What Wouldn't I Do

by I've got Rhythm in my Soul

We all know that Slade killed Oliver's mother: we were there, we saw it. But where was Felicity? What would she have done if she'd known? How would it have changed things? ...Since the writers cut out the fact that Felicity, whose home is literally the Foundry, would have probably still been within two feet of a computer, neurotically checking in on her family.

8. Part 8

What wouldn't I do… for the right guy. Julie Owen, Practical Magic

Part 8

Don't freak out

She fell away. Fathom's deep, to the marshes of her subconscious.

Dark.

Deep, a heartbeat.

Alone.

Don't freak out

The recess; the place you're not supposed to remember you visit when you're unconscious. Where she couldn't hear or feel, or see, taste and touch. Or fear.

But she still knew. Still understood. She waited. She'd told him, you see.

Don't. Freak. Out.

And wondered who it was she was trying to soothe: him or her?

…

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

I'm begging you

This voice, one that wasn't supposed to be there, here, echoed through her…

COME ON

Quiet. For too long. She'd been still; it was a strain to think, but there was nothing there. Nothing to see, nothing to touch, to feel… yet this voice was coming through; a faint murmur, sometimes a whisper, others a distorted scream.

Felicity

His voice.

A whisper in the air… a ripple in the water… as if coming from a great distance.

It was the first of anything new. Deep in the black. An anchor in the place she'd been pervaded in.

Felicity… please

How am I… hearing this? It reverberated through her, calling her back, calling her home.

Felicity

She was too deep in the dark for words to form on her lips. She wasn't ready yet, wasn't finished.

It isn't working. I'm trying and nothing's happening.

…Oh.

Wake up

She was dying. This is what happens when… oh, I was so hoping I'd be strong enough.

Work with me

Always; she knew his voice with an intimacy that shouldn't exist, not when he wasn't hers. But it was too late a thing to change now and his tone told her just how far gone he was. How close he was to truly breaking down. Oliver.

Please

Since you asked me.

She hadn't known her heart had stopped beating until it started to race once again; a heavy, pounding drum in her chest. My heart stopped. It actually stopped. And Oliver made my heart start again; of course he had. He'd been there the whole time. She was so far beyond sorry about that; he'd suffered again… because of me.

She'd tried so hard to make sure that would never happen. That he wouldn't suffer – ever - because of her. And now, here he was; suffering.

It's okay Oliver. I'm okay. It's all going to be okay. This is nothing.

…

Later, an eternity or maybe only a second after the fact… she started to feel. A physical sensation.

It.

Oh… God.

The lightning. The burn. That's what it felt like. It hurts. A heat that should have left her far behind by now.

The Mirakuru?

It started as an itch would; irritating but adaptable. Until it suddenly flared; a red pulse of pain, never ending as it writhed through her blood, from her heart to her head. A constant blister in her veins blinding out light and sound and function. Hot. Demanding. Powerful. A juggernaut. Unstoppable. Alien.

An invasion. A 'Becoming'. Science and biology working constructively, violently as they create… Me.

It terrified her. And it shouldn't. Not here, in this place without dreams but drowning in cognition. Here she should have been amazingly without fear. But the fear came anyway and would still come. Later. Would arrive hand in hand with awareness, would find a home within her. Comprehension was formed on the anguish of it. Of knowing she was changing, of knowing how much it would affect the people she cared deeply for. She'd try so hard not to let it show.

And fail.

Endurance; she couldn't move, couldn't scream as it scorched – the sting of conception - couldn't cry when she realised the tingling and the 'scratching-under-her-skin' sensation was the transmogrification of her own blood cells; a minute happening that no one but her could see or know, creating something to become 'more' from 'less'.

Felicity had never minded being less.

Too bad she hadn't been given a choice in the matter…

…

Contrary to popular opinion – Roy's and Sara's – Felicity's mind did not function like clockwork.

There was no intricate series of perfect bends and lifts, no roads with perfectly fitted and appropriated road signs with which to navigate the computer inside her mind. No…

It was chaos in there.

Not unlike a pachinko machine.

And it was chaos in which she did her best work. The unorganised mess, to the undisciplined mind is simply so: a disarray of colour and violence. To Felicity? It was music and peace and logic. The firing of impulses; organic or artificial. The inner workings of a computer were often associated with simplicity; there was a motherboard in which all the components meet, correct? Not quite. And how did they get to become so perfectly structured? By first being so very ridiculously difficult to fathom and unwind.

As was Felicity.

Which often made her wonder how Oliver and Diggle had gotten in so skilfully. So easily.

She couldn't say it was because they were special because that would that would imply that she thought that she was. And she wasn't. Not really. Sure, she's a genius… but anybody can be born with a knack for a particular skill. It just so happened that her talent allowed her to meet, work and love a superhero.

The point?

Right now all those bright lights – electrons and nerves impulses dancing and shooting off – in her brain were focused in a linear progression. Strictly forward lane thinking – not Felicity. A one way stream. In which she, once again, was forced to stroll down.

And again, he was there.

You aren't my employee

I… remember. I'm his partner.

You're my partner

I'm his partner… she had to admit, all things considered, this wasn't a bad place to remain for a while.

The darkness - though oppressing - being filled with the soft timbre of Oliver's 'Felicity voice', his masculine cadence, a tone that could never be mistaken for another - to Felicity - provided a sort of balm for the soul. Like stepping into a warm bath. It was a soothing sort of lullaby to which she could forget the difficulties and mania of the last 24 hours, where she can forget that she was injected with Mirakuru and was currently turning into a werewolf – you never know with Japanese labelled, artificially engineered, modified and privatised chemical agents currently swimming in my blood stream, altering my DNA, which is how I am currently able to supply cognizant thought to my subconscious – and just… be.

Cradled in the acceptance that Oliver had always provided. Even if it wasn't real; even if it was just an illusion-

You're the one she cared for… Take it

What?

Who's that?

I don't-

-A green hood, one frayed from the elements and overuse flashed too vibrantly to be anything less than a treasured thought, a memory before it disappeared again-

Who else was there – here – with her? With me. These images were not hers-

Let's see how the kid deals with this

Oh no. She was brought to a stop. Slade. This was Slade. Why is he here? He shouldn't be here; not in this space. His voice. In her headspace. Where it was just 'Felicity' and all that balanced her.

Slade.

That's Oliver.

I swear to God, I'll kill you

No- PAIN hit her like a wave, but it wasn't her own. More like a repeat; like breathing in another person's remembrances and the sensations that followed like ghosts behind them.

YOU BETTER KILL ME KID

He wasn't with her. Not really. He wasn't. This was something else, something… worse? Better?

Hey Kid.

And that was different too: very different. It sounded indulgent. Almost affectionate. And she couldn't remember having ever heard it herself. Not in life, not her life anyway.

I figured you couldn't save the day without making a mess

…These aren't my memories. This isn't a voice I could have heard…

They were Slade's. A version of him she'd never met. Which begged the question: how could she hear them-

-I'm calling a ceasefire; you get three days, no one else will come after you

This was hers. My memory.

And the chill that followed; the resonance of his voice with something inside her that had already been growing. The knowledge of what he would do next.

Oh God…

Her pulse suddenly rocketed. Again, she knew what this was. Again, she couldn't do anything about it but remain completely useless. He dosed me with Mirakuru; now I have to deal with the consequences. So deal Felicity. Felicity. Felicity Smoak, I am Felicity-

Felicity Smoak? …Hi. I'm Oliver Queen

…

…She woke. Finally, she woke.

And it was different, so dissimilar from how she fell. Not with a bang, not with a whimper, or a gasp like before… but with silence. One second she was frozen in unconscious stupor. The next…?

Her eyes just… opened. Just that. They opened.

And everything changed. The world changed.

Which wasn't saying a whole lot. Her world practically took a 180 degree turn when Oliver walked into her office.

But. This. Was. Different.

True, she'd worn glasses – though she wasn't wearing any right now - almost every day for the past 4 years and 7 months but it wasn't as if she particularly needed them. She possessed a slight astigmatism that wasn't always obvious but would sometimes make it difficult to stare at a computer screen all hours of the day or night. It could make the mornings blurry.

…Which was why seeing dust motes float against the ceiling as she stared up, seeing them so clearly that Felicity could define single colour strands of light between pockets of air, was enough to freeze her in place for a moment.

Whoa.

That's… unexpected. Roy had never mentioned increased ocular output. Then again he'd only ever spoken to Oliver about it, however briefly. She swallowed. Guess it's one of the things I'll have to get used to, right? It wasn't even a bad thing – could even be a good thing! It was just… something else to worry about. And speaking of worry…

Lying there she took in a breath. Then another. And counted backwards from 10 before letting it loose.

