When Felicity woke up to the shadowy figure standing near the foot of her bed, she wasn't sure if she was really awake, or still dreaming that she had woken up. In fact, she wasn't even sure the shadowy figure was there, or was just a few weird shadows that would resolve themselves into random furniture. Except she didn't have any furniture in that corner. And she especially didn't have any furniture which featured a quiver.

She also didn't dare to open her eyes all the way – a few nights ago her eyes had flown open, she had taken a deep breath, and the half-seen person had melted away into the shadows. Why was she being so coy? It was Oliver, it had to be Oliver, unless some other league stooge had taken a shine to her during their abortive battle to save Nyssa, which had been pointless anyway.

She managed to keep her breaths even and steady, and her eyes narrowed. She didn't have much vision through her eyelashes, but she half-saw, half-sensed that Oliver wasn't moving. Her hand very carefully didn't tighten on the Glock Diggle had insisted she take home with her, after a few lessons in its use which Lyla had only been happy to provide. She knew very well that any movement would send Oliver, or whoever it was, flying into the night on those Cirque du Soleil scarf things the entire league seemed to have trained on. On the other hand, did she really think she could use the gun on Oliver?

She was just so angry.

Maybe the stages of grief were bullshit, but she'd been through denial and depression, and now she just spent her days in a rage. How could he have let himself be tricked by R'as like that? And yes, it was perfectly clear to her that she was essentially blaming Oliver for being violated – he should have known better, he shouldn't have trusted R'as al Ghul, and so on. Good job, Felicity, next you'll be saying he was asking for it.

But she was still so incredibly angry. Diggle would never forgive Oliver for what he'd done. Thea had shot an arrow into her own brother. And Felicity herself? Had done exactly nothing except the weepy question at the battle, and she was still kicking herself for that. Oh, sure, Lyla's guns, good job, Felicity. And why hadn't Oliver insisted on searching her himself? That had been weird, right? She could still picture Lyla firing into the crowd of assassins like she was Tony Montana, and feeling a sudden horror that she'd hit Oliver. Felicity just couldn't remember what Oliver had done that was so fucking terrible they had to go full bore on their friend, a person they had professed to love up till that point. And for what? For Nyssa? There was no way Nyssa was dead, no matter what Laurel thought. This was her dad. Even Henry the Eighth hadn't killed his own children. And Lyla? Don't get me started, Felicity thought.

The figure moved out of the shadows and came closer to the bed. So, it was Oliver. What did he want with her? She had to bide her time, wait for him to come even closer, and then make her move. In the last few days, when she'd imagined this moment, she varied between images of herself pulling the gun on Oliver before he could twitch (like a boss, her mind added) or a more realistic picture of him taking the gun from her the moment she moved a muscle. She tried to convince herself that she had an advantage because of his feelings for her, but it wasn't working – her mind jeered at her for that. What feelings, Felicity? Remember his face when you told him to look inside his heart, or whatever bullshit you came up with? He looked at you like you'd just crawled out from under a rock.

Engrossed as she was in her thoughts, and in trying to fake a deep sleep, she almost missed Oliver moving even closer. Was he going to kneel on the bed, or did he think that would wake her up? If he got too close, would he notice that her eyes were open? Suddenly, there was a stroke of luck – a car door slammed in the street outside her apartment, Oliver's head snapped to the side, and that's all she needed, because when he faced her again, he was looking down the barrel of her gun. For a moment she was nonplussed. Now what? Oliver was staring at her, in a kind of "your move" way. She wanted to ask him if he was feeling lucky, punk, but the time for jokey repartee had passed.

"Put the bow and arrows on the floor, Ivanhoe. And the sword." Bet you don't even know who that is, drop-out.

He followed her orders carefully, making sure she saw that his hands were empty.

"You should really take the safety off." Oliver sounded calm, and very like himself, rather than Al Sahim. And that enraged Felicity, for reasons she couldn't explain.

