in awhile a girl needs a proper challenge. "[13]

Oliver feels his eyebrows reaching for his hairline just about at the same time as Felicity catches up with the words that just came out of her mouth… and almost chokes on her sip of tea. Oliver doesn't even realize that he's staring at her dead in the eye without blinking, instead of just looking away or continuing the conversation as if he hadn't noticed her slip. But the image she just shoved in his head is sort of trapped in a loop there and he has to breathe through his mouth all of a sudden. He does notice her pink cheeks and the flush on her sternum though.

"Hacking wise, I mean," Felicity corrects with a wince. "The quickie… thing. That is what I… meant. Moving on!"

He knows what she means. What's he's wondering is actually how far that blush goes beneath the V neckline of her top. It does make him smile though, because god, there really is nobody else like her, is there?

"You know I've always meant to ask you," he starts, changing the subject as if she'd said nothing out of the ordinary – which, all things considered, she hadn't. "Why were you in IT?"

The question seems so random that it distracts her out of her momentary embarrassment. She gives him the tiniest frown, confused.

"What do you mean?" She sounds perfectly normal, but Oliver doesn't miss the twitch of her fingers.

He's always considered it one of the most obvious things about her, once he got an idea of what she was capable of. Until now, it never really seemed like the kind of thing he could just ask.

Oliver never 'just asks' anything to anyone. That would mean giving people the opportunity to ask things back, and Oliver has too many secrets to be comfortable with that.

But now… the foundry is so quiet, it's only the two of them and computers running and she's looking at him with a tired face and sharp eyes, face glowing in the blue light of her computer screens as she leans towards him just a little bit. She looks beautiful and just for a moment tonight he thought, frantically, that she would never breath again and he wants to.

He wants to know.

He wants – and it's stronger than the dread of being wanted back.

But he lays his reasoning calmly, with the same self-evident tone that his thoughts have in his head.

"You graduated MIT with a Master's Degree at twenty-one." Oliver starts. "You can shadow government agencies, hack into satellites and break through cyber security that everyone thought was impossible - and you never even bat an eye."

Felicity smiles at him, a more natural rosy tinge staining her cheeks this time and Oliver leans forward, elbows on his knees, looking at her as openly as he dares.

"So far, the only thing you couldn't hack into…" Oliver's voice fades just a tiny bit, and once it becomes clear that he's not going to continue, Felicity finishes for him.

"Merlyn Global."

She says it quietly, all soft voice and gentle eyes. The whole experience rushes between them, an unexpected floodgate of hurt, but Oliver doesn't look away. He can still smell the heavy dust in the air, still see Tommy lying there in the semidarkness, bleeding out. Dying.

The moment sinks its steel claws into him and it feels as if he's back there, buried alive under rubble and wanting to die, his whole body tense, his mind screaming at him.

"Oliver?"

He blinks furiously, eyes finding Felicity's face through the blur. He takes in a harsh breath and sees her hand move, as if to reach him, but then she draws hit back, curls her fingers in her palm and swallows thickly.

She looks so scared…

Ultimately that's what breaks him out the mire of his own thoughts.

"Yeah, Merlyn Global," Oliver says as he clears his throat, trying to swallow down his heart and focus on this moment instead. Trying to hold on to it, to her face and how soft her skin looks and the golden halo of her hair around her face. (he remembers what they say about drowning men, but he can't help it. Maybe that's why he doesn't dare touch her nine times out of ten)

He was talking about Felicity. Trying to learn something about her. Something important. That's what they were doing.

She waits for him, face set into forced nonchalance, though he can see the whisper of trepidation just beneath that thin veneer. Oliver tries to smile, tries to come back here again, to where it's safe. To where she is.

"I may have been the worst CEO in history," Oliver points out, earning himself a tremulous smile. There, that already feels better. "But even I know you're too good for just IT."

"You settled." He says it simply. He'd rather not point out right now that it feels more like she was trying to hide. "Why?"

Oliver makes sure to speak the words as softly as he is capable of, but he sees it in her eyes, when contemplation turns to trepidation. He has no right to ask for secrets really, but for the first time in a long time he wants to know someone else's enough to be willing to risk his own.

It doesn't feel like a question to Felicity either, not really. It's more like an invitation. He's been asking questions like this more often than not these past few months. Exchanging them for unexpected little tidbits of his own: random confessions that always freeze her steps. The first time he had to hunt by himself. The first storm he had to weather in the Island. That one time that he got caught in his own snare. That other time that he crashed a car and send the girl he was with to the hospital. Secrets he opens for her almost carelessly, like envelopes (she knows better than to believe that) when it's quiet and they're just talking.

In turn he asks her things. Questions that only she can answer; questions that mean he'd have to get to know her. That he wants to.