Why don't I feel altered?

She didn't mean physically.

Emotional constancy.

Roy possessed zero expressive stability, resorting often to anger or frustration or both in most situations. With Slade it was more of a controlled rage. But Felicity didn't feel any of this. No anger. No rage - no urge to crush a man's spine, thank god. Zilch. Then again, I did just wake. Maybe it doesn't happen immediately, maybe it takes time or there's a trigger or something. Not that I'm wishing for it. I don't exactly want to become the nation's example for repressed, little IT nerds. And ruminating this was possibly the last, most morbid thing she could be doing at this moment. There were other things that needed her attention.

Like say… Oliver. She pursed her lips. Not my attention-attention, not in that way. Not that I wouldn't focus all my attention on him – what a day at the beach that would make – no, I just mean… Crap. She needed to see him. For reassurance, just for reassurance, not for anything remotely hug-related…

She would have face-planted if she weren't already lying down. Why does my brain always go there first? Don't be so needy.

But she couldn't help it; there was a wide space behind her eyes now, one slowly filling with terrifying images that shouldn't be there. The feeling of being so utterly by herself was increasing with every second she lay down.

And she needed a shower. Pronto. Cause… ugh. It infiltrated her nostrils; a scent part metallic, part wet grass. Attractive.

But a shower meant movement and movement meant further discovery – am I still who I was or am I something else now – and what hadn't perturbed her before falling unconsciousness was a fact she'd never be able shake off again. She was a host to Mirakuru. And all that entailed. A slow decline down insanity highway. She couldn't fear for that yet. Another notch on Oliver's belt of guilty mistakes.

He'd never see it any other way. She knew him well enough to know that.

I need to see him. She nodded to herself. It's now or never. Hoping against hope that maybe just maybe it wasn't all that bad, that the world hadn't really changed at all, her world, Felicity slowly raised herself on her elbows, and then pulled herself fully upwards on the bed. And waited. Yet there was no pain, no sting, no plummeting of her insides as painkillers made short work of her digestive system, no… nothing. Just the newly acquired sharpness of her visual acuity. A sinking feeling in her chest.

And the abnormal rate of her heart beat. It was very fast.

She took a deep, shaky breath.

But just because there was an abundance of nothing didn't mean that she was completely by herself…

Thea Queen was currently napping to her right. On the bed. With her, on the bed. But why? Not that it bothered her but… I'm covered in…

Slowly, oh so carefully, Felicity slid off the mattress and found she barely made a sound. Which was something that could and should never ever happen in this universe or any. Beauty and Grace I am NOT. But it was the colour of the sheets – exactly where she'd lain - that truly made her flinch; that made her incredibly steady hands suddenly shake. She tried – hard – not to feel around her shoulder blades, where she'd been cut.

Crusted red. Almost black in the pre-dawn hours. She almost backed away and could smell it in the air – I can smell it in THE AIR?! – It couldn't be more than four or five in the morning.

But Thea…

Curled up, as if she'd done her best to give an unconscious Felicity as much room as she possibly could, Thea slept like the dead. Appearing small, diminutive – appearances were deceiving creatures – her legs tucked beneath her bottom, shoes off, wearing a pair of sweats and a cotton tee, her hands up by her face which was cutely mushed into the pillow… her eyes were red rimmed and puffy. Tears. If anyone deserved the right to cry tonight it was Thea. The girl was a trooper. Having been kidnapped previously by Slade, this would have been almost as much a nightmare for her as it would have been – still is – for Oliver.

Tip toeing around the bed Felicity leaned over the sleeping Curly Sue, gently prying a few soft ringlets from her mouth and smiling slightly as she checked her temperature. Room temperature. No blanket required.

But why choose to sleep here of all places? On a bed splattered with red. Next to unconscious and creepy me. The way she'd shielded herself… maybe she just needed to be close to someone.

Maybe I'm not the best person to be around right now-

Ignore it.

Ignoring it. Noted. Letting her sleep, Felicity took a step back and turned, hoping to find a door, or a neon sign or something indicating 'escape to a bathroom' when it – reality and all its eccentricities - hit her square in the chest as her eyes landed on a familiar black suit jacket and tie. Oliver. This was Oliver's old bedroom. The one he never slept in because he preferred the shadows of the foundry.

Frowning, she took in all the… brown. The antiques. The chairs. It doesn't really feel like him. At all. It really didn't. It was too impersonal to his own tastes – tastes she was sure he didn't even know he possessed – and nothing in here screamed 'Oliver'. But since it was his room and all… he wouldn't mind if she made use of a bathroom that probably looked like it had walked off a catalogue page, would he?

Fingers tying and untying invisible knots Felicity stepped towards the closet door to the bed and peeked around the expensive wood- holy…

A five star hotel didn't look as grand.She only knew what the inside of one looked like because she'd been forced to accompany Oliver to one months ago, as part of the company image during a visit to their subsidiaries in Central City.

Maybe that was why he'd never been comfortable at the Mansion. Once, a long time ago, in a galaxy named 'Ollie' it had probably suited him to the letter. Now? He was more a 'cabin in the woods' kind of guy – except with less killing and more wood chopping.

Her trainers didn't make a sound against the – the marble flooring, wow – agate, as she stepped inside and was immediately accosted by the scent of… tea tree. Leather. And… something else, something deeper, more visceral, something familiar… oh.

It was Oliver. Oliver's smell. Like in the Foundry but more… soapy. The air – though not damp - was still kind of warm. It sank into her bones. She bit her lip. He'd been in here. Recently too, while she lay in the other room… on his bed. Swallowing she nodded to herself, attempting and failing to ignore this fact. For some reason it was difficult to rid her mind of 'Oliver and soap'. And 'wet'. Her throat constricted. 'Naked'. Not necessarily in that order. Wow… is it hot in here? But it made her wonder.

He could have brought me anywhere; why bring me up here?

Why indeed

Her insides locked solid.

Was that…?

Heart racing in panic, she spun round finding no one and nothing.

…Right. Well done Felicity. Outdone by my own, apparently, genius level intellect. She felt foolish; as if scared by her own shadow, imagining one Slade Wilson power driving into the bathroom to impale her on his sword. It wouldn't be me he'd come after. Was this a sign of stress maybe? Hopefully.

It really had been a long night, especially if I'm hearing him in my head.

Shake it off.

Ignore.

She did. She was good at shaking things off that hurt, scared, or humiliated her.

So…Oliver wouldn't mind her taking a shower here would he? She'd prefer to ask but… leaving the room, looking as she did… not an idea she favoured. She wanted to leave the night behind her with some dignity left over. Prepare for a new day. To not be a constant reminder that Slade had tried to kill his family.

Looking down at herself, she was faced with her first obstacle: she had no clean clothes to change into. She didn't need to look into the large mirror to her side to know that her back, on the hoodie at the very least, looked like a sight from a horror move. Her face probably suited it too. Her clothes were ruined, stained. But before she could contemplate running throughout the Queen mansion and calling out to Oliver like Cathy did to Heathcliff across the Moors, she spotted a large white t-shirt and some grey slacks just sitting innocently on the side of the sink.

…Those would do. Beggars can't be choosers.

She was out of the grey hoodie before she'd realised she'd even moved- then paused.

She brought the hoodie up, close to her face and inhaled the scent there – one purely 'Oliver', even after hours of 'felicity', her sweat and blood soaked into the lining; it was still very present, if faint – closing her eyes and drifting momentarily.

There was nothing else like it. Nothing so utterly safe. And comforting.

Taking in the soft texture, the image of Oliver wearing it after one too many late night injuries made her let loose a shaky exhale; she'd never begrudge the man his wounds in the line of fire… but remembering him wrapped up in this hoodie, she'd one too many times daydreamed about how… snug and squishy – for I am Dory - he looked wearing it. About how much she'd have loved to just… be there for him. To hold him. To care for and shelter him. And make him feel as safe as he made her feel. Like that'll ever happen. Physically Felicity had never made a single soul feel secure. It was impossible. Laughable. She had neither the form, figure nor the countenance for such a feat.

Her fingers graced the tear at the shoulder with regret. It's ruined. He has more than one but… And let it drop to the floor. Swiftly, her yoga pants followed, then her sports bra. Eventually she found the courage needed to turn and face her reflection but it was still a shock, still humbling and terrifying to discover that she was completely healed. No horrible injury to the forehead, no bruise on her cheek… her skin as soft as ever and a slight pink blush n her cheeks: her back looked much as it had before Slade had taken a sword to it.

She stared at herself, taking a step into the dim light.

