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.

10. Part 10

Part 10

Breathing becomes a 'thing' that you suddenly notice when you've got to be as small and as quiet and as stealthy as humanly possible.

By Felicity's standards, prior to her dose of the good-Japanese-stuff, her 'quiet' wasn't so quiet. And her 'stealthy'? Non-existent. Had never been developed in the first place. However, maybe now that she was Mirakuru enhanced it would- wait, what is-crap! My shoes are making all the noise!

You couldn't be quiet if your life depended on it

She wished she could say his voice was like a cheese grater to the soul but honestly, right now she'd cling to the idea that she wasn't completely alone in this. 'This' being the world of Mirakuru, the live version of Slade Wilson waiting within the warehouse and the fact that she was Laurel's one true hope right now. Pursing her lips, she chewed on the inside of her cheek as her eyes flickered to her spectre.

"I'm trying to concentrate here."

He didn't exactly look impressed. He didn't react at all. This Slade Wilson behaved more like a machine than a man and she'd recently come to the conclusion that he was more a remnant of the man Slade once was than the reality of the monster he becomes.

Stealth isn't in your vocabulary

I know.

Just concentrate on getting inside – you'll be fine – he isn't thinking as clearly as he normally would

It was creepy how he consistently referred to himself in the third person. Like a certain green leather wearing vigilante I know. She shook herself. Concentrate.

But her brain was absolutely pulling her to pieces with each loud exhale, each squeak at some unknown noise - a twig snapping, metal groaning - reaching her ears. Slade just had to go and pick the largest, eeriest abandoned factory ever to exist in Starling – they have a surplus. Finally, she reached the north corner wall; the Slade in her head had explained on the journey here that Slade had already picked this spot, had already marked it as his little playing field, to snap the last of Oliver's restraints on his sanity. And the man knew each and every nook and cranny. But he didn't realise that others might too.

There was an open crawlspace along north corner wall that she'd been shimmying along, Mission-Impossible style; man-made by way of heavy machinery.

She stared at it. "This is where the guy with the hockey mask sneaks up behind me, which makes no sense since chainsaws are really loud," bending low she made to move on her knees, " and tries to kill you but can't because you have Mirakuru swimming in your bloodstream but you'll still scream like you're on fire…"

Yet she was no where near as scared as she would have been. Should have been.

Maybe it really was the affect of the Mirakuru. Maybe it was the presence of a younger, fresher, kinder Slade – so unbelievably weird to wake up to 'hey kid' - Wilson silently haunting her every step and uttering the occasional - mostly, sort of - word that helped more than it freaked. Maybe it was-

I love you

Maybe it was that.

She stumbled, her extremities turning into warm jelly, oh… and landed on her butt in the gravel.

Putting it out of her mind hadn't been an option. I mean… who could?

The mere memory of it made her body heat up, made her shudder. Her very natural reaction to just his voice, to his words, his touch, his taste; she knew how he tasted now, god.

I love you

Don't hesitate

I won't

She tried to breathe normally.

We kissed.

So much for that. But she couldn't help it. Remembering, the way they came together. Slow. Not a blur of passionate haste but of tenderness; it felt… raw.

The type of kiss that was touch. That was voice. That was sensation and trust and hope and the crushing inevitability of that hope. Because with hope comes the promise of a future and the possibility of an end. He didn't really need to tell her he loved her; he'd already said it in all the ways that mattered.

When he'd brought her to safety, he was saying it. When the safety was a smokescreen for how much he trusted her, it was spoken aloud. When he made sure she understood that he was relying solely on her to - save them all, to save him - he was giving her the power to destroy him.

Then he declared it with his lips on hers.

When he kissed her he was writing it, infusing it from the softness of him into the rushing blood under her skin. And when she pushed up against him, into him, she was saying it back. He'd breathed it in, had taken and understood without words that she was his.

But she hadn't said it.