Felicity tries really hard not to think much about why.

Usually she fails.

"I wanted something quiet for a while." Felicity finally says.

There's a lot to be understood in that sentence. She waits to see what he will get from it.

His smile is tiny and it softens his whole face into a look of warm affection. It makes Felicity want to hold on to something solid before she decides to take a leap and ends up breaking her neck.

"Something boring?" Oliver asks around that smile.

She knows what he's thinking about. She remembers standing in his rundown lair and agreeing to one job, and one only.

It hasn't even been two years since she'd been so desperate for boring and normal. It feels like it's been a lifetime.

"Kinda like that, yes."

She mirrors him, unconsciously perhaps, her voice lowering as his does. Bringing each other closer, focusing attention solely on the other, everything else fading at the edges, like the world through foggy glass.

They sit with barely a foot between them and stare, as silence takes a life and heaviness of its own with all the words unsaid.

Oliver feels his heart speed up a little. These moments of quiet feel so breakable to him, and completely overwhelming at the same time. Any wrong move and they'd be over, so he deals with them the only way he knows how: with exceptional stillness – feeling as if, if he moves too fast, he'll startle her. (Felicity, in the privacy of her mind thinks he's rather afraid of startling himself, but really, it's hard to tell with of them is more on edge). But at the same time, this breathing quiet between them feels like tiptoeing on the edge of a downwards slide: something inevitable and huge that they both seem to be aware of, one way or another.

Right now though, they're just two friends talking. He likes this about them: that they talk. The more he does, the easier it gets. And the things he finds out about her, little corners of her he never knew, are always fascinating.

"Had you done any of this before? The hacking, I mean?"

"Yeah," she says it like it's obvious, but to him it isn't. "I mean, you can't do the things I do from just knowing theory. Obviously, you have to know computer science theory and have cyber-tech knowledge, but my kind of skills… I taught those to myself."

There is a strange look on his face, a clash between the deep contemplation in his eyes that that small amused tilt of his lips. A moment later she learns why.

"I bet some of that involved hacking into places where you really shouldn't have been hacking," Oliver says, leaning forward just a little bit.

Felicity tilts her head at him. Playful, but not quite. He's fishing. Which is odd because Oliver generally doesn't fis for answers. A moment later it comes to her - there's no way he didn't notice her withdrawal. And this – this is him trying to lighten things a bit. It's not really that strange that it takes her a full five seconds to figure it out. This is a new thing, for him.

It makes her want to reach over, take his hand, touch his face. Maybe just a little bit. To say 'thank you'. To say 'I really like you when you try to be goofy for me'. And, more frightening still, to say 'please.'

She's such a liar. Doesn't matter what she'd say; she just wants to touch him.

"Among others," Felicity admits, fingers curling around the mug he gave her, leeching its warmth. Her smiles falls as she contemplates how much to tell him, if at all. A part of her has been wondering for years how it would feel to just tell someone. And now… she's in the place she feels safest, with one of the people she…

With Oliver…

She starts slowly, still unsure. Just a bit unsteady. Despite that, she meets his eyes without hesitation.

"It was different for me, back then. I was different. I didn't really know my limits and I wanted to. Turns out, my limits stretched quite a bit…" Felicity sighs heavily, leans back in her chair and turns it around to fully face him, rueful regret on her face. "I made a mistake. Someone else paid for it."

She doesn't have to say anything more than that. Understanding settles on his features almost immediately and he lets her see it all unfold: how surprised he is to find that she too knows what it means to be reckless at the expense of someone else, before compassion deepens his eyes. It makes Felicity's ribs loosen just a bit, unclenching from the echo of an old hurt. Her heart's still drumming against her breastbone though, anxious and surprised at the same time that she really did speak the words. She said it out loud, and to him. She's never spoken of this to anyone and it feels frightening. It's scary to open up and let light shine on old hurts, but it's a relief too. She knows Oliver. She knows he doesn't really judge people's past mistakes (nobody's judgment is ever going to be as harsh as her own, really). And the understanding she finds, after such heart-stopping fear, it's like a warm water down her spine.

Lovely.

Felicity doesn't need forgiveness. Nobody can give that to her. But feeling safe enough to trust someone with the parts of her that hurt most is something she hasn't done in a long time.

And the way he looks at her right then, that is a look that makes Felicity want to forget how dangerous the line she is toeing really is.

"Felicity, whatever happened, I'm sorry you had to go through it," his voice is so gentle it makes her feel warm. "But I'm also glad that you made it to the other side, because I'm glad to know you.[14]"

"Yeah, me too," she says after a few moments. And then blinks fast a couple of times, shakes her head a little. "That you made it through, I mean. Not me. Cause I'm glad to know you too."