One minute turned into two, to five, to ten before she sighed. Suddenly realising her nakedness, her arms rose to cover her breasts. She was nude and anybody could walk in. Why am I just standing here? Shower. I can handle a shower, she thought as she stepped beyond the translucent glass door, like a boss. A very capable former EA of QC's former CEO.

And if she let her fingers make short work of the sponge there that smelled like Oliver, if she traced the delicate prints of blood on the tiles left behind by hands bigger than hers against the wall – she could see him in her mind's eye hunched forwards, arms bracketing his head against the sleek surface as he let hot water flow down his back and shivered, long night indeed - if her fingers slid amongst, caressed and discovered, doing the walking, and the talking of all his things… nobody would know-

Who are you trying to fool girl

Spitting out warm water, she spluttered. Wide eyed, wet and suddenly trembling, her body stilled again, shoulders hunched up by her neckline, arms wrapped around her front, eyes searching, waiting…

But there was nobody there.

What's going on?

Water from the shower head continued to hit the floor but there was no other sound.

An unsteady laugh escaped her. Maybe the Queen Mansion is haunted. Maybe all mansions are haunted. Maybe, maybe, maybe… There was a buzzing in her ears and she tried to swallow - but her throat was so dry – as her eyes closed. Her heart was racing once again, padding along like horse hooves in a sprint; it was a monstrous piece of work now – it made her scared of herself, made her cower against her thoughts, made her whimper and quake, even though the water was scalding.

Stay calm. Breathe - just like before, when Oliver had held her - just keep picturing that, how safe you felt, how safe he made you feel - and you're here; in his house.

But the pounding of her heart grew stronger. It was biological, not psychological and it needed to stop doing that; soon it would be louder than her thoughts and for Felicity Smoak that was unthinkable.

But she felt so alone-

Stop it. She turned back towards the water. You're just… stop it. There's nothing wrong.

Yet half an hour later… everything was so, so wrong.

The shirt was too big and the pants slid down her ass – they were Oliver's so thinking on it, if they had fit her, she'd have to kill herself a little bit – But I can't go outside looking like this!

"Felicity?"

Uh oh. Her head snapped up from where she'd been staring, aghast at the drawstring sweatpants now a pool of black around her feet.

Thea.

Then the lightest tap, tap, tap sound of a small fist rapping on wood sounded. "Felicity? Are you okay?" Thea asked again from beyond the door, her voice quiet. "I heard the shower…" there was a moment were the Queen sibling seemed to cecum out to nerves, which was odd – the indomitable Thea Queen losing to anything like insecurity. "But I figured you'd want some privacy."

Closing her eyes, Felicity's head tilted as she prayed for patience. Not because of Thea. No, it's the universe conspiring against me, just that. At the mercy of the Queen's – not necessarily a bad place to be, being at Oliver's mercy, which was an image absolutely necessary to conjure at whatever o'clock in the morning – the same people who she'd just escaped death with, were now going to have to tolerate her super naked glory – spoiler alert: it's not so glorious – so cursing heaven and all its angels was the least she could do.

I'm pant-less and PANTIE-LESS - let's not forget that one anytime soon – and standing in Oliver's on-suite bathroom, in a mansion ruled by Moira Queen who hates me and probably wishes I was road kill somewhere 8 hours back instead of enjoying 20 minutes of steaming hot hose. Again in Oliver's bathroom. Again, PANTIE-LESS. Because she couldn't put the one's she'd worn all day yesterday and had sweat and bled in – the wound on her back had well and truly seeped – back on.

She scratched her forehead in lamentation before crossing over to open the door and smiling as the small gap revealed a very fidgety-looking Thea Queen. "I'm here."

"Um…" The brunette's eyes travelled fast and fluid all over Felicity's T-Shirt covered form before landing on her face and pressed her lips together. "Hey."

So much like her brother. "Hi. So erm…" Before the day fully breaks Felicity. "I have no pants. Completely pant-less."

"Sorry?"

"Or underwear. Of any kind. The bra I'm fine going without; it's not like I'm packing anything major here." She closed her eyes; any day of the week can I just not be me for like, five seconds? She forced out words. "But the panties are somewhat… required."

But far from looking embarrassed by Felicity's babbling, Thea simply frowned. "Didn't Ollie leave you something to wear?"

It took her a moment – the fishlike opening and closing of her mouth had something to do with that because hello; Oliver had left those clothes, his clothes, for her – to respond. "Well h-he did. But, ah..." Stepping out from behind the door Felicity pointed out the tiny hiccup in her brother's plan. "The shirt is a tent." It reached her thighs and fell down one shoulder, revealing quite distinctly her current lack of bra. "But I could handle that if there were pants. Pants on everyone." Pleadingly, she finished. "His pants are too big. And I need something to cover up that I'm…"

"Naked." Thea nodded, relaxing. Smiling. Thank God. She almost fell over.

"Right."

But then Thea just came right on out and said: "Pretty sure Ollie wouldn't mind if you borrowed a pair of his boxer shorts."

"I'm sorry, what?" His boxers? 404 error. Brain experiencing a short-out.

"His boxer shorts? I think he wears them; unless you'd prefer boxer briefs."

And every thought frizzled into none existence.

Blinking short, hard blinks; once, twice, it took a minute for Felicity to figure this out before she settled for, "yeah, that's what I thought you'd said."

"Come on." Thea replied and it was only then that Felicity realised just how tied up in knots the young woman was. She was smiling and beckoning still but… her eyes were red rimmed and her hands kept moving. "I wanted to ask this when you woke…" yep; even her voice was trembling, "but you weren't there so… and you look alright but… are you alright?"

Standing now, back inside Oliver's bedroom, Thea waited.

And Felicity, who'd followed her; a soft frown furrowing her brow, looked back.

Thea looked… cold. Physically. Like she needed soup, coffee, a big hug, Slade's imminent imprisonment, Roy, chocolate and a vacation. This list was not exhaustive and not necessarily in descending order.

Felicity's voice fell into a soothing lull. "I'm okay Thea."

"You were bleeding."

She tried not to flinch and succeeded, smiling in her best – yet so pathetic – attempt to instil some of the assurance she didn't 100% feel herself. "Not bleeding anymore."

Thea's arms crossed at her middle. "It's like with Roy."

Uh oh. "What do you mean?" Alarm bells ringing.

"Roy before he… left." She swallowed. "Before we split, he'd get hurt. And then he'd be fine almost right away. I don't know how to explain it but I think maybe my brother does."

Disarm, re-direct! "Who, Oliver?" A nervous titter left her and she was pretty sure her eye twitched. "Why would he-"

"He's the Arrow."

"Right, because he's the Ar-" Her throat closed, a dying whale sound accompanying it, oh god, and ventured forth regardless, this is so not good. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

By the sheer confidence on Thea's face, Felicity figured she was missing something but the expletives shrieking in her skull prevented her from finding out just what by herself. "He's the Arrow." The Queen sibling reiterated. "The actual Arrow. He told me he was, more or less." More or less? And, oh, her voice was all… fluffy. Happy, a little smug and a whole lot proud of her big brother. Felicity could literally feel her heart going gooey at the message it all sent. But then Thea finished with: "which mean's Roy's been working with him."

Stepping forwards Felicity held up a hand – Be kind, rewind – needing to backtrack. "Again, I'm sorry, but he said what?" And she had to be sure. "He told you he was the Arrow… more or less?"

Eyes flickering here, there and everywhere in confusion Thea blinked. "Well, yeah; I asked him if he was the Arrow and when he didn't say anything I told him I'd take his silence as a direct admission." She shrugged. "He still didn't say a word."

Surprised, it took Felicity a moment… Oliver. He must have been completely worn out to leave himself so open. Or maybe he just… wanted her to know.

He finally told her. Something inside Felicity settled. Good for him.

She didn't realise the soft smile on her face told a story until Thea spoke again. "I knew you knew."

That broke her out of her musings scary fast. "Huh."

Thea actually scoffed; sounding much more like the self-assured heiress she used to be and rolled her eyes. "Oh come on; the crossbow?" She backed up and added. "That was seriously badass btw."

"Really?" So it may not be the point she should be focusing on, okay, but she really couldn't help the tiny – honest it was miniscule – blush that flushes her face. Badass. There's a word I never thought would be used in association with yours truly. "Thank you."

There was a moment of silence.

"…You're welcome." Swallowing, Thea spoke to the floor. But before question marks could litter the air the girl had stepped forwards, wrapping her in what would have been a bruising hug if not for her new Mirakuru enhanced musculature structure.

"Thea?" Felicity's hands automatically moved to stroke slow, roving circles on the girl's back.

