A/N: I wanted to do something different than the standard, which is usually to have the line spoken by someone who's mortally wounded. Really, this line is almost as ubiquitous as "Don't die on me!" :P Anyway, I hope you like what I've done with it.

I'm Not Going to Make It

"I'm not going to make it."

Felicity's arms burned, holding her entire body weight as she hung from the bar on the bottom rung of the salmon ladder. Dig was supposed to be spotting her, but he was just standing off to the side, huge arms crossed, smiling that annoying "I know things" smile.

"Just remember that this was your idea," he said.

"How could I forget? You've said it three times since I've been hanging here."

She'd done a few experimental pull-ups, but she hadn't been able to move the bar, and now she couldn't move at all. Any minute now, she'd lose her grip.

"You know, I should have through this through a little more," she said. "Who uses this thing? I didn't even know what a salmon ladder was until I met you and Oliver. You never use it. Sara did that one time, but she had a lot to process. Only Oliver does this regularly."

"And you know the man isn't right in the head," said Dig.

Felicity snickered, swinging a little, but when she saw Oliver coming down the steps, she clamped her mouth shut. Crap. She'd hoped to have gotten down before he showed up. How was she going to get down? She was shorter than him—it would be a longer drop. Onto a concrete floor.

"Is this what you two do when I'm not here?" Oliver asked. "Hang around on my training equipment and trash-talk about me?"

"The hanging part is new," Felicity said. "And I'm pretty sure I'm never going to do it again. I don't know what I was thinking. I sort of imagined it would be like the uneven bars, but it was a dumb idea anyway. I got kicked out of gymnastics when I was seven."

Oliver's half-smile was replaced by a confused frown. "It seems like a lot happened to you when you were seven."

"It was a busy year," Felicity replied. "Now are you two going to help me down, or are you going to leave me hanging here and walk away like we're in some stupid movie?"

"Felicity, you're not even three feet off the ground," Dig said.

"That's not the point," she insisted. "It's a concrete floor. I could crack my head open."

Oliver tilted his head. The half-smile was back. "If I help you down," he said, "would you do something for me?"

"Anything." It came out sounding more desperate than she'd meant it to, but she was desperate. Her hands were slipping.

Oliver's half-smile widened into a full one as he took two steps forward to stand in front of her. When he placed his hands on her hips, she was so surprised that she let go of the bar. Which had probably been his plan all along, since he caught her easily and then set her down. His eyes betrayed nothing, but she kind of thought his hands lingered a second or two longer on her hips than Dig's might have.

"You're on the hook now," Dig said to her. He was smiling too, the "I know things" one. "All he did was set you down, and now you're at his mercy."

Oliver winked at her. Damn. That always made her blush furiously and caused her stomach to flip.

"Oliver," she said slowly. His name felt like a secret on her tongue. "Ben Parker once said, 'With great power comes great responsibility.' Something to keep in mind while you're mulling over the possibilities." She wiped her sweaty palms on her snazzy workout pants, afraid to look him in the eye. Her legs were already wobbly—she couldn't take another wink. She risked a glance anyway.

Oh God. He was making the billionaire pouty face, the one that made her want to slap him. Or kiss him. She wasn't always sure which, and it was confusing.

"Will you bake me some cookies?"

Felicity burst out laughing. "You have these magic hands completely at your disposal, and you want cookies?" Her laughter abruptly cut off. "That did not sound dirty in my head, I swear. I just meant 'magic hands' as in computer hands, not sexy times hands."

"Thanks for clearing that up," Dig said drily.

"Cookies, Oliver? Really?"

He put his hands in his pockets. "Dig mentioned the ones you made for him when I was . . . gone. He made them sound amazing, and I just—"

The pout was gone, replaced by a sadness in his eyes that took hold of her heart and squeezed. Whatever he was thinking, whether it was about all he'd lost at home or all he'd lost on the island, he was miles and miles away from her.

"All right, if that's all you want," Felicity said with a loud sigh meant to draw him back to the present. "They are amazing cookies."

"Now?" Oliver was smiling again, the sadness pushed back down to wherever he kept everything else he felt but didn't know how to express.

"Now," she repeated. "You want me to bake you cookies now?"

He shrugged. "You have the night off. I'll help. I could run to the store for whatever you need. I could stir."

She smiled at that, but then she remembered something. "You can't, Oliver. You have that fundraiser thing for your mom's campaign. In fact . . ." Her eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you be there right now?"

"I already called," said Oliver. He grinned, and it almost took her breath away. He had teeth, perfect bright billionaire teeth. His entire face lit up. "I said I'm not going to make it."