Felicity is grateful when her computer beeps. Grateful to have an excuse to look away from him, because when he goes all blue eyes and open-faced at her like that, she hardly knows what to do with him.

… Or with herself.

"Decryption complete," she says with a sigh. "Now I know what I'm looking at, and I can find a way in."

She hears Oliver get up and step up close to her side, hoovering.

"You can do that tomorrow," he tells her as his hand brushes her shoulder, fingertips just a breath away from the bare skin of her collarbone.

He never touches her bare skin. It has always felt deliberate, somehow.

"It's 3 am, Felicity, and you were hurt tonight too. You need to rest. All this will be right here after you get 8 hours of sleep."

"It was a bump," she insists, mulishly. "And besides, it's Sunday tomorrow. I'll sleep in."

Though she has no idea why she's arguing really. She's so tired she might just fall asleep on the keyboard and she's not doing that anymore because the last time that happened, Felicity had ended up in his cot, wrapped in his blanket. Which explained why she woke wrapped in his scent, wet and aching, vivid dreams she couldn't shake off pressing hotly against her eyelids and between her thighs.

Yeah, a fat big nope to that one. That's not happening again. Ever.

What is happening is his thumb tracing small circles on her shoulder.

That's… a change too. He's so still when he touches her, usually. But not always. And not now. The motion is almost hypnotizing, but Felicity catches herself before she actually leans in to it.

"Felicity."

Yup, that's it. Her name. Insistent, just like that.

'Get up Felicity.' 'Stop stalling, Felicity.'

She rolls her eyes.

"Ok, ok."

She turns her systems off and gets up. It takes Oliver just a moment too long to remember to get out of her way, but he takes a hasty step back once he realizes they're almost chest to chest.

He's in rare form tonight, she thinks trying to find that last thread of exasperation that usually saves her.

"Want me to drive you?"

Felicity shakes her head. "I have my mini parked outside."

Oliver frowns at that. "I'd still feel better if I drove you. Your hea…"

She turns to face him, determined.

"My head is fine. You know it's fine. I'm perfectly able of getting myself home." But as she talks she frowns, and then her face softens just a little bit. "Are you staying here again?"

She doesn't even pretend not to know that he's been bunking in here for weeks. Oliver doesn't pretend it's not true, in turn. The only answer he gives is a shrug.

He hasn't set foot in the mansion since that night and they both know it.

She edges a bit closer, hesitates a fraction before asking. "Are you still thinking about selling the Mansion?"

Oliver's one shoulder shrug feels a bit helpless. Maybe it's just the momentary pained look on his face.

"I wanted to talk to Thea about it before I decide anything though. She hasn't been answering my calls lately."

Felicity tilts her head a bit to the side, her open face easy for him to read. They look at each other in complete recognition and it feels like he can snatch her silent offer to track his sister down right out of her thoughts.

Oliver shakes her head minutely. His palm brushing against her forearm briefly says 'thank you anyway'.

Felicity sighs, nods. The look she gives him after is resolved, almost a challenge.

"Fine. For tonight. But tomorrow, you and I are going shopping."

She almost cracks a smile at his adorably confused face.

"What?"

"We are going to buy a bed." She tells him as she starts climbing the stairs, and almost misses a step for how fast she turns. Oliver's steadying hand on her forearm is faster than her oncoming babble. Or maybe it just puts a dent on her momentum for a moment.

But just for a moment.

"I mean buy a bed for you. To sleep in. Here. That's what I meant."

The mental picture of shopping for a bed makes him a bit slower – which is why it takes him longer than usual to take his hand back from where it was wrapped around her forearm.

"Felicity…"

"Nope. No buts. If you're determined to sleep here then at least you should be comfortable."

She turns the lights off and locks the door of the foundry, and then turns to him. That glint in her eyes tells Oliver he has already lost the battle.

It's not like he was fighting that hard against it anyway.

"You may have been stranded in the wild for who knows how long, but you don't have to live with the bare essentials anymore, Oliver. And a comfortable bed is important." She blinks about three times in rapid succession and winces at her choice of words, but doesn't correct herself even though her cheeks are starting to stain pink.

Oliver takes a deep slow breath.

"Okay."

The surprise at his quick capitulation shows on Felicity's face briefly, and Oliver wonders if he really is that difficult to deal with. The thought makes his spine curve just a little bit, shoulders feeling heavier. It makes him want to step back from her.

But then her face breaks out into wide smile, and she bobs on the balls of her feet, her enthusiasm lighting her up like a beacon.

He could kiss her right then and there. He wants to.

The thought is insistent, making his palms itch to feel the softness of her cheeks, to feel how warm she really is. Alive… He's acutely aware of how close they're standing and feels himself tipping forward, drawn to her in a moment that stretches on like hot rubber and traps him in.

