Author's Note: I feel like this is not my best chapter, but I finished it a few days ago and have gone through edits twice, so ... this is how it's going down. It takes place the same day as the last chapter, and is a continuation of that evening (just to be clear). I hope you're not disappointed in this one. Also, thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/favorited - seeing those alerts makes my day! Let me know what you think of this one.

Edit: baybelletrist over on AO3 pointed out that there was an incorrect usage of an idiom in this chapter that I didn't catch, so I've gone back and changed it. Everything else is the same. Thanks for catching that and pointing it out! =)

By the time she got home from shopping, Felicity felt foolish for what she'd said to Oliver. Not the part about wanting to take them all away and keep them safe, because she'd meant every word of that and more, but the part where she'd told him he could quit being the Arrow. She felt foolish because she knew he would never do that; but she also felt foolish because a part of her didn't want him to give up being the vigilante. What Oliver did was dangerous, and always would be, but it was good work. He had already made such a difference in their city. Team Arrow fought the good fight; it was grueling, dangerous, scary work that was definitely not inside the constraints of the law, but it mattered. What Oliver did – what they all did, mattered. Felicity believed in the work they were doing. She believed in them. Only sometimes, when it felt like the people she cared about were a little too close to crossing the line and inviting the darkness a little farther in the door, did her fear get the best of her. Starling City, and so many other cities like it in the world, needed to be saved – but why did it have to be her friends that saved it? Let someone else save it, a part of her wanted to cry, let someone else do the work. Just come with me, and be safe, and be happy.

Maybe, someday, they'd do exactly that – but she doubted it. That was not who these people were. Felicity knew her friends, and understood them, and they were just not the people who gave up fighting. Against insurmountable odds, or drones, or bombs, or shipwrecks – it didn't matter. They were the people who fought, and kept going.

So Felicity fought with them, in her own way. She hacked government satellites, and patched up their wounds, and gave them every ounce of strength she possessed when they thought they'd lost their own; she lifted them up, or knocked them down, and never, ever told them they couldn't do it.

And, until today, she had never asked a single one of them to be less than what they were: fighters.

Felicity blamed that on the adrenaline rush, and subsequent crash. She'd been frightened, and worried, and Sara had asked her to do something difficult in a pinch. That was all. She'd panicked a little, and Oliver had been the only one there to take it out on. She felt better now, though, and had recovered from the morning's incident. Barring a few melancholy thoughts, her excitement for an evening out with her friends had taken over.

Roy had opted out of going with them. Felicity had done her best to goad him, and promise that they wanted him there, and that he had every right to go; he had steadfastly refused. She sort of understood, really, but she hoped that he'd adjust more fully to his new circumstances sooner rather than later.

She had taken her time picking out an outfit. The restaurant Lyla had chosen was nice, but not exorbitant, and this wasn't exactly a date. She was going out for dinner with a group of friends. Still, Felicity had had a hard time deciding on what was an appropriate dress code for the occasion. In the end, she opted for a bright blue and white cocktail dress. The cool colors would complement whatever suits Digg and Oliver decided to wear, whether they were black or gray. Felicity had never really seen Lyla dressed up, but she had a feeling that the other woman probably preferred earth tones. So, in any case, she wouldn't clash with anyone.

Felicity left her hair down. She debated on doing ringlets, but decided that she didn't want to spend that long on styling it. A few soft waves would do the trick. Her glasses were exchanged for contacts, and then she set about applying her make-up. For her lipstick, she chose a fire engine red; the color contrasted nicely with the ones in her dress.

There was no reason for Felicity to feel nervous, but she did. She took her time choosing her earrings, settling on a pair of slim, petite arrows that hung tip down. A little smile tugged at her lips as she put them on; the earrings could be a private joke for the four of them, a silent tribute to their extracurricular activities. Granted, Lyla wasn't necessarily a member of the team, but still. Lyla knew what Digg did, and Oliver's secret identity, and had helped them in the fight against Slade. That earned her an honorary membership, at the least.

Felicity's stomach was doing unnerving somersaults as she left her home. Her cell phone announced the time to be just after six; by the time she got to the lair, it'd be close to thirty minutes past the hour. They should make it to the restaurant a few minutes early.

"There is no reason to be nervous," she muttered to herself as she drove. "This is not a date. Digg and Lyla will be there."

The words did nothing to soothe her nerves. If anything, it actually made them worse, because what new and horrifying way would she find to embarrass herself over dinner?