"Oh really? Oh really? Maybe the safety is on, and maybe it isn't! Let's have some fun finding out! Tell me, punk, are you feeling lucky?" Oh. So maybe it was Clint Eastwood time after all.

"Felicity . . . " Oliver started, and she nearly dropped the gun in her shock. It sounded just like her Oliver, though it wasn't the exasperated bark, just the pained and patient query.

"What did you just. You're using my name now? What happened to 'whore'? And, you know, nothing?" She hadn't realized until she answered him, exactly how angry she still was over the unfortunate slut-shaming incident. Or the lack of response at the Useless Battle of Starling City.

Oliver winced. He seemed to be trying to choose his words, but Felicity felt she'd waited long enough.

"Just tell me what you want, Oliver. You've been coming here all week, all serial killer like, watching me sleep. Or wait, Sahim, right? Something to the Demon? Are you the heir now, or are there another fifty hoops you have to jump through?"

Oliver looked like he was trying to decide what to say which wouldn't get him a bullet in the head. His expression looked more puzzled and worried than T-1000-ish, and she let a tiny little flicker of hope come to life in her mind. Maybe it was him?

"I'm sorry, Felicity. I'm really sorry."

Now she started to panic.

"You're sorry? What do you mean, you're sorry? What for? Have you come here to kill me? Are you pre-apologising for killing me?" Her hand was sweating and the gun seemed to be growing heavier by the second. This was a mistake. She should have called Diggle as soon as she noticed Oliver's night visits.

"No! God no. Felicity, I . . ."

But the panic was suffocating her, she couldn't think clearly, let alone listen to him. It must have shown on her face, because the next few seconds were a blur of movement, in the middle of which he managed to take her gun, disarm it, and push her onto the bed with one hand on her chest to keep her down.

"The safety was on," Oliver said, in a kind of wonderment. Felicity hardly heard the words through the blood rushing in her ears. This was it, he was going to kill her. She started to shake . . . with rage.

"Go on then, you piece of shit! Kill me! I'm not gonna beg for my life!" She spat the words in his face, noting the look of shock on his face.

"Felicity, please calm down!"

He tried to put his hands on her shoulders and she panicked, flailing at him, going for his eyes. Anything that Diggle had ever told her about self-defence went out the window – not that it mattered. He restrained her insultingly easily, then put his forehead to hers, murmuring her name. "Please, please, it'll be ok." She could see his eyes and they looked sincere enough. But she wasn't going to be fooled that easily.

"Are you seriously trying to tell me that's not why you're back here? On orders from your Lord and Master to tie up loose ends?"

Oliver's jaw dropped. "How did you . . . ?"

"I knew it! Fuck you, Oliver! Get your hands off me!" She managed to keep up the façade of anger even as a timid part of her wondered if she shouldn't start pleading now.

"Felicity, I came back to save you! To save the city . . . please listen to me."

"I'll start listening when you let go, and move back a little." Oliver immediately let go of her wrists, and she fought the impulse to rub them. She also fought the increasing ache between her legs – damn her body and its reaction to Oliver. He was still pretty close to her, and she wanted nothing more than to pull him on top of her (yeah, and then he snaps your neck, brain-trust).

Oliver rubbed his face roughly, but chose his words carefully.

"Felicity, all this: the heir business, Nanda Parbat, joining the League, was all part of a plan, conceived by Malcolm Merlyn and ARGUS, to take down R'as Al Ghul. As the leader of the League, no-one here cared what he did. But once ARGUS found out he had the only remaining sample of a super-virus which could kill millions of people, they knew he had to go. And so they reached out to the one guy they thought could make it happen."

"Malcolm Merlyn," she breathed. "Wait, they trusted Malcolm? Mr 'I think an earthquake machine is a splendid idea' Malcolm? And you trusted him?"

Oliver shrugged. "I had no choice. I couldn't let the League kill Thea."

"Yes, I get that . . . wait, super-virus? What super-virus?"

