Author's Note: sorry for the delay in this one folks, those college classes got the best of me for a bit. Anyway, this is a good one (if I do say so myself!). I hope you guys like it ... will you let me know?

Before the day he had boarded the Queen's Gambit, almost everything in Oliver's life had come easily to him. Well, the things that he had cared about in those days, anyway; things like beautiful women, and nights out with his best friend that were so crazy he couldn't possibly forget them – if he could remember them in the first place. He had Tommy, and Laurel, and enough money and charm for every model (or woman in general) that crossed his path. He had been a little shallow and too young to care, insulated from the harsher realities of the world by wealth and a mother who had maybe cared a little too much sometimes.

The five years between the shipwreck and the day he came home more than made up for that ease. Everything was a fight. Life, freedom, autonomy; Oliver had fought for all of it. In the pursuit of those things, though, he had forgotten what they actually were – how much those things were worth. It no longer mattered what he was fighting for, only that he was fighting, until the fight itself was all that he could see; all that he could care about.

Now, the fighting was the easiest part of his life. Oliver understood fighting in a way that he understood few other things. The footwork; the parry and thrust and flow of movement from one stance to another; the motion of drawing back his bowstring and aiming an arrow; those were the black and white truths in Oliver's world of gray. Fighting opponents – even fighting for his life – was simple. Everything else was difficult. Being around people and trying to discern what they wanted from him felt impossible some days. The weight of expectations that lurked behind some people's gazes, like Thea and Laurel, dragged at him painfully. He didn't know what to do with those expectations, because he knew he could do nothing but disappoint them. Sometimes Oliver felt like being around them was a task that required monumental effort – and some days, he just didn't have it in him to try.

That was not true of Felicity. Being with her was as natural as it was enjoyable. Her expectations of him were not painful because they didn't include some version of himself that he could never be again. Oliver never felt like she was looking at him, and searching for someone else. She saw him as he was, and accepted him as such. Felicity constantly challenged him – to be better, to find another way, to evolve – but she also freed him.

Felicity was both his roots and his wings; the person who continually urged him to believe that he could fly, and gave him a place to land.

There was no cataclysmic event to spark a light bulb moment in him. He'd been lying face down in his bed last night, chuckling to himself over Felicity's ability to commit a verbal gaffe over text message – I was not calling you a hoe – when he'd just sort of acknowledged that rock in his chest for what it was: love. He was in love with Felicity Smoak. He hadn't always loved her, of course, but now that he was in the middle of it he couldn't remember the time before it had begun. His feelings for Felicity – no, Felicity herself was an integral part of his happiness. There was no happiness for him without her.

Oliver had known that he meant that profession of love he'd given her in the mansion. The only thing he hadn't known was just how he meant it. Felicity was important to him, and had been for quite some time by that point. Only in the intervening months had he permitted himself to see exactly how important she was; only lately, in the face of their budding flirtatiousness and almost-intimacy, could he admit that he'd meant exactly what he'd said. Felicity was the woman he loved. The person you love the most, Slade had said; your beloved Felicity.

And she was; she really was.

He'd woken that morning with his cell phone barely tucked under the edge of the pillow. Oliver remembered answering her last text – Go to sleep, Felicity – but not falling asleep himself. He had reached out immediately for his phone in an entirely childish display of anticipation and checked for a reply from her. A small part of him had been disappointed not to find one, but he'd smiled anyway when he thought that she'd likely been asleep before she'd even finished reading his answer.

No, there had been no monumental epiphany for Oliver. He had simply gone to bed knowing that he loved her, and woken wanting to tell her so.

Oliver was just finishing with the top button of his black and blue dress shirt when his phone rang. He grinned when he saw Felicity's picture on the screen.

Maybe Fate was teasing him.

"You're not gonna call me a hoe again, are you?" he said by way of greeting.

Felicity huffed on the other end of the line. "I should really get a pass on that one, since it was actually auto-correct's fault. And I was practically a zombie in the first place. I've pretty much been living off of coffee, which is probably not my best idea, since I feel like a zombie. I'm a coffee zombie."

"A coffee zombie," Oliver repeated. "That's … odd."

"I prefer creative. Anyway, I was just calling to tell you that I've already talked to Digg and Roy; they're on their way in. They'll probably beat me there, actually. I'm gonna stop at that little store around the corner, I'm out of coffee creamer."