She parked in the lair's garage and then used the walk to the door to give herself a pep talk. These were her friends; the people she spent most of her waking hours with. They had saved cities and outsmarted criminals together, so surely they could enjoy a night out with each other. Admittedly, Digg and Lyla were not the ones that made her nervous. Oliver's voice kept flitting through her thoughts: "I think the word you're looking for is double date". Only it wasn't a double date, because she and Oliver weren't dating.

They weren't dating, and this wasn't a double date, but he had told her he loved her.

"Not going there," she said to no one in particular.

When Felicity reached the bottom of the stairs, Oliver was nowhere to be seen.

"Oliver?"

"Be right out." The bathroom door muffled his voice.

As was usually the case, her eyes instantly traveled to her computers. Only as she looked at them did Felicity remember that she'd meant to look into that name Nyssa had given her. Well, Sara had given it to her, but it was sort of a gift from both of them. Assuming that names could be gifts, anyway. Felicity glanced over her shoulder at the bathroom door, which was still closed, and then down at her phone. They had plenty of time. She could pull up a quick Google search without making them late.

When Oliver emerged from the bathroom a minute later, he was not remotely surprised to see a small blonde figure seated in front of the computer monitors. That woman could not resist the pull of technology.

"That can't wait?" he asked as he stepped up behind her.

"It's just a quick search," Felicity answered off-handedly.

He stood behind her and watched her type. At the top of the page, Felicity had typed the words "Arabic" and "light". Oliver was surprised to see that that was what she was searching for, because he'd been thinking about that name Sara had given her since she'd left. He'd never heard the word before, but something about the way Sara had told Felicity what it meant – and about the "light" thing itself – kept nagging at him.

Felicity chose the first webpage with a summary that caught her eye. She scanned the page and then made a pleased sort of humph sound in the back of her throat.

"That's sort of sweet, actually," she muttered. Then, reading from the page even though Oliver was probably close enough to read it for himself, "The name Nur is unisex, and means light, or the opposite of darkness, and radiance, as in something that gives off light on its own, such as a star."

Behind her, Oliver felt a little like he'd been punched in the stomach. You need someone who can harness that light that's still inside you, Sara had said all those weeks ago. Then she'd conveniently given Felicity an Arabic name that literally translated to "light". The part of him that wasn't finding it irrationally difficult to breathe wanted to growl in irritation. Very subtle, Sara, he thought acerbically. No wonder she'd sounded so gleeful over the phone.

"I like it," Felicity said, drawing him out of his thoughts. "It's …"

"Fitting," Oliver interjected.

"Flattering," Felicity finished simultaneously. "It's prettier than 'Godmother', at any rate." She put the computers to sleep instead of turning them off completely. She pushed her chair back gently, unsure of how close Oliver was and not wanting to hit him, and then stood and turned to face him. "Wait." She tilted her head to the side as she looked at him. "How is it fitting, exactly?"

Oliver was not blind. In fact, he had perfect eyesight; so he found himself thoroughly speechless when Felicity finally stood up, and he was granted his first real look at her for the evening. He had never denied that his partner was a stunning woman, but he often forgot in the drudge of their day-to-day activities how inadequate that word seemed when used in conjunction with Felicity Smoak. The blue streak that cut down the middle of her white dress (or maybe the dress was blue, and the sides were white) made her eyes appear impossibly bright beneath her dark lashes, and waves of gold hair swathed one of her shoulders when she tilted her head at him. She pursed fiery red lips at him and furrowed her brow.

"Oliver?"

What were they talking about? He cleared his throat. "We should go. We don't want to be late."

Felicity startled and gasped out a little "oh!" as she glanced down at her phone. They weren't late yet, but her Google search had shaved off more of their time cushion than she'd anticipated.

"Right," she agreed, breezing past him on the way to the stairs.

Oliver caught up to her easily. When they reached the landing, he stepped around her to hold the door open. He held out an arm as she passed him and then fell into step just behind her; his breath stuttered in his chest when his fingertips grazed over bare skin. There was a diamond shaped cutout in the back of her dress that he hadn't noticed before.

Felicity and her love of clothes with cutouts were going to put an early end to his life.

She knew the moment he touched her, and the moment his hand fell away. Felicity started talking to distract herself.

"I'm sorry," she started uncertainly, "About what I said earlier. Asking you to quit being the vigilante was wrong, and I know that. I don't even want you to, really."

Oliver arched an eyebrow at her in silent challenge.

"Well. Of course I want you to, but I know that what we do makes a difference in this city. I just sort of freaked out after the whole Sara nearly dying thing."