In that one moment the need to know if her lips are exactly as soft as they look is more overwhelming than anything else. Than logic or sanity or all the thousand reasons he has given himself for not kissing her. Stronger than the lurking danger of the two of them together, always reminding him he is too good at violence and she is too good at forgiving… because maybe he can be that person for whom forgiveness is worth it. And even though his hands have forgotten what tenderness is, Oliver knows he would be nothing else for her, because most times when she looks at him, all he wants to do is to fall on his knees. Doubt never stops gnawing at him, because every time he's held something beautiful in his hands, it has shattered right between his palms, fresh rosebuds crumbling between his fingers like bruises. But Felicity's so strong though. And so close…

He sees her smile fall, how her eyes widen ever so slightly. He knows the precise moment when she stops breathing, sees it getting trapped in her throat as she tries to gulp it down. Sees her tongue peek between her lips when she wets them, pink and wet and knows, right in that moment and with frightening clarity, that she is going to ruin him for all other kisses. That he might spend his whole life trying to forget her name and failing, and it doesn't matter. It doesn't. It's worth it.

Her eyes are dark and her lids low and she's looking at his lips… and it would be so easy. Just an inch. He knows how. His heart drumming against his chest reminds him of it.

The stickiness of his sweaty palms reminds him of something else.

This is Felicity, and she is beautiful and vibrant. Alive in ways Oliver has forgotten how to be, and doesn't even know if he'll ever remember… and if he hurts her, it might just kill him[15].

Felicity blinks fast against the wait that stretches on too long. (against the fact that she knows exactly when his intent changes – sees it in his face. These are things about Oliver Queen she knows that she shouldn't ever have glimpsed. But she has, and it hurts.) The breathless moment ends and in that same heartbeat, awareness solidifies in her, heavy like a black stone falling[16], that she had been waiting for Oliver Queen to kiss her.

And he hadn't.

Felicity straightens, surprised at herself and a little afraid. A lot confused. (There's time later, for the hurt. That comes later. That's what she tells herself anyway) Awkwardness burns at the back of her neck. Embarrassment crawls up her spine and heats her cheeks. She feels like her head is going to explode and all she wants is to melt right into a puddle and disappear through the cracks of the asphalt, right here in the middle of the Glades.

You keep telling yourself you're not going down there, but where are you exactly?

The truth of it mocks her.

All that screeches to a stop when she looks him in the eye, and finds him staring back with panic lighting up his eyes. He's barely drawing breath even through slightly parted lips.

It's the most afraid she's seen him.

Oh, Oliver…

Her eyes prickle, but Felicity grits her teeth against that. So not the time for tears right now.

Felicity forces herself to curve her lips up. It's tremulous at best.

"Goodnight Oliver."

Her voice comes out thick and laden with emotions but it's too late to do anything about that. She hates it. It's not his fault she's slipped and fallen straight into stupidity tonight. And now he's gonna feel guilty about that too.

"Wait! Felicity!"

She's barely turned away from him but the way he says her name makes him sound so urgent. Felicity takes a deep breath and tries to find what's left of her calm before she turns. She's not going to be that girl, damn it! She refuses to be. He doesn't owe her anything and she most certainly doesn't owe him anything.

She looks at him and the naked, frantic desperation she finds on his face almost rocks her back to her heels. He gulps heavily, opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. He looks anxious and helpless, his eyes screaming 'I'm sorry' to her and Felicity feels her heart crack just a little bit along familiar paths. The answer comes to her whispered from that place where she shoves all uncomfortable truths she can't deal with, on a daily basis. It comes to her clear as a bell and shakes uncomfortableness loose.

It doesn't matter in the face of this.

She takes his hand – it stills him, completely – and leans in. Pulls him down just a little bit, far enough for her to kiss his cheek. The shaky breath he lets out moves the tiny strands of hair close to her ear and raises goosebumps along her throat. (just when she least expects it, just when she's ready to be done, she feels his hand shake - and clearly, she doesn't understand anything anymore)

Felicity straightens. The quiet smile on her face is more honest this time. The stunned look on his remains.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Ok?"

His fingers twitch around hers, tightening their hold before he lets her go. She follows his Adam's apple when he swallows that down with such difficulty. He says 'okay' back, a choked word that makes her run her thumb along his scarred knuckles. He hasn't even blinked once.

He open's her Mini's door for her, closes it after she's in. When she's backing out of the parking space, Felicity chances a look into her rearview mirror. He's still there as she left him.

There is a geyser waiting to explode in her mind, all those things that she's so good at not thinking about, but she gives herself time.

Wait till you're home. Wait – for steady ground beneath her feet. A familiar environment. Somewhere safe where she can break down.

Not that it would make much of a difference anyway.