"But you're not out of coffee?"

"Oh no, I brought in a brand new can last night."

Oliver shook his head. "Coffee zombie is right," he muttered.

"Don't you start with me," Felicity chided. "I'm sure Digg will give me an earful as soon as he sees me, and at least one of you has to be on my side."

"I'm always on your side," Oliver answered quickly. Well, that was a double entendre if there ever was one.

"Good," Felicity responded lightly. "You may have to help me hide the coffee from Digg. Anyway, I was just calling to say that if the three of you come up with some idiotic plan before I get there, I'll be pissed."

"Noted."

Oliver could almost hear her nod. "I'll be there in a bit. And I wasn't joking about the coffee."

"I won't let Digg touch your coffee, Felicity."

"I'm holding you to that."

Only after they had hung up the call did Oliver realize that he hadn't stopped smiling from the moment he'd seen her contact photo. He felt a little ridiculous, but since there was no one there to witness it, he didn't bother to stop.

A handful or more of the darkest moments of Oliver's life were some of his clearest memories. Intense trauma didn't seem to dull his memories the way it did for other people; no, it served only to push things into the realm of startling clarity. The moments before Robert Queen shot himself; his last look at Sara before she was pulled into the inky black water with the yacht; the soul crushing last moments of his mother's life; all those and more were ingrained painfully in his memory bank.

Those moments would have been enough for anyone, and they were certainly enough for Oliver. He could have lived the rest of his life without adding to them.

He could have, but he didn't.

Ten minutes after Felicity's phone call another such moment blossomed into an event horizon.

Digg and Roy had just stepped off the stairs together. Oliver was thinking about coffee – namely, how serious he should take Felicity's insistence that the coffee needed to be hidden from Digg – when his phone rang again.

"Hey," Felicity said when he'd greeted her, "I'm just leaving the corner store. I picked … hang on."

A motorcycle engine sounded clearly over the line, passing quickly.

"Is that -?" Felicity started. Then, a sharp intake of breath, and a shot of adrenaline flooded his veins. "Oh my god."

"Felicity? What is it, what's going on?"

Digg and Roy were watching him closely, but Oliver paid them no mind. He was already moving toward the stairs.

"A motorcycle just passed me and I thought I saw him drop something by the curb … it's a bomb. Oliver … I'm standing in front of a bomb."

Running was a necessary skill on the island; it was a life saving skill, even, and one that Oliver had honed just as carefully as the rest of his skills.

He had started running before Felicity had finished her sentence. He took the stairs three at a time, deaf to the footsteps that rang out behind him, and burst out of the lair door and into the alley. He clenched his fist around his cell phone, which was no longer being held to his ear, and propelled himself forward at a dead sprint.

The corner store wasn't far – maybe a block away from the lair. Oliver skidded around the corner and out of the alleyway, his line of vision open to the main street that ran parallel to their hideout. He didn't stop running as his eyes scanned the environment.

Felicity was a bright spot of color amongst industrial gray. Oliver couldn't quite see her face, but she was immobile and obviously staring at a spot some distance in front of her. He followed her line of sight: on the edge of the curb, a foot or so away from the crosswalk button, was a nondescript blob that, from this distance, looked like a carelessly tossed piece of trash.

"Get back!" Oliver yelled as he charged toward her.

Felicity visibly startled and looked in his direction. He was close enough now to see that her mouth was slack, either in shock or fear, and Oliver pushed himself harder. The bomb was to his left, Felicity to his right; his path was angled so that he'd catch her from the side.

Dimly, a part of his brain registered the ticking; he had just enough time to lock his eyes on Felicity, who turned her body in his direction. She took a step toward him.

Oliver dove for her.

A great cloud of fire and light blossomed on his left. Heat prickled along his cheek, ear and arm as a boom concussed the air, the shock wave knocking him away from the blast. His arms, which he had spread wide as he jumped, collided with Felicity; Oliver locked them around her automatically, snatching her out of the air and crushing her to his chest as they were blown back and away. He had just enough presence of mind to turn them in a direction that he hoped would put him between her and the ground.

The next thing Oliver was aware of was shouting and alarms. He blinked against the sunlight and his bleary vision; two grim, terrified faces appeared above him.

Felicity!

He lifted his protesting head off of the pavement. Felicity had landed mostly on his chest, but she wasn't moving. Oliver opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a wretched cough.