Oliver's hand spanned the gap between them again and the pads of his fingers pressed lightly into the small of her back. "I know."

Felicity swallowed and nodded. Miniscule electric shocks were radiating up her spine and through her body, originating from each one of his fingertips. How in the hell was she going to get through this dinner?

She didn't notice until they were on their way to the restaurant that Oliver had chosen to wear a gray suit. The radio station had decided to play one of her favorite new songs, so she hit the volume button on her steering wheel and turned it up a few decibels. She glanced over at Oliver to see if the increase bothered him, but he either didn't notice the change, or didn't mind. The thought crossed her mind that he looked a little big in the confines of her Mini, and then from there her thoughts jumped to the fact that the blue in her dress complemented the gray of his suit nicely.

Felicity was a mover. She could never resist tapping her fingers to the beat of the music, or shimmying her shoulders, or tapping her toes; she never felt the need to. One of her hands had started to quietly tap out the beat against the back of her steering wheel, and all of her nervous energy channeled itself into the movement. Then, she started to hum.

Oliver had taken to watching her as soon as the tapping started. Felicity had a good sense of rhythm, only losing the beat when she had to turn a corner or use her blinker. He didn't know if she was even aware of the way her head had started to bob. He caught her soft hum just beneath the strain of the music. At first, that's all it was: a wordless hum.

He caught the movement of her lips first. Her words were whispered in time with the song, so he only understood a few of them, but he was more focused on watching her than listening. Oliver angled his shoulder more into the door and turned his chest slightly toward her so he could see her better, but she didn't notice.

The turn into the restaurant parking lot was a right turn. Felicity's eyes traveled in the direction of her path, and then they kept going, only to find Oliver half turned in his seat and watching her with a nameless expression.

"What?" Felicity queried, suddenly self-conscious.

Oliver smirked. "I don't know that song."

Oh. Of course he'd seen her silly dancing-that-wasn't-quite-dancing. "Uh, it's called 'Latch'," she offered, because she didn't know what else to say.

Felicity parked the car. She'd barely had enough time to gather her purse and cell phone before her door was being opened; she hadn't realized that Oliver was already out of his seat. A hand stretched out for her.

Well, that was awfully sweet of him. Felicity slid one of her hands into his and let him help her out of the car, smiling widely at him when they were face to face again. "Thank you."

Oliver's hand drifted to the small of her back and stayed there as they made their way into the restaurant. Felicity gave the maître d her name and he promptly led them through the softly lit room.

They were ten minutes early and Digg and Lyla had still beaten them there. Digg stood as they approached the table, smiling as he moved around the table to greet Felicity. Even with her high heels on she had to stretch to press a kiss against his cheek.

"We would've been here sooner," she explained, "But I had …"

"To do something with your computers," Digg finished, his eyes twinkling with humor.

Felicity chuckled. "Apparently I've become boring in my old age."

Oliver had pulled her chair out for her and waited until she was seated comfortably to take his spot next to her.

"Old?" Lyla repeated. "Keep talking like that and us relics will perish right here at the table."

"Hey," Digg warned. "Speak for yourself. I'm not a day over 21."

They laughed. Felicity's nervousness began to drain away as she watched Digg and Lyla smile at each other, obviously crazy about one another. Digg was in high spirits that evening and hadn't stopped smiling since they arrived. The sight was good for her heart, and made her smile widely in response. When she looked to Oliver, he caught her eye and winked. He hadn't missed their partner's happiness either.

Lyla insisted that they should order a bottle of wine. She reminded them that it was a celebratory dinner, and that no celebration was complete without a fine wine; Felicity was still trying to insist that it wasn't necessary when the waiter appeared. Lyla had sent him away with a request for their best wine before Felicity had even managed to finish her sentence.

"Don't make me hack into your bank account to repay you," Felicity threatened teasingly.

Digg, who had pulled his chair right next to Lyla's and now sat with his arm draped across the back of hers, nodded at his girlfriend. "She can do that."

"She would do that," Oliver amended wryly.

As the wine was brought and the food ordered, the conversation meandered easily from topic to topic. Oliver listened as Felicity grilled them on what sex they each hoped the baby was, or whether they preferred to leave it as a surprise. From there she asked about names, and then that ended up in a conversation about how they'd known so many people named such and such.

He'd been listening so intently that Felicity caught him unaware when she turned shining eyes and rosy cheeks on him to ask, "What about you, Oliver? How many of us did you meet before, well, us?"