It was the type of kiss stolen; one enveloped in a resolve of steel and might and pure intention for 'later', for 'tomorrow'; for they would always have to sacrifice the 'right now'. And Felicity was good with 'not right now', never 'right the hell now' because they would always have 'tonight, tomorrow and every sunrise after'. She could handle all that would come if he was standing at the precipice of her future.

In his green leather. In his grey suit. In his boxer shorts. Rolled up, beaten and thrown away, left to die; it didn't matter.

He was hers… and she was his.

Hysteria bubbled up into the back of her throat. "How is this my life?" She whispered to no one.

And she couldn't stop her mental re-run of the way he'd been with her. She'd expected so very different from what she'd received; a gentleness that shouldn't have surprised her but did; something her brain had come to associate with everything Oliver was.

He is so much more than what the world sees.

The warrior he'd shown to no one, but who she saw every night he fought. The vigilante was known by all of Starling City's residents as the Arrow. The venire of a cocky billionaire playboy or the selfish, lazy CEO.

But he was also a big brother, a son.

He was a selfless agent of morality and sacrifice.

And he was a dark proxy of chaos and violence. A man who felt that love and affection and relationships were weaknesses to avoid but pursued them regardless, as if he just couldn't help himself. Still allowed such emotion to govern his every thought and action; to push him in unexpected directions, even down paths most wouldn't dare poke with a stupid stick.

The way Oliver loves… it could be cruel in a sense. To represent itself as an act of protection that comes in toe with sacrifice. With pain. With violence. He protects by hurting himself, by pushing others away.

He wasn't the Disney Prince with a body of steel that most women dreamed of.

Too bad for them she does.

He said he loves me.

Never in a million years… Oliver loves me.

And that was it. That was all. It was everything.

Honestly, Oliver telling me 'I love you' could be sold as little crystal formulas of pure sensational wonder because… because it was Oliver. And it made her braver than she'd ever been.

I was always his, wasn't I?

But she hadn't said it back. Does that make me awful? Is there something wrong with me? He was leaving; I should have said it back, right? Right?

No. Felicity knew exactly why she hadn't said it.

He. Was. Leaving.

And when he comes back… he may think differently. Change his mind. Tell me once more that he can't be with someone he really cares about.

He could also die.

Immediately, she felt like vomiting; everything within her vehemently rebelling. Not a chance; not on my watch.

It had been on the tip of her tongue, to reply. To say those three little words that had rang in her ear for more than a year. Being told I love you makes me lyrical, good to know. She still shook with the sheer honesty resonating from him to her through his words, his forehead touching hers, then the breath from his mouth… and wondered what he'd do and how he'd feel if, when, she spoke them back.

But she'd definitely had reasons for not saying them yet. Though, him trusting her with this enormous task of saving Laurel gave her hope that maybe, possibly, he could love without sacrificing said love. And the past few days hadn't been easy in keeping her feelings to herself, especially with the stress of Slade and Mirakuru and incoming ninja warriors.

And there was the conversation she'd shared with Sara, though conversation wasn't exactly the word she'd use to describe the dialogue…

"We're not together, you know."

Said the previous day, the words were quiet. Timid, even.

Looking up from her tool bench – arrow shaft in one hand, custom made arrowhead in the other – Felicity blinked. "Sorry?"

Sara shifted where she sat cross-legged on the second medical table, watching over Roy's comatose form. Her wrist was lightly bandaged but otherwise in decent shape, yet Felicity still felt a shot of pure guilt whenever she saw it.

"Me and Ollie. We're not together anymore." Sara reiterated, simply looking at Felicity.

Waiting.

Said Girl Wednesday's mouth open and closed like a fish before she finally processed what had been said. "Oh."

Oh? That's the best I can do? I think I fail as a person.

True; it wasn't her most loquacious moment. Not that she could really blame herself. Sara had been pretty absentee in regards to all things 'Felicity' for a good 24 hours until, surprisingly, on the dawn of the second day she'd agreed to stay with her whilst Felicity devised and attached the new arrowheads to their respective arrows. Each arrow could hold enough of the cure for one infected person, a cure they'd received in just a few hours.