Digg must have understood, because he reached down with one hand to check her pulse.

"She's unconscious," he said.

Oliver tried to nod and failed. His head was killing him and his skin felt rubbed raw in at least two different places, but he could feel the slow rise and fall of Felicity's back as she breathed beneath his arms.

"Is she okay?" Oliver rasped.

"I can't tell." Digg did not sound happy.

"You shouldn't be here when the ambulance arrives," Oliver told him. He closed his eyes against the war drums that had taken up a beat behind his eyes. "…Can't explain why we're all in the middle of the Glades."

"I live in the Glades," Roy said from somewhere beside him.

Oliver felt like there was something he wanted to say to that, but he fell unconscious before he could.

"Oliver!"

"Mr. Queen, can you hear me?"

"They need medical attention, what are you doing?"

"He won't let go of her, Sir."

"Miss Smoak -."

"Oliver. Can you hear me? Oliver?"

Opening his eyes felt like wading through congealed syrup, or swimming headlong into a current with a lead weight around his ankles. Slowly, so slowly, Oliver forced his eyes open. Consciousness brought with it a cacophony of pain and conflicting sensations and he groaned deeply. Against his chest, someone shifted.

Felicity; Felicity was against his chest.

Because of a bomb.

Oliver jerked as his eyes, which had fallen shut once again, snapped open. His muscles protested and his head screamed, but he raised it off the pavement and fixed his eyes on Felicity. She was still pressed against his chest and held tightly in the circle of his arms, but she was awake and giving him the most relieved look. Her glasses were gone and there was a bright pink spot on her cheek that had nothing to do with a blush.

He tried to speak. "…'Licity."

"I'm okay," she answered quickly. "The paramedics are here, Oliver, but they can't help us until you let me go."

Oliver blinked at her. On the periphery of his vision he could make out several police officers and flashing lights, and above and behind Felicity he spied a handful of waiting paramedics.

Digg's face came into focus above him. The other man obviously hadn't followed his advice to go back to the lair, and Oliver was thankful. Digg's presence helped to further ground him in the present.

The skin of his left arm retracted and pulled painfully as Oliver relaxed his muscles. He clenched his jaw against the sensation and watched as Felicity started to struggle to her feet, helped along by a waiting paramedic. Once she was clear, he made an effort to sit up – a motion that his head was quick to decry. Digg slipped an arm behind his shoulders when he swayed and then helped him to his feet as a swarm of paramedics descended on him.

Oliver kept his eyes trained on Felicity as he was led to the open back of an ambulance. She was sitting in an identical ambulance, her chin held immobile and angled up toward the light as the woman in front of her administered first aid to her cheek. She tried to turn her head toward him as he passed but the paramedic held her steady.

Stepping up into the ambulance was more than Oliver felt he could manage. He insisted on simply sitting gingerly on the bumper despite the attending paramedic's protestation that his current state left him a little more than unbalanced. When he showed no signs of moving, the man harrumphed quietly and moved away to get his supplies.

Across the way, not far from the scene of the blast, Detective – now Captain – Lance was speaking with Digg. Oliver wondered what cover story his friend was giving for their presence at the scene, or why the three of them had been in the Glades (together) in the first place. That was when he realized that Digg was still there, but Roy was not.

The paramedic returned with a mobile first aid kit and a bottle of water. Oliver drank it greedily, downing half of the bottle in a single go. When he was satisfied, the paramedic told him that he needed to help him out of the remnants of his button up shirt. There wasn't much material left.

He was extremely grateful for the presence of the white t-shirt he always wore under his shirts then. He was not ashamed of his body, but he didn't want to deal with the veiled gazes and unasked questions that always accompanied the reveal of his scars and tattoos.

"How is she?" Oliver finally managed to ask. His voice was raspy and not quite there; it faded in and out between syllables.

"Your girlfriend is fine, Sir. You shielded her from most of the blast, and the collision with the ground. You have second-degree burns along your ear, part of your cheek, and most of your left forearm. That alone is amazing – you were close enough that you should have third degree burns, at the least. You most likely have a mild concussion and a back full of bruises, but I'd say you both got very lucky."

Oliver forcefully ignored the other man's ministrations to his injured arm. He had never considered himself a particularly lucky person, but in this case he was willing to go with it.