Across the table, Digg and Lyla laughed. Oliver smiled, more at the brightness of her expression than what she'd said, and tried to remember. "I've known a lot of John's," he started, glancing at his friend. "And I think I went to college with a Lyla."

"I will give you twenty bucks if you can remember which college it was," Digg deadpanned.

Oliver mock glared at the other man, but the expression didn't hold. His eyes cut back to Felicity. Whether she meant to or not, she was watching him with rapt attention. Her elbow was braced against the table, an open palm pressed against the column of her throat.

"You're the only Felicity." He might have meant to say the words differently, but they dovetailed off of his tongue without giving him a chance to.

"You can say that again," Digg chortled.

Felicity blew out a breath that ended in a laugh and ducked her head. Then, waving a finger at the man across the table, "You'd be lost without me, John Diggle."

Digg's expression softened and he nodded. "That is the truth."

Oliver offered to pour them all another glass of wine. When Felicity hesitated, Lyla jumped in with an offer to either drive them home or pay for a cab. He refilled her glass while she was trying to insist that such a measure would not be necessary.

When she realized what he'd done, Felicity tossed a half-hearted glare at him over her bare shoulder. The movement pulled the hair away from her ear, and in the soft yellow lights her earring caught a reflection and glimmered. Oliver barely caught himself before leaning over to catch one between his fingers.

"Nice earrings," he said instead.

Instead of being embarrassed, Felicity smiled so brightly her entire face lit up. She turned to their friends and tugged gently on one, holding it away from her hair so that they could see.

"Something tells me you wore those on purpose," Lyla stated.

"Call it our own private joke," Felicity replied. Then, quickly and quietly to Oliver, "Not that I'm calling you a joke, because I'm not."

Oliver schooled his expression. "That's good," he intoned lowly. "I'd hate to have to retaliate."

Felicity's eyes widened minutely, and then the corners of her mouth started to crawl upward. "Did you just make a joke? Are you teasing me? Hallelujah, Oliver Queen has a sense of humor!"

Oliver's placid look fell away as he dissolved into laughter. That was not the reaction he'd anticipated; trust Felicity to turn the joke on him.

"Don't you start that," Digg warned her. "It's bad enough that Oliver refers to himself in the third person."

"Oh, John's told me about that," Lyla added, grinning at him. "That is kind of weird."

"Oliver Queen is kind of weird." Try as he might, Oliver couldn't keep a straight face.

Next to him, Felicity had started laughing so hard she had to cover her mouth. She tipped her head down in an attempt to hide her face, but the way her shoulders shook gave her away. She laughed herself breathless.

Maybe it was the wine, or the lightness of the evening, but when Felicity could finally stop laughing long enough to talk she leaned over and put a hand on Oliver's leg, just above his knee.

"That was the best response ever," she told him.

Oliver's skin was tingling when Felicity pulled her hand away. He had the idea that if he were to look, there would be an imprint of her hand burned into his skin clearly enough to define every slim finger.

Sitting calmly next to her was a near impossible feat by the end of the night. She was so close that he could smell her perfume, and every so often their knees would bump under the table; being so close to her and knowing that he couldn't touch her – that he couldn't lean over and press his fingers into the flesh just below the hem of her dress, or brush a hand through her hair, was almost painful. Oliver wanted to touch her. He wanted to know that he could touch her.

They left the restaurant nearly three hours after they had arrived. Felicity had excused herself to use the restroom at one point, only to come back with a receipt for their dinner in hand. Lyla groused about their agreement that she would pay for the wine and vowed that she would find a way to repay the other woman. Felicity just smiled.

Once outside, Lyla offered to get them a cab, and Digg made him swear repeatedly that he'd only had two glasses of wine when Oliver said he'd drive them home. Felicity wasn't drunk, but they'd come to a silent agreement that she'd had enough to put driving out of the question.

Digg wrapped a huge arm around her shoulders in a hug before they left. Just like her greeting, Felicity punctuated her goodbye with a kiss to his cheek. Then, she hugged Lyla and told her for the hundredth time how happy she was for them.

Oliver and Felicity stood side by side and watched their friends disappear around the corner. When they were gone, he gently touched a hand to her shoulder. Felicity turned toward him with a quiet smile.

"They're so happy together." Her voice was quiet as they walked back to her car.

Oliver noticed that her arms were crossed to fend off the chill in the night air. He slipped out of his suit jacket and then slung it over her shoulders, pulling her closer into his side with his far hand. Felicity stepped into him without complaint. She pulled his jacket tightly around her and hoped he didn't notice the way she dropped her nose against the fabric.

