Chpt 3: Kick Ass Felicity
"Son of a...!" I yell, but I stop myself from finishing. No one is in the lair but me. Oliver and Sarah are out with Gorgeous Laurel, plus one. A double date. Yeaaaaah for them.
Digg is out with Lyla, and Roy is working upstairs. It's just me and the punching bag. So far, its punching bag one, Felicity Smoak zero. I've been hitting this thing for an hour now. Therapeutic, my ass. My knuckles are bruised. I'm sweating like a fat man in Florida, and I think I pulled a muscle.
Currently, my hands are on my knees, my pony tail is in my face, and all I want is oxygen. When I feel like I can stand without getting dizzy, I catch a glimpse of myself in the window. The last time I wore these clothes, Oliver asked me what the hell I was wearing. Screw him. Had he bothered to wait for an answer, I would have told him that I'm taking a self-defense class at the gym two nights a week and a kick boxing class the other three. Shove that in your abs and crunch it, Oliver Queen.
"You're girlfriend isn't the only female on this team ready to kick a little ass," I say and I kick the punching bad as hard as I can. I swear, this time it kicks back and I'm fairly certain I just broke a toe. But, you know what they say, "no pain, no gain," so I kick it again and again and again. Punch, kick... Punch, punch, kick, until the bag is a blur through my tears.
"Damn it!" I hate to cry, especially when I don't even really know why I'm crying. One more punch and I'm done. I hit my knees and suck in loud audible breaths. I am exhausted, physically and emotionally. For weeks now, Oliver has been avoiding me. I guess its all or nothing with him. Apparently no touching translates into no communication of any kind. I miss the days of bullet ridden laptops and sports drinks in a syringe. I start to laugh at just how bad of a liar he was… is, and I think I must be delirious. I can't stop laughing, and I can't stop crying. Maybe I'm losing my mind. Great, the one thing I do have going for me and I'm losing it just as sure as I'm lying on a mat in a poorly lit foundry basement home to a grown man who runs around in tight, green leather pants and a mask. No wonder I'm losing my mind. I love him, and I hate him. Mostly I just want to smack him into next week.
I let my eyes close and I try to think about Brant. He's tall and handsome and smart and funny. Does he add an aspect of danger to my life? Of course he does. He's a fireman. Does he belong in a Greek tragedy? Certainly not. And thank goodness for that. Does he turn my crank? I have to admit that there have been some pretty spectacular sparks. Is he broody sexy? No, he's down right sexy. Do I see myself truly, madly, deeply for him? No, I don't, and that brings me back to what scares me the most. What if I never get over Oliver? "Nonsense!" I say out loud. We all want what we can't have. The trick is in wanting what we have after we get it. I'll concentrate on that.
The next thing I know, someone is yelling my name. Not someone, it's Oliver. I open my eyes, and he is much too close. He looks terrified and his big hands have my face trapped between them. I swat at him like I would a swarm of gnats. "Oliver, let go of me!" I say as I sit up, bang my head on the punching bag, and scoot away from him. That's punching bag, two, or is it three, maybe four? Not sure, but F. Smoak, still a big fat zero. Oliver's chin drops to his chest and his shoulders slump. I stand in an attempt to gain my composure. "What is wrong with you," I squeak.
He takes a deep breath and stands. "I thought you were…."
"What?" I snap and rub the back of my head. I want an explanation. More than that, I'm cranky, and he is the only one around to abuse.
"I thought you were hurt or..."
"I'm fine, Oliver. I must have fallen asleep. Won't happen again," I say as I grab my gym bag and head for the bathroom. I close the door with a little more umph than I intended and start the shower. I am no different than anyone else on this dysfunctional team. I work out and then I clean up, just like the rest of 'em. Oliver had a custom walk-in shower built when he renovated the lair and Verdant. It's beautiful really, big enough for two… Now I just want to hurl. I bet he and Sarah have… I can't even think it. Sure enough, there's a sweet smelling bottle of shampoo right there next to his man wash. Well doesn't this just suck! I grab my own shampoo and body wash from my bag and step in despite the reminders of a life that is not mine. I have to admit, the shower is lovely. Four shower heads, all strategically placed. Ain't luxury grand. I decide to sing. If I sing, I won't think.