Less than twenty-four hours ago he had finally acknowledged that he was in love with Felicity; less than an hour ago, he had almost lost her to a senseless act of violence. He could still hear her voice in his ear telling him about the bomb.

A bomb. Of all the things; of all the times that he had put her in the line of danger as the Arrow, and today it had been something as asinine as being in the wrong place at the wrong time. This situation had nothing to do with him or their vigilante work. In fact, this situation had nothing to do with anything – it was perfectly, thoughtlessly random. In a way, that made it worse; made him angrier. There was no reason for it. There was never a reason – well, never a good reason, not really – for Felicity to be in danger, but now …

She had been walking home from the store in the middle of the day. Nothing could have been more senseless.

So, while lucky had never been a word Oliver would have used to describe himself, today it felt perfectly true.

(At no point in his mildly befuddled train of thought did it strike Oliver as odd that he considered Felicity to have been walking home, rather than to the lair.)

The paramedic palpated over Oliver's torso and back to check for broken ribs and internal bleeding. A few painful spots on his back caused Oliver to suck in air loudly and flinch from the other man's hands, so he lifted his shirt and repeated the application of pressure, much to Oliver's dismay.

"There's extensive bruising on your back, Mr. Queen, but I don't suspect internal damage. I'm going to take you to …"

"No."

"Mr. Queen -."

Felicity stepped around the open door then. The patch of irritated pink skin on her cheek looked glossy, probably from a burn salve, and he could easily pick out another such patch on her right arm, but she looked okay for the most part.

More importantly, she was alive.

"Are you okay?" Oliver asked. He didn't need to, but he wanted to hear her voice.

"Can't complain, all things considered. What about you?"

"I'm fi …"

Felicity cut him off by turning her attention to the paramedic who was still kneeling behind him. She obviously wasn't going to fall for his "I'm fine" routine this time.

"He should go to the hospital," the paramedic informed her. "He's got second-degree burns on his cheek, ear and arm, a likely mild concussion, and his back is one giant bruise. I don't suspect internal damage, but he should go to the hospital and get a full check to be sure."

"I'm fine, Felicity."

"I'll give you two a minute," the paramedic said. He hopped out of the back of the ambulance and moved to the knot of first responders standing around the scene.

"Oliver, you were nearly blown up today."

"We were," he corrected.

She nodded. "Yes, but thanks to you, I'm mostly okay." She motioned to the white burn bandage that covered his arm. "You …"

Oliver watched her choke on the end of the sentence and duck her chin. He reached for her with his good arm, brushing his fingertips over her elbow and up the back of her arm as he guided her forward. She took a step to the side of his legs, but he wiggled a little and spread his thighs so that she could step between them.

"Hey."

Felicity's eyes were luminescent and full of tears that threatened to spill over at any moment when she looked at him. Her bottom lip trembled.

"I've had worse days," he told her.

She offered him a watery smile. "A bomb, Oliver. God, a freaking bomb. I just … I couldn't believe it, you know? That stuff only happens in action movies, I mean; it's not supposed to happen anywhere else, is it? And then I heard you shout and for a second I didn't know why you were there."

Felicity was already standing in front of him, his inner thighs brushing her hips, and his hand hadn't moved away from her arm. He lifted his injured arm gingerly, the movement slower than normal, and brushed the first tear away from her good cheek. He didn't dare touch the singed one.

"Why were you there, Oliver?" Her words were gaining speed. Oliver knew that she was panicking, and that her words would only come faster as that panic took hold. "What the hell were you thinking, running at a bomb? You run away from a bomb, Oliver, not toward it! That's, like, survival tactic number …"

"Felicity." His throat was sore and his voice was too low. Her name sounded slightly odd, the vowel sound between the F and the L disappearing under a layer of scratchiness, but she cut herself off mid-rant. "I was there because you were there."

She kissed him then, or maybe he kissed her; it didn't matter who moved first, only that her lips were finally against his. Oliver kissed her carefully, gently, sliding the hand that had been on her cheek back into her hair. He moved his other hand off of her elbow and draped his arm across her lower back so that she was utterly surrounded by him.

The kiss was sweet, tender even, and Oliver forgot his injuries for the first time since opening his eyes.

"Captain Lance wants to ask you both some questions." Digg's voice was even and soft as he said the words.

They didn't quite pull away. They were no longer kissing, but Oliver could just feel the barest brush of her upper lip against his; their breath mingled and warmed his chin. He opened his eyes hesitantly but didn't let go of Felicity.