He did.

"They are," Oliver agreed. When they reached the red Mini Cooper, Oliver opened the passenger door for her and held out a hand to help her inside.

Felicity tried not to grin at him as he adjusted her seat and rearview mirror. "If you ever get a car, Oliver, I wouldn't suggest a Mini. How did you ever fit in the backseat?"

"I didn't have a choice."

They drove in silence for a bit, and then Felicity spoke again. "Have you ever been with someone who made you that happy?"

There was no way Oliver could answer that question. He had been happy with Laurel in the beginning, but he didn't think their happiness had looked like the kind Digg and Lyla shared. They had been foolhardy kids who'd thought the world was just a giant playground; being happy hadn't been hard then. There had been little to stand in their way of any happiness they wanted to chase.

Digg and Lyla were happy because they understood one another. They had endured Afghanistan together; they had gone their separate ways, only to find each other again years down the line. There was only one person in his life that Oliver thought he could achieve that kind of happiness with, and she was sitting next to him. Felicity knew every side of him. She was the only person other than Digg who was, and always had been, part of both sides of his life.

"I don't know," Oliver answered in a voice that was near a whisper. "Have you?"

"I was happy enough, for a while. But I was young, and it's hard to know what makes you happy when you're not certain who you are, or what you want."

Her words bounced around in his brain. Oliver was coming to understand what he wanted, but was he certain of whom he was? He knew who he was under a green hood, but what about when he wasn't? Who was he when he was just a nicely dressed man, driving a beautiful woman home?

"Did I bring up bad memories?"

"Hmm?" Oliver pulled into the garage behind her townhome.

Felicity waited to speak again until he'd moved around the car and helped her out of her seat. "You seem … tense," she said, leading the way to her door.

Oliver's hand pressed into his suit jacket until it was against her back. "I'm sorry, I was just thinking."

"Good thoughts?"

"I'm not sure."

Felicity plucked her keys from his hand to unlock the back door. She flipped on the lights in the mudroom and then stopped walking long enough to kick up feet and free them of her high heels. She was up the few stairs that led out of the mudroom and halfway into the kitchen when she realized that Oliver wasn't behind her anymore.

Oliver watched her stop and turn around to look at him. His jacket was so long that it covered the bottom hem of her dress and made it look like she had nothing on underneath. Her feet were bare, her toes painted sky blue, and she'd curled one of them against the cold tile of her floor. The red in her cheeks was only a few shades paler than the red on her lips.

"Come on. The guest bed has fresh sheets."

Oliver tucked his hands into his pants pockets and stepped forward, until his toes were against the last step of the three that separated the mudroom from the kitchen. He hadn't considered how he'd get back to the lair once he'd dropped Felicity off safely at home.

Felicity had a knack for reading him. "Oliver," she chided gently, moving to stand on the top step. "It's late. Get in here so we can go to bed."

He expected her to hedge her words, to backtrack so quickly that he had to work to keep up with her train of thought. She did neither of those things. Instead, she stood there and watched him, obviously waiting for him to move.

Standing on the top step as she was, Felicity's face was of a height with his. She was so close, closer than she'd been at the restaurant, even, and Oliver wanted so badly to reach for her. He could almost feel her skin against his fingertips. He thought about that tingling sensation that her hand had left on his leg and wondered for the second time if Felicity had burned her mark into him. What would it take to do the same to her?

Oliver knew that it would take only the smallest motion to kiss her; a slight lean forward, and he could taste the wine on her lips - on her tongue.

Felicity was the one to move. One of her bare arms snaked out from beneath his jacket to grasp his bicep. She stepped back, tugging him with her. He didn't resist. This was Felicity, he reminded himself, your partner. His very beautiful, very alluring partner who was leading him through her dimly lit kitchen like a lover.

Oliver pushed that thought away at the same time that she let go of his bicep, content that he was following her. Felicity finally stopped in front of the spare bedroom and pushed the door all the way open. She slipped the jacket from her shoulders, pressed it into one of his hands, and then smiled up at him.

"I had fun tonight," she said softly. "Now go to bed."

On a last (somewhat dangerous) whim, Felicity stretched all the way up onto the tips of her toes and ghosted a kiss over the stubble of his cheek.

"Goodnight, Oliver."

She'd already turned away to head to her bedroom when he rumbled out, "Goodnight, Felicity."

Oliver went to bed thinking that he should be given an award for the superhuman amount of self-control it had taken to keep himself from doing everything in his power to kiss Felicity Smoak senseless.