And they'd discovered that there was a small army of them; several dozen Mirakuru enhanced escapee prisoner's bust free from Iron heights.

Yet during this very serious work her brain had been more… agreeably engaged. She knew it really shouldn't have been but… The past 12 hours had been like a dream. For her.

They'd fallen asleep together. Her and Oliver. As in; both of them in a bed: together.

She hadn't planned it. Hadn't even been tired at the time. She just hadn't wanted to be by herself. Neither had Oliver and, knowing him the way she did, she knew he wouldn't sleep unless made to.

But he had been tired; he'd told her so, which had surprised her. He'd pulled her – willingly – into the spare bedroom as far north east of the lounge he could get, which worried her. Then he'd shucked off his trousers, which had stunned her – he'd been wearing those amazingly body-conforming briefs that she'd borrowed but he carried them superbly better than she ever could because, damn, they were made for men to fill – and he hadn't looked remotely chastised. Though he'd still worn an undershirt beneath that buttoned up collar. Standing close to her he'd unzipped the green hoodie she still wore, frying what little logic left that she possessed before shirking it somewhere – she swore it hit the lampshade – and looking her straight in the eye as he'd tugged on her fingers.

"Come on." Sleepily, he'd nodded to her left. "Bed." And, open mouthed, she'd been lightly tapped, more of 'manoeuvred', I mean; what woman on which planet would need more incentive, to land in a sprawl on the sheets. He'd joined her, pulling up the covers as he'd reached for her. REACHED FOR HER. How many times had she wondered and dreamed that he ever would or could; it was surreal.

He'd almost passed out the moment his head hit the pillow. The pillow being Felicity.

"Is this okay?" He'd murmured, his brain already shutting down, even as he drew on her side; his arm around her waist, bringing her to the middle of the bed before royally flopping. Oof.

Is this okay? Seriously? What could she say? No? No I am supremely uncomfortable with your perfect body on top of mine?

She'd nodded so fast her neck had cracked.

Suspended in disbelief, her chest heaving, she'd waited as he'd adjusted – her eyes wide at the ceiling - feeling the prickle of his jaw against the skin of her chest because her shirt was that thin. The reality of it was all was close to blinding.

Close to, but not actually.

Absently she'd thought that maybe there should be a manual for this kind of thing: 'so you're snuggling with Oliver Queen: next steps?'

But really, she didn't need it. Or any help, being as supremely comfortable as she'd felt to be lying exactly how and where she was. And it was probably because of how strung out they both were but the feeling of floating, of wanting to smile and laugh and freely blush and hold him close as he sleeps – and be held back - was so strong within her…

Heart racing.

Warmth everywhere.

Feeling like a teenager once again.

How did this even happen?

It had felt like a miracle.

Snuggling down, he hadn't let her go. The whole time, he hadn't let her loose; too exhausted to care. And his deep breaths had soothed her into a lull-like stat, though she hadn't slept. Memories that weren't her own kept her lucid. Made her remain aware.

Hours later, when John had arrived with Big Belly Burger, she'd woken to the feel of a single finger, slowly tracing across her forehead and held perfectly still. Which was what had probably given her away. Eventually it had brushed the lock of hair lying there behind her ear… before reaching out to stroke around her earlobe. The finger had trailed to the skin between her cheekbone and hairline, touching every available area on the left side of her face before the warm caress – for that's exactly what it was – had gone away.

Leaving her a trembling mess.

She'd been about to stir when his finger unexpectedly tapped her nose.

Like… Boop.

The laugh that had broken free couldn't have been stopped as she turned towards the depression his body made on the mattress. Opening her bright eyes she'd found his own brilliant ones above her. "You knew I was awake." She'd accused in a light whisper; the room about her dark with the evening hours.