The reply was muffled in Felicity's hair as both were almost the same height. "I haven't really said thank you yet. One thing happened after the other and…"

"There's been no room to breathe?" Felicity hazarded.

"Yeah."

"You don't have to thank me. I'm actually surprised it worked at-"

"That's what Ollie said."

The rest of her sentence died on Felicity's lips, which was great seeing as how it would neither boost her ego nor inflate the trivial amount of safety Thea had managed to regain during the night. "He isn't wrong." She whispered and noticed absently the slow rocking motion she'd begun with the girl.

Pretty sure that was a yawn too. The slight pause and the flex of Thea's jaw against Felicity's neck confirmed it. "He said I never need to thank him."

A nod. "He's right."

"Sounds lonely."

She thought of the lair, late into the night, when Oliver would systematically turn half the lights off. She thought of his ultra-fast and squeaky clean hook up with Sara, months after his – never to be mentioned or thought of again – also super speedy judgement call with Isabel. She thought of the way he'd tried so hard to convince Thea how much he loved and cared for her despite all the lies and contradictions. And she thought of herself, hidden in plain sight with no social life to speak of, knowing and accepting that not one soul would understand her true vocation and finally uttered: "It can be."

When Thea pulled back she didn't go far.

Instead her eyes quested. "So… are you this Black Canary the Newscasts keep going on about?"

Can you choke on air? "Who, me? No!" What even… is she joking? Shaking her head she stared at Thea. "No, that's… that would be Sara." She conceded with a sigh. Might as well go the full mile here.

"Oh." The lacklustre response kind of threw Felicity. But then Thea continued with, "so that's why they're sleeping with each other," in such an, oh that makes sense, fashion.

Wow. In a way it's so correct it's not even an assumption to make. And she had nothing. Bubkis. Nada. Though she wanted, really and truly, to tell Thea something that would allow the very new pride she now felt for Oliver to soar to new heights, what could she possibly say? No Thea, they're in love. Totally and completely smitten, head over heels, she is his lobster, it just didn't ring true.

Or maybe it did… and Felicity just didn't see it. Because she didn't want to? Because she'd seen proof that their relationship could deteriorate faster than it actually started? Because, because, because…

Oliver… deserved more. They both did.

And it wasn't even the small jolts of wistful envy she felt whenever she remembered them together, or the sadness and shame that came into being when she remembered clearly the feel of Oliver's arms – his biceps, triceps, all the 'ceps,' and the sheer warmth - wrapped around her with his heartbeat pulsing to her own cadence in her ear that made her think any of this.

It was because, like Diggle, Felicity understood him.

It wasn't Sara who Oliver had been dreaming of for a year after his return. That was Laurel; a woman Oliver might still hold a flame for. It wasn't Sara whose name Oliver had mumbled, unconscious and in pain: he'd called out for Shado, Slade's love. A love triangle turned tragic. Shakespeare at its most brutal. Oliver had the capacity to fall for and maintain love for more than 1 woman at any given time. And Sara definitely was never mentioned whenever Oliver talked – in those brief few and far between moments – about the things he wanted and never thought he could have.

Though it hadn't been a shock to Felicity: she'd seen it coming. From the moment she first met Sara she knew the Arrow and his Canary, Amazonian goddess would end up sharing a bed.

Cause, duh.

They were both so extraordinary she'd think it odd if they hadn't. Didn't mean she didn't hurt inside. A small, silent wound, the size of a bullet hole near her aorta – locked away where no one could see – ignored for the most part because she'd accepted the fundamental truth of her and Oliver:

Whatever connection that may exist between them, it would never be acknowledged. And she respected him for that. Ollie Queen may have been a tease and cheat but Oliver Queen wasn't either of those things.

She had his respect.

Yet she remembered the way Diggle had blinked at the change in Oliver, at the speed of 'him and Sara'. She also remembered how his knowing eyes had cut to her almost immediately afterwards and how she'd fended him off with a single look screaming 'it's their business'. She wished she could rewind time and not wonder, for the longest moment, what it was like to be on the receiving ends of those small pecks between their lips, of their casual hand holding…

Because he'd stopped. Since he began his relationship with Sara Lance Oliver had ceased touching her.

Completely and effortlessly.

It's been said – by 'I don't know who' – that you don't know what you have until you lose it. Well, it hadn't hit Felicity until then just how much she and Oliver gave each other during the night hours. How much they shared. And what it meant to her, how much she needed that.

To survive.

To just sleep at night.

Until it was gone; transferred to another who could both give and take so much more.

To say that it hadn't stung… even a little… would be a lie that felicity could never admit to herself. For one thing this IT girl – his girl – didn't do, it was lie to herself about her feelings.

True, he hadn't touched her often. But the careless brushes of fingers, the shoulder grasping, the occasional back grace when they were entering a room together, the up close and in-your-face-discussions – personal space be damned - where those piercing blue orbs would spear almost inappropriately through her own were no longer available to her.

So Felicity did what Felicity was apt at: she accepted it, re-discovered her place on the team and had continued to perform to the best of her ability both in the field and as a friend.

But it didn't answer why Thea thought-

"It's just that after Laurel," Thea offered, probably noting the odd look on Felicity's face – odd because not even she understood what she was feeling right then – with a shrug and a smile as she made her way towards Oliver's cupboard, "I didn't think he'd want to delve into 'Lance' territory again. Too much history and all that jazz."

Maybe, but… "But he shouldn't be alone just because he's Oliver Queen. Just because he's the Arrow."

The frown Thea pulled as she turned back to her made no sense to Felicity. "You care a lot about my brother don't you?"

"What about you?" Because, absolutely yes, change the subject please. "You seem to be taking this whole 'my brother is the Arrow' thing pretty well."

Cue major eye-roll Thea Queen Style – it put all other eye rolls to shame – as she leaned against the drawer. "Please: I'm not even close to finished with asking him about it but… it feels really, really good just knowing about it. So much makes sense now."

A laugh sprang free from her throat. "Yeah; that's what I said when he first told me who he was."

"And how did that go?"

"Um, bleeding and unconscious in the back of my tiny car?"

One blink. Two blinks. "That's… interesting." Said like a question. The younger of the two choked out. "You know we're going to have to talk, you and I. Over mint-choc-chip and alcohol. And a movie. Queen Tradition."

"Sounds nice…"

It had been a while. A long while really, since Felicity had indulged in social comforts-

Overly sensitive women – something Oliver never truly understood

Her smile fell off her face like a slap.

No.

Any ounce of relief gained since she stepped out of the shower faded into dust. All it takes is a second. Just one. Light dies. Darkness falls. Fear becomes the dominant. Everything changed. It really did. How could she think it wouldn't? How could I be so stupid? So lax.

It was like she couldn't move: breaths frozen, terrified; disbelief making her muscles tense so tight it hurt. Because he was just standing there…

She stared at him.

It can't be… but it was. He was… his presence became a sharp image from a blur; he's not supposed to be here, not with me. Not here with me, moving out from the confines of illusion to reality, to the forefront of her mind and eyes.

No. He was real. No.

Closer this time. Right. In. Her. Ear-

Then again, I suppose it depends on your definition of sensitive

Her eyes slammed shut at the whisper – but not before she caught the flash of brown irises so dark they were almost black. He'd smiled slightly.

Slade

Hello Felicity

It was like a bullet to the stomach. He was right there. It doesn't make sense. Yet it made all the sense. She swallowed…I thought I was imagining it. I thought that I was just afraid – like always, so afraid – that I was hearing what I least wanted to hear. She should have realised, should have remembered that humans receive the least miracles.

It takes time to fall into madness… with Mirakuru, madness was gifted.

Slade stepped past her, his shoes making zero sound as he walked forwards. It was casual – as if he had all the time in the world - between her and Thea. Thea who hadn't stopped rambling on about late nights with Oliver on the sofa, Thea who is Oliver's sister and was kidnapped and made to feel out of place in the Queen family by callously telling her of her heritage by the same man. Thea who he'd tried to kill tonight…

For a one time stopping second Felicity almost screamed at the girl to run.

That won't be necessary

Her eyes flew back to meet the face man who'd given them all reason to fear sleep and dreams.

She can't see me - I'm not here for her

Felicity blinked: he was right; the younger woman didn't notice. Didn't see him. He was for her eyes only.

Thank God…

Wrong again

And suddenly it was painful, sickening. And it wasn't a hot heat: it was a cold poison – not a heartbeat: a deathly silence in her brain where screams, memories not her own, wants and dreams that she'd never considered clawed at her, reaching for her, to drag her back down with-

Bending at the waist, Felicity gasped, grasping the hair on head, knowing she looked like 'The Scream's' answer to a real time depiction… but it hurt too much, was too frightening to cope with.