When I extricate myself from the bathroom, the lair is once again empty. Half of me is disappointed, but my better half yells, "That's right Oliver, you coward, run! I am woman, hear me roar!" The real me squeals when Sarah drops from the salmon ladder right in front of me.
"Oh, sorry, Felicity. I didn't mean to scare you."
She is sincere, no trace of the sarcasm she uses with Oliver. I've tried to hate her, but I can't. She's too flippin' cool. Truth be told, I like having another girl on the team even if she totally stole my man. And by my man, I mean my boss who I have never had any actual claim to. I realize a little too late that not only did I squeal, but I have adopted a defensive stance, ninja style, and Sarah is trying to hide her amusement. "Try and remember what I told you. One foot a step in front of the other," she says as she adjusts my position. "Keep your weight centered here," she adds and lays her palm on my abdomen. She shoves my shoulders forward so that I am centered. "Hands up a little higher. Protect your face." One more small adjustment and she steps back to critique my stance. "That's better. A little more muscle, Smoak, and you convey quite the intimidating force."
"There's the sarcasm," I snark, and stand up straight, feet together, hands by my sides.
"I'm serious. You've been working out haven't you?"
"A little, I guess. You know, weakest link and all."
"More like heart and soul of this team," she says as she grabs a towel and wipes her face.
I shake my head. "I'm just the IT girl."
"Right," she whispers.
"Well, thanks for the pointers," I say a little awkwardly. "See you tomorrow?"
"Not, tomorrow. Not for a while."
Well that's very mysterious. "Are you going somewhere?"
Sarah busies herself with the free weights. Honestly, I don't think I could roll that much weight across the floor much less lift it repeatedly. "I'm meeting an old friend. Gonna' see if I can get a little help taking down Slade."
Just let it go, Felicity. "By old friend, you mean Nyssa? Or maybe someone else from the League," I ask complete with air quotes around the word League. Please just kill me now.
"The less you know, the better Felicity."
I think of all the things I know that could get me killed or arrested, not to mention the things that come out of my mouth. "Amen, sister," I say before I can stop myself. "Where were you two years ago with that sound advice?"
She levels me with a look, and I wring my hands in front of me."When do you leave?"
"Tonight."
"Does Oliver know?" Why Felicity? Why? Of course he knows. He's her boyfriend. They live together. Here, in this basement, as a matter of fact. I'm standing in the middle of their home asking her if her boyfriend knows that she is about to run off to meet her ex significant other to ask for help in defeating her current boyfriend's arch enemy. A boyfriend that she no doubt knows I have feelings for. Correction, used to have feelings for. Okay, maybe I still have feelings for him, but I'm trying very hard not to.
"He knows."
What is it with the people I surround myself with? Are they not allowed to answer a question using more than three words in a sentence? Is there some sort of vigilante hero code that I'm not privy too? "Well, have a nice trip," I say lamely. "Be careful."
"Yeah, I will," she says, and she gives me that same look that she always gives me. It's like a Mona Lisa smile. I'm not sure if she is annoyed or amused.
I use the basement entrance that leads to the back parking lot. I wonder briefly where Oliver went then I see him, right on cue, leaning against my car, arms crossed over his chest. I take a deep breath and continuing walking straight toward him. I mean, my car. I'm walking straight toward my car. He is between me and my driver side door. I stop in front of him and match his stance. He stays quiet for a moment and his eyes roam my face until they finally lock with my own. "Do you think people can change?"
Really? That's the conversation he wants to have? "Oliver, I think people can get better if they work at it. We are who we are. Rarely does that change, but I think we can put forth a better version of ourselves as we live and grow. At least that's what we should try to do."
He scowls. Perhaps he was hoping I would say 'yes' and leave it at that. He should know better. I drop my bag to the pavement and steady myself. "What is it, Oliver?"