"I first came across it in Hong Kong, where I knew it as the Alpha/Omega virus. And R'as al Ghul sent me here to wipe out Starling City with it. And that's why I've been doing all this."

Felicity started to get pissed off again.

"So, was the great Stockholming part of the plan? Did Malcolm forget to tell you about that part?" As Oliver looked puzzled, Felicity rolled her eyes. "Stockholm Syndrome, Oliver. Crack open a book sometimes."

"No, I didn't know about the brainwashing." Oliver smiled, apparently relieved she wasn't screaming obscenities at him anymore. "And ARGUS was lucky the conditioning didn't take. It already started to break before I left Nanda Parbat." At her querying look he shook his head. "I can't talk about that now. I'll tell you one day." His tone changed, and a little smile played about his lips. "And then, a beautiful woman tied me up in a warehouse and s-"

"Stop!" Felicity's face was on fire. Oliver had that half-smile on his that she hadn't seen on Robo-Oliver's face. It looked almost like he was remembering something . . . pretty good. But how could she trust him?

"Is that why you came here? 'Cos you thought I'd put out?" Seriously, Felicity? Why was her brain treating this like a teen movie from the '50s?

Oliver seemed to be trying to restrain a smile, but abruptly turned serious. "I've come to get you out of the city. You have to go. I can't do this if I don't know you're safe."

Something had just occurred to her.

"Wait a second, so you weren't brainwashed when you tried to kill Nyssa? You kidnapped Lyla! You left baby Sara on her own, screaming for her mom! How could you?" Oliver had the grace to look ashamed at that.

"I didn't have a choice, Felicity. They were starting to wonder why I couldn't handle Nyssa. And I only took Lyla once I knew Diggle was on the way home."

She kind of saw his point, though she knew Diggle wouldn't see it that way. It was pointless rehashing the issue, if, as Oliver said, they were all in danger. That still didn't explain why he kept turning up in her bedroom in the middle of the night.

"So, why here, Oliver, and why now?"

Oliver looked down, clearly unwilling to meet her eyes. There was just a little extra tinge of red in his face, around his cheekbones. Felicity smiled. And yelled at herself, but that was only in her head. She was tired of rehashing the same argument over and over. He looked up again, and this time she saw how badly he wanted, needed her. She held her hands out to him, and he pulled her upright, looking anxiously in her face for signs that she wanted this too.

"I could never hurt you, Felicity. Never," he whispered in a broken voice. "Even when I was lost in their mind games, I never even imagined hurting you."

She stroked his face, even as she wondered who he could imagine hurting. Never mind. Live in the present. "Do we have time?" she asked.

"An hour. Maybe more," he answered, but he still hesitated, seemingly afraid to even touch her. She realised she would have to make the first move; it was about time, she thought. She'd held back long enough. Though it was going to be embarrassing once he found out how wet she was, how much he turned her on.

She kissed his closed lips a few times, nibbling at them gently, and when she pulled back to really look at him, he grabbed her and crushed her in his arms, returning the kisses, plundering her mouth with his tongue.

Oliver pulled back and took off his cowl, and kissed her again, deeper this time, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, pushing her tongue into his mouth, tasting him for the first time in what seemed like months. He pulled her into his lap without breaking up the kiss, and he moaned into her mouth as she rubbed against him. She could feel his hard cock and rubbed against him again, just to hear him gasp out her name. They kissed until her ears were ringing. As they pulled apart, reluctantly, Oliver grinned.

He kissed along her collarbone, taking off her t-shirt, and kissed her breasts, pushing her back down into the pillows. Now he had better access, he could really play with her boobs and bite gently at her nipples, but it was clear where he was headed. He pulled down her pyjama pants and she lost her ability to breathe for a second, waiting in anticipation, until she squealed when he started licking her clit, tapping it with his tongue, using his tongue to thrust inside her pussy like he was fucking her. It was filthy and great, the sounds it produced were wet and obscene, and she couldn't stop the gasps and squeaks and moans which came out of her with his every movement.