Her heart plummeted when Thea's face pushed into her vision.

I'm making things worse…

"Felicity!"

I'm fine. It's a 'Slade special' kind of torture, so it'll be fine. I'm going to completely ignore that he's standing right there and everything. Will. Be. Fine… Her mouth opened to express the lie, to ease the look of 'disturbia' written on Thea's face, which was suddenly chalky white, but… nothing came out. Except another gasp and a choked sound of pain.

It was enough for Thea to act on. "I'll get Ollie!"

A flare of panic forced her to breathe once. Twice. No. "Thea…" she tried to reach her but almost fell over from the strain in her head. He doesn't need this, not now. He needs Sara. And Thea, his mother, not me. Not his IT girl loosing it-

Tell yourself whatever you need to, whatever safety nets give you ease; it won't change the outcome

Eyes opening wide, her gaze shot up to stare at her illusion. He was leaning against the bathroom doorway, following Thea's escape from the room. He wasn't smiling.

"Why are you hurting me?" She whispered, stumbling away from him.

He looked at her.

It's not me

She stared at him and the side of his mouth twitched.

In the figurative sense… it's not me

And it hit her that he wasn't wearing an eye patch. That he was wearing green fatigues and a black muscle T instead of his impressive overcoat, that the look on his face wasn't bitter resentment, wasn't anger or hatred or insanity… it was pure calm. He was different, this Slade Wilson.

Confused, befuddled, discombobulated – pick an adjective – the bridge of her brow crinkled and she swallowed, opening her mouth to speak but-

"OLLIE!"

Like being slammed back into her body, the shout made something inside her snap into action.

Oliver.

She was out of the door – it slammed against the wall; there'd be a hole and she'd hate herself for leaving evidence of her clash with reality - before she could say another word, her feet burning friction against the carpet covered hallway, desperate to reach Thea before the inhabitants of the mansion could realise that, yes, Felicity Smoak was infected with a lethal substance that causes fluctuations in social behaviour, absolute uprisings in aggression and a fairly morose twist of psychosis.

And apparently, hallucinations.

But all she knew, all she could think… was that she couldn't think. Was that she didn't know what to do. And the wrenching fear that Oliver would look at her the exact same way Sara had looked at Roy. It was clouding her thoughts, that there was a realm of possibility where he might lose trust in her, that John would be wary of her and that Sara wouldn't even speak to her…

That Oliver, who no longer touched her – except he had tonight, with varying degrees of maddening soulfulness, gentleness and need – would never do so again.

That a shadow, one that already played with his dreams, was following her steps.

All this… just so that Slade could hurt Oliver.

I don't need to be saved. I'm all right. I'm good, all by myself. We can tell him that I'm alright, me and Thea.

It didn't reach her that all she wore – seriously; 'all' - was simply Oliver's sweet smelling shirt or that her damp hair had started to aggressively curl.

Hitting a corner in a blur of speed and fractured sight, she glimpsed the brunette who was leaning over the banister, her mouth opening, lungs inhaling, voice reaching again for her 'Ollie'-

Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry-

Because she couldn't stop herself.

Too fast and too strong for muscle memory to adapt to with any kind of ease she slammed into Thea Queen, yelping at the split second image shock of being several metres away from her to suddenly being on top of the girl – this was not in the job description when I became EA to the EO of Queen Consolidated – and immediately rolling off of her, into a crouch, eyes wide and numbed, her voice trembled with apologies.

"Thea, God, I'm so sorry." His sister had only tried to help.

Moving to stand she took a timid step closer, reaching down to her with shaking fingers, trying not to both flinch and laugh at the 'what the hell' expression she found there. "I couldn't stop myself and-"

PAIN

Like someone had released a grenade against beside her head.

But she supposed that's what you get when you meet the business end of a short staff with your face. The cheek bone, to be exact. The force of it rippled through her skin and muscle, straight into her skull. Lights flashed behind her eyes. The sky turned dark. Her balance toppled and she hit the bannister support.

Wh-what…

Felicity blinked at the ground floor, 15 feet below her. Shock made everything fade for a moment because…

Sara.

Felicity knew, of course she did. They were friends and had gotten nicely informal with each other, having actually spent time together outside of the 'Lair'. Dancing in Verdant. Eating at Big Belly. Watching movies Sara had missed out on. Casual things… but none of it had actually happened until Oliver and Sara had fought: their first fight. To which Felicity and Diggle had been unwilling witnesses to who'd desperately wanted to escape.

It had been before Slade had arrived unwanted to the party in Starling. Oddly enough it had started as a soft conversation between them about Laurel and how she was coping – or rather how she was utterly not coping – with her substance abuse problems and had erupted into a yelling match involving their raison d'etre.

Or more specifically, how Oliver's original mission had managed to enfold Dig, Felicity and… Sara's father, Quentin Lance, into the mix.

The specifics were lost on her now; it had been… not petty exactly; it was more a misunderstanding than anything else. Anyway, right after the fact, Sara had joined her upstairs at the club where Felicity had fled to. In fact, after every fight Sara and Oliver had – and there had been one too many, usually always involving the method in which Oliver bags his criminals or the way Sara just straight up kills them – the strawberry blonde warrior princess would join her for a little TLC.

So inevitably they'd gotten kind of close. It was how Felicity knew that Sara detested Slade, even though the circumstances leading to his antagonistic rise were more than understandable. Trauma induced insanity wasn't something easily reckoned with. But Sara… she hates him, irrevocably.

Slade had prevented her and 'Ollie' from getting home.

The odd snippets Sara had shared concerning her time on Lian Yu – which was, unsettlingly, far more than Oliver had ever wished to share – had painted a sad picture of a girl who'd allowed herself to fall into Stockholm Syndrome in order to survive in harsh lands far from home. Of a young woman who had been reunited, miraculously with her, once and again, crush – though the crush evolved staggeringly fast into young love and bitter regret. Of someone who missed her family terribly and had decided to lump her lot with two people on that same island who were supposed to help her return home. And hadn't. Instead, not in a moment of passionate discomposure but of a calculated decision, one of them had turned against the remaining two, uncaring about how much they'd endured and twisting an already impossible fight for survival into a nightmare. And once again it resulted in her being lost at sea. Her very own hell on earth. Only to be found and moulded by a clandestine group of assassins who would not only extract whatever lingering remnants of innocence she's still possessed – sanitizing them before her - they would show her that deep down, in many ways, as per Sara's words, she was just as bad as Slade.

I didn't believe that. I still don't.

It didn't matter: Sara did. And it was the second reason why Sara wanted to, very seriously, kill him.

Her final reason was simply because the man sacred her to death. Get in line.

But for Sara it was very different. No matter how strong or ruthless Sara could and had become; Slade was the real deal. In some ways, Felicity figured that Sara still felt very much like that lost little girl, aged 20, on an island full of older men, terrified of what they might do to her. It would explain how and why she'd only targeted rapists in her lonesome nights after the quake. That feeling only increased with the presence of Slade Wilson and his steady decline into his personal brand of madness.

Just as he was with Oliver – Sara had hinted, more than once, that Slade was a name he mumbled often in his sleep… Slade… and Shado - Slade was a figure in Sara's nightmares as well, just from a different angle. So… very much like with what Felicity had come to understand with her, Sara – the Canary – needed to eliminate that threat.

For peace of mind and soul.

Which was also why having Sara consider her to be just as much of a threat as she did Slade, made Felicity feel as if she'd just been dropped from an airplane without a parachute.

Because… she couldn't. Not Sara. Right?

It was devastating, not the hit to the face – though that was not pretty.

The part of her that could only bow in the face of unmet teenage expectations wanted to start crying – I'm talking big, blubbering, bucket loads of tears - the red heat of the strike still coursing through her, each throb lashing pressure behind her eyes, I will. Not. Cry.

But it also crushed the muscles of her heart, even as it pounded, the feeling lashing heat to her extremities, making them shake and clench.

Like a panic attack

Both 'fight' and 'flight' instincts were warring for dominance.

With short, jerky movements, Felicity swallowed and managed to half turn away from the bannister, watching, mouth open as Sara – In a soft sweater hidden beneath her intimidating leather jacket - pulled Thea to her feet and pushed her back towards the wall.

With her hair flaring golden in the faint sunrise, the whole time she'd stood there, Sara's eyes didn't leave Felicity's. Wide, focused, ice blue…

…Cold. She wasn't seeing her friend; she saw Mirakuru.

Dread shoots like a stone to the pit of Felicity's stomach.

She's standing there before the Canary in all her ass kicking, leather wearing glory, looking like she's been carved from stone; a Greek statue, a tribute to Athena and oh frack, is Felicity not prepared for this because, I have no fracking clue what to fracking do next!