"Felicity, I've been selfish my entire life. That's not an excuse, it's a fact. I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I didn't think about how my actions, you know, the way that I touch you… I didn't think about how that might make you feel. I never meant to lead you on. I just… I don't know, sometimes I just need to remind myself that you're real. I've never really known anyone like…"
"Hold up, Oliver." I can feel the angry flush racing up my neck and into my cheeks. "You think I asked you to stop touching me because it, what, makes you too hard to resist? Of all the egotistical, self-absorbed…" I shake my head. No word is strong enough to describe the depths of his self-centeredness. "You are unbelievable, Oliver Queen!" I emphasize the unbelievable part by poking him in the chest, twice. Apparently I am feeling quite bold. "For your information, I asked you to stop touching me because it's patronizing and condescending. You can't pat me on the shoulder and tell me I'm a good girl, your best girl, like you would a golden retriever who just fetched your newspaper! Perhaps that might have worked on the old Felicity, the me that left her dignity in the bottom of a syringe full of innovative sports drink technology, but not now. I've done and seen too many things, Oliver. I am not that same girl. You don't get to pat my cheek and tell me I'm your partner just because you think I need a bone," three, two, one "which is totally in keeping with my golden retriever metaphor and is in no way meant to be a sexual ref…"
And then he kisses me. He grabs my shoulders, hauls me to his chest, and plants his lips square on top of mine. I freeze, and then I melt. He feathers his fingers through my hair and slides his arm around my shoulders. He smells like musk and sweat and adrenaline. I close my eyes and lose myself in his kiss. It is gentle but demanding, much like Oliver. A soft mewl escapes my throat and I crash. Anger swells in my chest, and I shove Oliver hard. He barely moves, but it is enough to get his attention. "What the hell, Oliver?" He is shaking, as am I.
He looks paniced. An emotion I rarely see in him. "I'm sorry. I thought… I didn't mean…"
"It's okay," I say and I lay my hands on his chest. "It's okay. You just… surprised me." The hurt on his face has me scrambling to explain. "Oliver, now is not the time for this. We," I say as I move my hands back and forth between us, "this, this is not a good idea. You have so much going on right now with QC, Slade Wilson, your mother. Oliver, you're exhausted. Let me be your friend again. We're good together. We make each other better. Maybe someday, when all of this craziness is done, we could give "us" a try, but it has to be when we're both on solid ground. It also has to be when we're both single. I will not be the other woman. Surely you can understand that." He looks at his feet and nods in agreement. "Oliver," I whisper and take his face in my hands, force him to look at me. "You are one of the most important people in my life. I think that maybe I've led you on by reacting the way I do when I'm around you, and I'm sorry for that. I will admit to having a little fan-girl crush once I found out about your night time activities. Billionaire CEOs with a bad habit of hanging out in rough coffee shops don't impress me. You've seen one, you've seen them all. But a focused and disciplined man who selflessly puts himself on the line for his city and his friends, that's something you don't come across every day. I love you, Oliver. I love you on so many levels. You've taught me to be strong and confident in a way that I never thought possible. I want you to know that I'm here for you no matter what, and should working with the Arrow get me hurt or worse…" He grabs my wrists and interrupts me with a plea, one word... Felicity. "Oliver, listen to me. I have absolutely no regrets when it comes to what we do. None. My life, my choice, remember?" He wraps his arms around my shoulders and again pulls me to his chest. The gesture is tender this time, protective and loving. I lay my ear over his heart.
"Felicity, I don't know what it means to be a friend. I think the closest I've ever come is being a good wing man to Tommy and he was supposed to be my best friend. I'm not sure…" His voice falters and all I want is to comfort him.
"Hey," I say and pull away just enough to see his face, "we'll figure it out together, okay? Don't worry," I wink, "I'll let you know if you're doing it wrong." He smiles and I feel the butterflies awaken in my gut. Down kiddos. Now is not the time. I pull away from him and he is slow to let me go. I pick up my bag and wait for him to move, but he doesn't. "Oliver, you better get back inside. You have a girlfriend to say goodbye too."
"Felicity," he drawls. It is amazing how much weight my name can carry when it leaves his lips.
"Go," I say. "We're good here. Way better than we were an hour ago." I smile, and I find that I mean it. He returns the favor.
A/N: Whew! That one got away from me. Apparently I had a lot to say. I like independent Felicity. Thanks for sticking with me. I hate to admit it, but reviews are addictive. Please feel free to fee my habit