He started to use his fingers and his tongue, and that was it, for her. She came explosively, shuddering through the aftershocks.

He moved up again, wiping his face, and she trembled again at how dirty that made her feel, He latched onto her mouth letting her taste herself on his lips, and that was it. She couldn't wait any longer, and scrabbled for his waistband, cursing the complicated button-fly, and wishing the assassins could just join the 20th century and embrace zippers. She pulled out his hard dick and tugged at his shoulder to get him on top of her.

"Wait, let me – " He knelt up to start unfastening his clothes and she stopped him, making him look at her quizzically. "No time," she said. "Leave them on." She tried to pass it off as a need to hurry, but she had her reasons – there was nothing like a fully clothed Oliver pushing her down into the pillows to get her motor running, to make her thighs slick.

Oliver's eyes burned as he grabbed her face and kissed her again, and she pulled him towards her. His heavy gloved hands pushed her thighs apart and his thick cock slid into her, not stopping, stretching her until he was all the way in, and his heavy bulk pinned her to the bed.

"Dirty girl," he whispered in her ear and she giggled, spreading her legs even wider. He groaned. Then he looked down at her, slightly worried, it seemed. "Is this ok?" She wasn't sure to convey exactly how much better than ok it was in words, so she wrapped her legs around his ass and used her inner muscles on his cock, making him groan even louder.

"Wait, I – I'm too close," he gasped.

She just laughed, and kissed him again, grabbing his ass to push him deeper inside her, ignoring his protesting that he was going to come too fast if she did that. Finally he grabbed both wrists in one big hand and held them down above her head. When did I get this kinky, she thought, as this turned her on even more than she thought possible. She lay back and let her legs fall apart and he pulled out and sank into her to the hilt, once, and then again, slow at first, then fast and faster. It wasn't like Nanda Parbat, which had been beautiful in its own gentle and loving way. But this was amazing, hard and fast fucking, punctuated by his grunts and her cries, every thrust hitting her clit with an intensity that was almost painful. He let her wrists go to play with her nipples, and she gasped. His thrusts grew wilder and it was clear he was close.

"I can't hold it . . . I'm s-"

She grabbed the back of his head and silenced him with a deep kiss, simultaneously pulling him into her and tightening her muscles around him, as he came, yelling. He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily.

"Fuck."

Felicity giggled. "Al Sahim has a potty mouth."

Oliver's mouth quirked as he tried to stop himself from grinning but couldn't.

Her muscles were feeling kind of overstretched, and she had a few sore spots from his various buckles, but she still didn't want to move, except she was thirsty. Stupid throat.

"Hey." She pushed at his shoulder. He looked at her, a little dazed. "I need to get something to drink – move."

Oliver smiled at her, and dropped his head to kiss her again. He rolled off her and collapsed on the bed in a heap. Oh no, mister – it's not nap-time yet.

"Do not go to sleep, Oliver. And take your clothes off," she ordered, as she turned and padded to the kitchen. If she came back and he was snoring she'd – well, she'd probably pull the blankets over him and let him get some rest. Even if they only had an hour or two together, Oliver needed to be super-alert in the next few days.

She was standing in front of the refrigerator when an arm circled her waist, and she jumped, before she heard him laugh and nuzzle her shoulder. Oliver started kissing her neck and fondling her boobs, then moved lower, sliding his fingers through her curls and inside her. He pulled her close, and she could feel his erection against her ass. He must have followed her instructions and gotten tired of waiting for her to stop futzing around in the kitchen. She wouldn't have minded him bending her over the counter and sliding into her from behind, but he had other ideas.