The twirl of the staff was almost hypnotic.

Then sound hits her suddenly and is chaotic; Thea's confused voice and Sara's controlled anger as she almost hurls the girl off the floor - a dull roar she couldn't quite fathom over the knowledge that it was already starting; friend turning on friend.

"What are you doing?!"

"Thea, get behind me!"

"Get off me! No, she was just- Sara!"

And it's as if everything slows.

She can clearly see the moment Sara decides it's still not enough, that a hit to the face didn't do the job – whatever that might be – and moves to go in for the kill, so to speak. God I hope it's 'so to speak'.

The muscles in Sara's leg shifts and pull, something Felicity shouldn't have noticed. But if that was true then she also shouldn't have noticed the way her friend's hips tense in line with her spine, how her back bends and biceps ripple beneath that tight black as she pushes however much strength she's somehow determined is needed down her biceps, and she absolutely shouldn't notice the tiny pull of the woman's strawberry blonde brow and the slight – but somehow to Felicity – crystal clear and easily missed flash of hurt in Sara's eyes as she says… "I'm sorry Felicity."

And then goes for the neck shot; if done correctly - and she knows this from watching Sara and Oliver on the mats - it renders the victim unconscious in seconds.

She could let her do that…

Wait a minute, I could LET her do what?

It wouldn't be difficult to simply…

And yes, he's there; an indistinct spectre in her peripheral. A dark blur of darker meaning. So she doesn't know if it's him or herself, doesn't know if it's the Mirakuru or just her own instincts guiding her after almost 2 years with two impressively skilled fighters - one of whom forces her to the mats herself from time to time – that allows her to weave under the staff before it strikes her.

That allows her to really, impressively, move.

Because suddenly she's in there – heart pounding in her throat, blood rushing too fast – as her arm curls fast over Sara's leading hand, gripping it and twisting-

And Sara cries out… Sara. In pain. Because of me…

I feel sick. But all she'd wanted was for Sara to drop the weapon, so she isn't yet done and reaches fast for the wood before it fully drops to the floor and kicks it off the banister.

Then Sara's foot comes out of nowhere and she lets it, suddenly terrified that it's even an option, frightened once again of moving, of breathing, of hurting someone else and she's being hit before she can count, kick… kick… and kick… after kick, and for a woman who doesn't have Mirakuru running through her system, Sara Lance is ridiculously strong.

But then she hears it… and wants to enfold herself in it; to crawl inside and be held within its safety. Just as much as she wants, needs, to flee from it. From him.

Oliver…

Not this. He can't see this, the way I am…

"Sara, stop! Sara!"

She'd heard him pounding up the staircase on the third kick.

How he'd rounded the corner on the fourth - and she caught a split second image of him before the final blow made her double forwards – how he'd sped over the carpet, barefooted and breathless. His face a monument to zero tolerance: he looked furious – all bent out of shape with his shirt askew - as if he'd just walked into the lair to find out someone had set fire to his suit and Felicity had to wonder, why is he so…

"SARA!"

Oh.

Breathing in deeply, she'd barely managed to stagger upright as her head rose to glimpse him and wished she hadn't – it wasn't fair - because he was just… perfect.

But… he was. Very much so. To her.

With all his failings and weaknesses, the so called limitations others had pegged to his name and face and voice, to Felicity he was… the best person. The very best. She wasn't the type to be blinded by amazing good looks and talent or the kind of voice that made a certain weak spot on the spine tingle and quiver, knees shake and palms sweat…

Didn't mean she was immune but… it wasn't about that for her. The moment she met him she'd seen something she'd liked: yes he was ridiculous – all muscles and jawline and eyes, geez, the eyes – and beautiful – beautifully scarred – emotionally, physically: absolutely. But there was a kind of peace he provoked in her. And a convicted sort of need he'd revitalised making her test her limits through helping people and by correcting mistakes. He was her hero because he'd made her into one too. It wasn't something you could simply repay. And she didn't want to… it was between them, just us, and it made her want to grasp onto it with both hands and never let it go.

But sometimes, for someone else, you have to.

Like… right about now? I've just hurt his girlfriend… Oh God. That isn't the kind of thing Oliver could forgive easily. Or at all. The idea that he wouldn't forgive her for something, anything? It was unthinkable.

Stumbling back, she swallows back her feelings with zero success, immediately looking, not to Oliver (though heaven knows she wants to) but for an escape - because everything inside was screaming for it – when her gaze falls on Thea. Impetuous, the girl was inching towards her – er, no - reaching for her arm and the look on her face isn't fearful or angry; it's sympathetic. Connecting. As if… it's not her that Thea's concerned about. The way her eyes dart to Sara's form it kind of answers the question as to who she might be trying to get away from.

Ah… What?

Well… it made a kind of sense. Sara did kind of… sort of, blitz up the stairs like a wraith and just start attacking her. Though Felicity understood the whys of it all, Thea hadn't a clue.

Regardless she took another step away until her back hit the bannister again, shaking her head-

"It's okay." Thea said, simply trying to calm her, to prove to her that a little fall wasn't going to upset the once and again heiress. "It was an accident; we both fell over."

Yes, it was an accident, but it was one caused by Mirakuru. Which meant that, by no means, was she to go near Oliver's little sister, no matter how much gumption and brass the girl possessed.

A juvenile show of nerves comes with the urge to fiddle with her fingers; instead she rakes them through her hair, stopping short when Oliver's eyes slam into hers.

Unbeknownst to her, moving away from Thea put her closer to him and now he's just a couple of metres away, a hand raised like a stop sign but not in her direction. But in Sara's. Briefly, guiltily – oh so guiltily, sorry Sara – Felicity spares Sara a brief glance finding with certain kind of static shock – basically, she flinches – that Sara's somewhat visceral side, her assassin's nature so to speak, is very much present in the way she looks at Felicity.

God… there was nothing she could say. She might be looking at Sara like she's the universe's answer to fat free ice cream that tastes just as delicious as full fat – begging her not to hate her – but it wasn't reaching the woman. There was no hate there or anything to suggest that she no longer saw Felicity as a woman she trusted. But there was a distinct pain in her gaze: Sara had been betrayed before by a friend or two.

She's mentally preparing herself for a fall. It was staggering. But I wouldn't, I would never…

Involuntarily, her eyes flicker back to Oliver. Please don't look at me like you want to put an arrow in me, and then, well…

He's still looking at her.

He'd never stopped.

Hadn't moved or even attempted to move, not away from her or towards the Xena-like Sara, not towards his startled sister... he was speaking, slow and steady and soft… gentle, soothing. And she'd think he was worried about her sanity if he were speaking to her now like she was a feral animal … except the expression on his face knocked the wind out of that sail. And he's had an emotional sort of day so it's understandable… at least that's what she tries to tell herself.

He looks so… reassured.

Like a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest and he could, finally, breathe again.

It was palpable, that relief. She could feel it against the skin of her face as his eyes trailed snowflakes over each ridge and curve.

On him it lined every crevice – he looks so tired. And he really did: like he could sleep for weeks. It isn't just physical either; it's a lot more than that, his eyes screaming the truth of it as his tongue tastes the dryness of the nights anxiety left on his lips.

She shudders.

Maybe it's only Felicity who hears it, who hears the lonely scream- odd since he's with Sara - that echo's in every feature of his face. And maybe seeing hallucination 'Slade' wasn't the end of that ride.

But it's his eyes that cancel the sound of his voice – if only temporarily – as they reach into her, the blue pulling at her fear and asking her to come rest. To fall into them, into him. They lured those eyes. They enticed and searched and pulled at the senses, at her instinct to want to hide, which he seemed to have guessed, given how he had completely blocked her exit down the stairs.

And she could focus now on his words, which was good seeing as how she knew that if she stared any harder he might actually see the words 'I'm yours' printed across her forehead. Getting a grip, it seemed, was not an option.

"Thea," he was saying now, his voice a deep lull, "you okay?"

He spoke quite calmly and quietly and, oh God I floored his sister, which was absolutely why he was taking a very slow step towards me because I hurt her and not any of the other stuff that my lovesick brain provided for and-

"I'm fine!" Thea stated, her hair falling about her shoulders as she whipped her head to and fro. "Nothing even happened."

But then Sara, who stood so silently to the side, her wrist a dead weight, opened her mouth. "I saw her push you to the ground." She said quietly, looking at Felicity the entire time. "Felicity isn't… herself right now. There was every chance that she could have hurt you."