Felicity blinked a few tears off of her eyelashes and locked gazes with Oliver, who was watching her so intently her heart somersaulted and fell into her stomach.

"Okay," she answered. "Send him over."

Digg didn't seem surprised, either by Felicity's answer or the fact that he'd just walked up on them kissing. He half turned and waved the Captain over as Felicity turned herself to face them. She made no move to step away from him, and Oliver was grateful for that. He was not ready to let her go.

Oliver shuffled himself farther back, until his lower back found the edge of the ambulance floor, and then he carefully pulled himself up the few inches. The arm of his that had been on her back was now around her waist; he splayed his hand over her stomach and pulled her back gently.

"Sit down," he murmured.

Felicity lowered herself into the spot on the bumper that he had just vacated. She braced an open palm on the top of his thigh; his hand did not leave her stomach.

Quentin Lance only looked surprised for a minute before schooling his features again.

"You're both lucky to be alive," the Captain started.

Oliver's hand clenched against Felicity's stomach.

"You don't have to tell us, Captain," Felicity answered, squeezing Oliver's thigh in reassurance.

"Did you see the man responsible, Ms. Smoak?"

Felicity told him what little she had noticed – and remembered – about the person on the motorcycle. Oliver cataloged the details for himself as his thumb absently brushed circles against her stomach through the material of her shirt. Then she started in on explaining her version of events, complete with Oliver running at her from across the street.

He lost the thread of conversation after a minute. At one point his eyes traveled up and met Digg's, who was watching him closely. When their gazes met, the other man arched a single eyebrow and quirked one corner of his mouth into a small smile. Oliver's lips twitched ever so slightly in response.

"The paramedics tell me you have a concussion, Mr. Queen, so I won't question you, but is there anything you'd like to add?"

Oliver tried to clear his throat but it did little to get rid of the rasp that accompanied his words. "Only that I really hate this guy."

Lance made a face, but it seemed to be an expression of agreement rather than irritation. "We'll get him. Until then, try to remember that you're supposed to run away from a bomb."

"I was running toward Felicity," he responded automatically.

Lance gave him an unreadable look. Then he turned his gaze on Felicity, and he smiled a little. "Guess it's on you to run away from the bombs, then."

"Done. Thank you, Captain Lance."

The police Captain moved away, leaving Digg, Oliver and Felicity alone.

"What was he doing here?" Felicity queried. "Captains aren't normally in the field."

"He was on his way to the precinct when the 911 call was made," Digg explained. "He was here before the paramedics. You two okay?"

"I am, but Oliver …"

"Is bruised, but okay," he interjected. Then, before she could protest, "Where's Roy?"

"Lair," Digg said quietly. "Lance has seen us together before, but I thought it best if the kid made himself scarce."

Oliver nodded. "Good. We'll -."

"Mr. Queen, Ms. Smoak, if you could please step into the ambulance." The paramedic that had helped Oliver coalesced in the space next to Digg. His expression was one of determination.

"I don't need …" Oliver started.

"Of course," Felicity said simultaneously.

Oliver sighed, his breath heating the curve of her ear. Felicity turned her head slightly so that she could partially see him.

"We're going to the hospital," she told him quietly. "You're gonna need something for those burns, and you're going to let them make sure there's no internal damage, because bomb. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I'll meet you there," Digg told them. "Felicity, do you have another pair of glasses somewhere that I can bring you?"

"There's a new box of contacts … downstairs. If you could bring those, Digg, I'd love you forever."

"I thought you already did?"

"Okay, I'll love you even more."

Digg was smiling as he stepped away. Felicity called to his retreating back, "And don't touch my coffee!"

The paramedic stepped up into the ambulance and then helped Oliver to his feet; he in turn offered his hand to Felicity. She clambered in relatively easily and stepped away from the rear double doors so that the paramedic could close them.

Felicity took a step toward the stretcher on the opposite side from Oliver and was stopped by a hand wrapping around hers. When she glanced up, he tipped his head carefully toward the empty space beside him and tugged at her hand. She felt uncertain for the tiniest moment, but he was still holding her hand and waiting patiently.

Without a word, Felicity settled herself next to him on the stretcher, hip to hip. After a second she turned her hand palm up and interlaced their fingers.

They didn't let go of each other once.