She turned around and his tongue invaded her mouth, his cock sliding against her pussy, getting wetter by the second. She disengaged from him and sat on the counter, letting her legs fall apart, feeling daring. He was staring at her, and pushed her legs even wider apart. She leaned back and let him look at her, until she got embarrassed and tried to close her legs again, but he wouldn't let her. He took her hand and pressed it into her folds, until she got the idea and started rubbing herself, as he watched, and his cock grew even harder and wetter. Her fingers were dripping wet when she put them against his lips and in an explosion of movement he slid into her and they started again.

It was wilder than before – with this angle he was deeper inside her, and used his hands to bounce her up and down on his cock. She wrapped her legs around his waist and bit his shoulder and he yelled as he nearly came. She wasn't feeling much friction on her clit with this angle, and tried to touch herself, but he pushed her hand away and proceeded to rub her and pinch her clit until she cried out and came, wailing his name.

He wasn't finished yet and bore her to the ground, spreading her legs wider, his hands bruising her thighs as he pushed them apart. He slid into her again and started a punishing rhythm, pushing her across the floor with every hard thrust. She was sore. Every part of her ached and she honestly thought she couldn't come again, but her abused clit was responding to the stimulation once more, and she whimpered as he stretched her beyond what she thought she could take.

"Oh, I can't, oh Oliver, please, oh," she whimpered as she came again, this time along with Oliver, who groaned her name as he spilled inside her.

They lay, gasping, on the floor of her apartment. It wasn't exactly comfortable, and she felt like she couldn't catch her breath, but she didn't want to let go of him. He felt like acres of warm skin all around her, on top of her, inside her.

"Now I'm really thirsty," she remarked, and he burst out laughing. She hadn't seen him smile in so long, let alone laugh, that she could only stare at him. As happy as she'd been a few seconds ago, she was suddenly terrified that this was the end. Was there really a chance? Did he think Starling City was doomed, and he along with it?

"Hey." He kissed her face, seemingly sensing her change of mood. "The plan will work. This isn't goodbye."

"That's what you said when you went to challenge R'as al Ghul," she answered, unable to keep a sour tone from her voice. "Remember how that went?" He looked sheepishly at her. "And I'm pretty sure there's something you're not telling me. No more secrets, Oliver." She didn't look at his face, not wanting to find out if he was planning on telling her the truth or denying there was anything to tell. Because there was something. She was sure of it.

Felicity pulled herself up off the floor, ignoring her protesting muscles. She grabbed the bottle of wine she had been looking for and push-pulled Oliver to the bedroom, cleverly avoiding his wandering hands. Maybe she'd finally get the truth out of him.

A few minutes later she regretted that impulse all over again. She was staring at Oliver open-mouthed, and he was looking worried. In his earlier summary of ARGUS plots, and playing the long game to bring R'as al Ghul down, and an apocalyptic plague unleashed on the city, he had left out one salient detail.

"You. Married. Nyssa?"

Oliver rubbed his face, clearly searching for the words to make her understand.

"I had to do it, Felicity! I had no choice. It was his plan from the start, along with destroying Starling City with the super-virus. If I wanted to stop the plague, I had to go along with the marriage."

"You. Married. Nyssa. Daughter of the Demon. Gay Nyssa. Lesbian? Is it still pc to say lesbian? Should I say LGBT person?"

She knew she was rambling, but she couldn't stop herself. She still ached from his cock and his fingers, and she was listening to him talking about being married to another woman. And that wasn't the worst thing.

"Nyssa would never agree to that! Never! You forced her into it!"

"Felicity!" There it was, the roar she'd missed. "I wasn't given a choice! Her father planned the whole thing, and I was told to follow orders. I couldn't pretend to be brainwashed and fight him on this at the same time. I tried to convince her to play along, but she didn't trust me."

"Play along? You mean have sex with her?" Good job, Felicity. Now you sound like a jealous wife. Hey, I'm sitting on a bed naked, sweaty, and covered in fluids, not looking a million dollars in other words, listening to the love of my life telling me how he married super beautiful and ultra-cool Assassin Princess, so cut me some slack.