And yes, it hurts, a lot, being spoken about like that – as if she would ever deliberately go out to hurt another person, Mirakuru or not - her heart's thumping in her chest, her throat dry and suddenly the slight breeze on her legs makes her remember how 'almost naked' she is and it doesn't help because she knows she looks pathetic. Weak. Overcome. She understands that to an outsider she might actually look like she's just run out of a Psych Ward but she's standing in front of Oliver, looking this distressed and hopeless, this uncovered, this abnormal… the t-shirt barely reaches mid-thigh and without underwear she feels… inappropriate.

Yet the look Oliver throws Sara…

As if she's just uttered words offensive to all mankind, Oliver's brow turns from unmarred to harsh in a second and the peaceful assurance he'd been offering until moments ago disappears along with it.

And then he whispers, "Sara," and it's almost a lovers word; except Felicity knows what Oliver's voice sounds like when it whispers in the ear words of understanding and affection…and she knows exactly what it sounds like when he's making threats over the coms system late at night.

This? It's a threat. I caused this…

Felicity's eyes are all over the pair, hoping hopelessly that she hasn't wrecked permanent damage between them but way Sara's looking at him makes Felicity think that not only is she spot on, it's an unprecedented move in their relationship. Oliver intimating a threat. To Sara.

"Ollie." The beautiful fighter starts to shake her head. "You told me that she's-"

"I don't care." It's so quiet and deadly it makes Thea stare at him. "You only heard what you wanted to hear." His voice low, he finally drops the hand keeping Sara where she is. Exhaustion reeks from him then, but there's also this… strength. As if he's become unmoveable. "We've done this before," his eyes flicker hesitantly to Thea, Felicity – because no one notices that her breathing has escalated or that her heart is still racing - taking the chance to slowly place her hands behind her on the support, "with Roy." Thea blinks at that and you can practically see the cogs turning. "You made a hasty decision then, one you would have bitterly regretted-"

"I still don't regret that decision." Sara interrupts and Oliver just looks at her. And there's the real lover's word imprinted on his face.

Disappointment.

"Wait…" Its Thea's turn as her eyes flicker form her brother to his girlfriend. "That was you, wasn't it? The Canary? You pointed a gun at Roy earlier. And then you," her eyes hit her brother's, "you stopped her." Disbelief makes her take a step back from the woman who helped her off the floor. Again, Sara looks like she's been smacked in the face. "You were going to kill him. Kill Roy."

"It was-"

"No! Is Felicity the same as Roy? Is that why you-"

"Thea, please-"

"If she is then we should be helping her; not trying to kill her!" And if Felicity wasn't already feeling affectionate for the sibling then would be now, except a boatload of guilt is heaped with it. It may have been an accident but… what about next time? Am I dangerous? Like Roy was?

Thea looks to her brother. "She saved us." As if it's the answer to everything.

"I know." He replies, as if he agrees.

But he's already looking at her again, at her hands, which are poised and primed behind her. To do what, she doesn't know. "Hey." He murmurs. "Come here." And his hand lifts, beckons, his eyes are asking – damn near begging – her to come away from the bannister. "Felicity."

It doesn't matter than her heartbeat feels like it might ricochet off her ribcage, she feels like maybe, just maybe, she can move her hand and it twitches behind her, shifts. He sees it if his slight smile is anything to go by.

But then Thea suddenly speaks. "Wait; aren't you friends?" She's pointing between Sara and Felicity.

Feeling cornered again she tries to breathe normally, managing to force out a word. "Yes."

Sara doesn't respond. Doesn't give Felicity a thing.

Breathe in, breathe out… right. This is so not my night.

Oliver takes a step closer-

Suddenly, for no reason she can fathom – her body is driving stick – she braces herself fully on the bannister and leaps off towards the ground floor, very aware again that she's wearing no underwear and thankful that she didn't flash anyone on the way down. Including Oliver. She lands in a crouch and stays there for exactly 3 seconds; it feels like an eternity and too much happens at once.

"Oh my god."

Thea.

"Wait, Ollie! You're knee."

Sara.

Feet pounding against the polished flooring makes her head shoot up in surprise as John skirts round the corner, pistol out, raised and pointed at her face.

"Whoa!" He shouts, shocked, his gun immediately coming down. "I thought…"

He thought there'd been a fight. Or an issue. Hearing a body hit the floor would do that to you. Unfortunately it's also what sends a further surge of panic through Felicity Smoak. So as he steps forwards to – his eyes bright with relief at seeing her – she shoots up from her crouch, startling him.

"Felicity-"

"Wait."

It's Oliver.

He's coming down the stairs, a hand raised out to Diggle. "Don't."

And she's sprinting before another word is spoken. It's the third time in the past 12 hours that she's towards or away from him.

They're exchanging shouts behind her but she can't focus on it, not on anything except the bizarre yet increasingly destructive impulse to be outside and away from people.

Flying down corridors and past staircases, her breath coming in loud pants, Felicity barely manages to stop herself before she crashes into a revolving door, instead flattening her palms against it and forcing it to swing opposite herself – the kitchen should lead outside; even in a house like this there's always a door leading to the backyard and here there will probably be grounds the size of stadiums -

A startled cry cuts off her thought and she staggers to a halt, slipping across white floor tiles that are surprisingly mild in temperature. And sees Raisa who she met several times before and who looks like she was about to step through the same door with a tray off to the side filled with a teapot, orange juice and water and another tray filled with sandwiches, pastries, toast and sticky porridge. They're waiting to be placed on a trolley.

Er…

They both blink at each other, "Sorry," I mean, I have zero clue what to do here and boy- does she have the sweetest eyes I've ever seen, and then her brain revolts again as a shot of panic stirs her to keep moving, to find an escape. She turns just as she sees the kindly woman open her mouth to speak, bolting for the back of the room, hands slapping against the windows until she sees the back door almost hidden down the side of the long kitchen island. Her hand is grasping the handle before she can blink, pulling it open, enjoying the early morning breeze on her face - there's a hint of rainfall in the air – just needing to not. Be. Near. People-

Then he's there.

He's right there.

With her. Before her thoughts can hurt her.

A murmur.

"Hey."

Her initial thought – and deep frack it all because it was just an instinctive twist on what her usual reaction would be (to scream shrilly) – is to twist away from him but he's everywhere-

"Sshh, shh, shh, shh." His breath's on her face and in her hair and-

Dammit; it works.

And then his arms are tight around her, coming round from behind. She's crushed back into his large, warm chest before she can respond, lifting her slightly from the floor. But she's fighting for freedom too – heart in her throat, the image of Sara's eyes in her mind - her hands grasping at his arms, trying to push down and it hits her fleetingly that for all her Mirakuru enhancements… she can't use them against Oliver. So the gesture is a mute one.

His voice is raw. "Please." How can she fight against that? "Stop." He almost loses her on a desperate attempt from her to force herself forwards and away but he hauls her back. "Stop fighting me. Felicity."

It hurts but still, she tries again.

When his hands shift fast to grip hers, entangling them so that they can't push or tear he swiftly moves them back around her front, and he's talking to her, "it's okay," an arm below across her ribcage and one overlapping her chest, his hand securing hers over breasts as he curves his broad shoulders against her own much smaller set.

"I'm here." He says. "I'm right here."

And she's done; she's settled, squished against him… but she can move if she wishes. If she wants to get free, all she has to do is force him back. But it would hurt him and if she's honest with herself – no point stopping now – she doesn't want him to let go.

Because when he touched her, her skin sang and she felt like she could breathe again. Her heartbeat, which had spun out of control, started to align itself with his own, reaching out between her shoulder blades to the body pressed against her.

God, stop this Felicity…

But she can't.

She can feel his thighs taught against hers and it's a delicious shiver of a feeling – like falling into chocolate -, her hips secured firmly at his abdominals as a leg pushes gently between her own.

Exposure.

Wearing no underwear, the material of his pants accidentally strokes over her, right there – a frictionless burn – and she's biting her bottom lip as her eyes fall closed. And he's not even trying.

She wants to feel those thighs, both of them… between her own, as they shift and thrust and grit and push her own high above them-

No, she tries to shake herself – this isn't right: he's your friend – but he makes it almost impossible when his fingers carelessly stroke heat over hers, the index finger of his right unknowingly brushing over the side of her breast as he does so. A weightless sensation accompanies the feeling when his face turns into hers; his nose scoping a path over her neck as his chin and jaw sit between the column of her throat and shoulder.

"Breathe with me." He says in her ear.

I am.

"There you go…"

Her eyes finally open and it's so nice being there in his arms but… she can't stay with him. "Oliver."

"It's alright." His scruff against her neck, the hum of his tone sends tendrils of pleasure over her skin, the prickle of those hairs making her shiver; another reminder of her lack of suitable attire.