It was only when Oliver started talking that she realised she'd said the last words out loud.

"Felicity . . ." This was the pained version. "I love you so much. I don't want anyone else. And you're beautiful. And of course I haven't had sex with Nyssa. I'm not a rapist." He looked a bit hurt, but then perked up, his lips curving in a smile. "Wait – I'm the love of your life?"

She punched him in the shoulder, right on top of the Bratva tattoo. He grabbed her hand and kissed it, continuing the feathery kisses up her arm until he reached her neck, which he nuzzled. And wonderful as it was to have her Oliver back, to have him hitting all the right spots until all her nerve-endings sparked and sizzled, she knew they were out of time. She had to be the strong one, here. She pulled away from him, and kissed him, and he once more enveloped her in his arms. She noticed he was shaking slightly, but he took a few breaths and visibly calmed down. She wished he could teach her how to do that.

"When all this is over, and the city is safe," she said, intoning the last phrase to make him smile, "it's D.I.V.O.R.C.E. time for you, mister. Or maybe an annulment. Whatever's quicker."

Oliver looked so relieved that she seemed to be taking it so well, that Felicity made an active effort to let it go. I will be a Zen master, she told herself. Mistress? Whatever.

He got up and started getting dressed, stopping once to grab her and kiss her deeply. When he turned and bent over to put his boots on, she noticed something which she'd been too pissed off to remark on at the warehouse.

"What about the huge arrowhead branded into your back, did Malcolm Merlyn forget to mention that too?" Like Oliver needed more scarring.

He smiled at her. "I guess he did." He took her sports bag from the floor and tossed it on the bag. "Get what you need, nothing more."

Felicity remembered him mentioning that she had to leave, but now she was inclined to argue the issue.

Oliver saw her open her mouth and forestalled her protests.

"Felicity, I need you to be safe. I need my friends to be safe. Lyla and the baby are out of town, Diggle's gone to ARGUS, and Thea went to see Roy. Laurel and her dad think they have to follow up on a case in Central City. That only leaves you, Felicity."

"And the millions of innocent people in the city! What about them?"

"We can stop this, Felicity. But I can't focus if I think you're in danger. Please." He grabbed her face and kissed her deeply. "I can't lose you." He had tears in his eyes, and she was openly crying, but she managed to make herself stop. If this was the last time they'd be together, she wouldn't leave him with this image of her.

"Come back to me, Oliver. Promise me."

"I promise."

Oliver helped her pack a few things as she got dressed, then she grabbed as much tech as she could carry. He told her to get out of the city, and she decided it was a good enough time as any to visit her mom.

"Yes, but drive to Central City and take a train from there. I'm not sure I trust R'as Al Ghul not to plant the airport with his people."

They were standing outside her car, but he was keeping to the shadows, while she was loading the back nonchalantly, as though it was every day that she left with a bag in the middle of the night. She wanted to tell him she missed him already. She wanted to kiss him, one last time. But what if she was being watched? This had to look convincing. So she got into her car and drove off, taking one last look into her rear-view mirror, hoping that she could still see him standing there. The street was empty. Had the whole night just been a very vivid dream? Her aching muscles and a lingering soreness suggested otherwise.

Eyes on the road, Felicity, she admonished. It was a long drive to Central City, and she didn't want to have gotten through all this craziness just to wipe out on the road because she was distracted. The dark road seemed endless in the light from her headlights, but when the sun came up, she was driving into Central City, and following the signs to the train station. Oliver hadn't wanted her to get a plane ticket, even there, arguing that at least trains had an emergency stop, and that she could go the rest of the way by bus, or hire a car. She guessed he had a point, and at 6am she was on the first part of her journey. She texted her mom from the train - she was so overjoyed to hear from her, that Felicity felt a bit better about running from Starling City in its time of need. When, many hours later, she drove up to her mom's apartment building and saw her in front of it, waving happily, Felicity could finally let go and break down, losing herself in her mother's loving arms.