"I'm sorry." She swallows. "I'm really-"

"Thea's fine." Soft lips unintentionally trace her cheek and she doesn't dare turn her head. "You didn't do anything."

"But what-" She tries and he presses her back firmer, her bottom feeling every inch of him and, woo; holy crap; the man is a god-

"But nothing."

Her eyes narrow; how could he be so obstinate at a time like this? "I'm infected." Squeezing his fingers between her own she emphasizes by clenching just a tad harder than she normally would. "With Mirakuru."

"I know."

It's sad and his breath is so warm… she shakes her head, her hair pooling over her face. "I'm sorry." Because it was never meant to happen. "I can go; I'll go right now, your family will-"

"Hey." By now that one word between them was a language unto itself. "Hey, stop. Look at me."

And when she resists Oliver pushes his face, his nose and stubble against the skin behind her ear, damn near nuzzling her. "Felicity." It's barely a whisper, barely a word, but it's everything and it makes her soften – defenceless against him as she always was – and she knows he feels it as his lips nudge at her...

Because he relaxes fully. Into her. Over her.

"You saved us." Muscles clenching he tugs at her, stressing his words. "You got hurt saving us. I'm just glad you're awake."

Feeling the 'guilt arrow' fast approaching Felicity opens her mouth, ready to destroy the new notch on his ever-present post of remorse but he continues. "I know: your life. Your choice."

"You already thanked me." She breathes.

"It'll never be enough."

Please don't… "Oliver-"

"I don't want it to be."

…What?

It's a rough mumble, his face slowly declining to fit at her throat and his leg moves between her own – a gasp from her lost between them – as he breathes deep. "I don't want it to ever be enough. I don't ever want to stop."

Stop what? And it's a panting wait for him to continue but, just as she knows that if she prodded him further he'd close up she also knows that he won't finish.

And she has bigger concerns.

Her hand delicately extricates from his and – sensing she doesn't mean to flee – he lets it go.

His own hand lands back where it previously lay.

Above her breast.

It's hot and heavy and it makes the blood in her body focus on him like a shark. Her hand falls to her side and hesitantly – as his fingers trail tenderness over the barely covered skin there, experimenting and probably not realising quite yet that he was feeling her up – before her eyes can roll back into her head at the want coursing through her, she grasps his thigh beside hers.

He stills, the rough material of his pants shifting and she licks her lips when his head moves incrementally out from her neck. Say it. "Oliver I, er…"

He hasn't moved – his muscles are locked tight. Hasn't breathed – those pleasant puffs of air an erotic contradiction to the heat of his arms and the cold air at her thighs. She can feel his eyes on her – it's an intensity of intangible consistencies that she's missed these past months – and she won't, can't, allow it to stop her. She's too strong for that. So she turns her head so that her eyes can meet his.

And feels every drop of warmth, the blood pounding its course in her veins travel down, down, to the place where his leg is so perfectly positioned.

I've never seen his eyes look that… Not even when sparing with Sara. Or when he shared his thoughts on Helena.

Suddenly it's too much again and she's speaking – oh good – before she can stop herself. "I'm not wearing any underwear."

There's a moment of silence so deafening, her heartbeat is the only sound she hears. Then he speaks and, wow, it's breathy. Isn't that usually my thing? "What?"

It's difficult, it really is, when your arms are locked by the man of your dreams and he's just looking at you and… "I-I didn't have any underwear to put on and Thea was about to help me but…" Her eyes shoot down to his leg and back up to his face. "I really need you to move your thigh."

Before I do something – a lot of things – I might regret. Or not regret.

Literally two inches from her face, Oliver's own is startling in its intensity. She can clearly see when the muscles there quiver and fix into place. He wets his lips and her eyes immediately flit to there, watching transfixed as a shaky exhale leaves him. "My leg…"

"…Yeah; your leg." Since when was she whispering? "Between mine." And she shouldn't, she really shouldn't, but can't seem to help when her eyes stay riveted on his – they're so dark - waiting.

His mouth is open and the lids of his eyes flicker. Almost a flutter. "I'm… I'm sorry…"

And she smiles – it's like a tear drop. "It's okay."

Maybe it's that they're both okay all of a sudden; achingly tender and hesitant smiles exchanged and it marks the air with awareness so powerful and untouched – untouched because neither had ever let themselves step to this precipice before – that it causes them to simply… feel.

To allow themselves a moment where they simply can.

Even though he's with Sara.

Even though she's infected.

It doesn't seem to matter.

All Felicity knows is the feel of him and how natural it is for him to fit around every bend and curve of hers, how he seems to infiltrate her senses and seep into her bones. Strengthening her.

She's never getting over this. And she doesn't care, doesn't want to. Not for the world will she. Ever. Forget. This.

And she knows that… he's might be discovering something of his own. A beautiful second of possibility because the fingers of his hand – the one fastened to her chest – stretch, just missing her utterly sensitised nipple, stopping suddenly as he realises. The awareness is alive and kicking once more. It takes a minute but his hand eventually drags across her skin, a long goodbye, until it falls bereft by his side leaving his other across her ribs.

A deep exhale on his part pushes her own chest out and, for some reason, his eyes close and his head moves forwards until his nose brushes along her face before their cheeks finally press together.

His next breath is more a sound than a breath; a very quiet… moan.

Oliver.

"You're here."

He says it as if he's…

So close she can't really see his face except the outline in her peripheral… but it's damaging. She'll carry this with her for the rest of her life, to peruse and overuse in her dreams. The way his brow line isn't fractured, how his jaw isn't clenched and how the simple smoothness of his musculature indicates that he feels… comfortable. Safe.

Wow…

Her mouth opens but there's nothing to say and she knows she looks devastated. How her eyes take him in and scream affection. Those eyes close, feeling his right hand touch her own. And linger.

But it's not enough suddenly.

So she lifts that same hand – her other is still interlocked like an Ouroboros with his left – bringing it up close to his face beside hers. Tentatively, with the odd jerk of hesitation, her fingertips trespass there, over skin not hers to touch.

He doesn't pull away.

And then it's all hers to explore: a three day scruff that feels delightful against the pads of her index and middle finger, how her thumb caresses the underside of his jaw as the rest of those nimble investigators chase away demons he'd been haunted by throughout the night.

When he sighs she can't help that her eyes close or that her fingers slide further up the bone until her palm covers his jaw… and the small indentation before his lips is right there-

"Long night." He eventually says.

"Isn't it though?" Her head comes to rest against his. "You didn't sleep did you?"

He huffs a dry chuckle. "Not a wink."

Understandable.

"…Guys."

Annnnnnnnnnd they're back. From a long, truly divine sojourn into no man's land, better known as the 'forbidden territory' that Felicity never thought she'd traverse with Oliver Queen of all people.

It's a moment where they both freeze… until Oliver pulls away from her. Face first. Then arm... then body. She practically feels the distance between them, the space where his isn't any more like a gaping hole in the structure of her foundation.

It's a moment of absolute reality.

Yep: he's not mine. He's taken. And they both knew it. So why…

His hand places itself on her shoulder though and her resulting need to cry a little prompts her to remember: it's been a while.

"Dig." He says, voice quiet.

Her head whips round and yes, there's her best friend.

…Who was registering everything in his vision: those eyes didn't miss a step.

Uh oh.

But there's zero judgement there. He's standing in the doorway, looking more than a little tired, more than a little uncertain to approach – oh John - but those amazing brown eyes found her first. They were big, encompassing and it made her want to hug him. Badly. But, yeah. No underwear.

Trying to look completely unaffected by – oh I don't know – everything, Felicity crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her visible lack of bra, clearing her throat. "Hey John."

"Hey you." He just looks… pleased. Then there's changes in his jaw, his mouth pursing slightly like he's chewing, as if he's ruminating. Huh? His eyes reach Oliver again. "Everything okay here?"

The hand on her shoulder squeezes slightly. "Yeah…"

"Good. Because we've got company: Laurel just showed up."

And Felicity blinks because, what? It isn't even six in the morning yet.

The furrow between Oliver's brow returns and suddenly she's jealous of their stolen moment because it wasn't long enough. "Why?" But then fear drops like a stone in his expression. "Slade? Did he-"

She knows Oliver." John shakes his head and a worm of apprehension curls in Felicity's gut at the look on his face. "She knows you're the Arrow."

Mouth opened, mouth closed… "How?" Felicity asks when Oliver becomes a statue beside her.

"Don't know." Diggle's shoulder attempt to shrug but it looks more like a slump than anything else. "She wouldn't say without speaking to Oliver first."

Of course.

Laurel… and Oliver.

Right.