With his chin leaning on his hand and an elbow planted beside her he'd nodded; his entire face a smile that hadn't fully bloomed, like he'd been afraid of what would happen if it did but had been wondering about it all the same. Soft blinks punctuating each of his breaths he'd hummed. "Mm-hm."

He'd looked… revitalised. Alive. Rested. Peaceful.

Devastating.

Touchable.

Gloriously rumpled – his hair ruffled and deliciously worthy of having her fingers run through it - in sweatpants and a t-shirt; probably more than he usually wore to bed but… Oliver's a gentleman.

Didn't mean she could help it; the amazing glow deep in her chest, making her speak words she shouldn't really be uttering at all.

Yet, gazing, all she'd whispered was, "Wow." If you could call 'wow' a word: a word that covered… everything.

He'd stilled and she knew he knew that she'd meant him. It would take a blind man not to notice how her eyes – large and glittering with a hope she'd long kept silent - had been evaluating every little nook and cranny of his features, every single slope, curve and incline of his symmetrically perfect face. The dimples in the kind of soft smile a guy expressed when they are, at least in that moment, completely content to be there. The slightly longer than normal scruff across his jaw.

The way he'd taken in a deep breath, his expression strangely bare at her blatant exploration of all that was 'him'. And finding nothing wanting or lacking. And making that obvious too. Before the smile had returned. His smile. Their smile. And when it did…

It was meant to destroy, that smile. The way his eyes changed with it. The way he'd made it so very different from all his other smiles. Meant to absolutely rend asunder. To take the heart and twist it. Shape it; change it to suit his own. And that was so unbelievably fine to her it should have been terrifying. In a way it was but the idea of the rewards, the simple pleasures that the possibility of 'them' could portend sort of nullified the sensation of her insides being turned to liquid.

The slow beats over the course of a minute had passed and she'd used the rise and fall of his deep breaths as a way to count the seconds. Just as he'd watched her. Through it all she'd wondered why it felt so comfortable. Then he'd lifted his hand again, his index finger moving to smooth another trail to follow back one day - soon - over her collarbone before his middle finger had joined it, like he hadn't been able to help himself. A slow and steady stroke - a mark on her person - leaving her skin thrumming, her cheeks rosy and her breasts a heaving temptation that had made her glad for the duvet she'd been lying under.

Never had such an unassuming touch been so stimulating. But she hadn't moved to assist, to join him or touch him too. Though she'd been dying to.

Instead she'd watched him watch her.

He'd watched the flush on her neck slowly spread, as if following the route of his touch. Explored her every reaction, as if they were worth the learning, worth devoting entire mornings to, as they'd lain there looking into each other's faces and eyes and souls and hearts… until a knock at the door.

The look had remained. The whole day to the next day. Even after the war-speak and the Slade-speak and the 'Laurel-Lance-isn't-listening-to-a-word-I-say-again-speak'…

She'd felt his eyes on her as she'd moved from room to room, had looked up occasionally to meet them with a deliberate lack of speed before blushing at the earnest affection there.

Spending hours deliberating on their next move, on where Slade might be as opposed to where he actually was, Felicity had volunteered to return to the Foundry to assemble weapons for the imminent arrival of 'how many dozen assassins' coming to town. Felicity was good with her hands – and yes; pun very much intended – as she'd said to Oliver before leaving, his face a picture of skilful curiosity.

In fact… he'd offered to accompany her.

Not guard, keep secure, or watch over her.

Accompany.

Like… escort.

Or take out. Alone. Together.

When he'd pulled out the keys to his Ducati her mouth had slowly opened into an awed smile, her eyes and ears following the jangle. Since when did they go around the city on his motorcycle? They never did. And she'd be lying if she said she'd never daydreamed about it.

Meeting his eyes – they were shining, brilliant, soft, asking her questions as if she held his universe in the palm of her small hands – he'd given her a tentative smile, the expression on his face telling her he'd considered her refusing... and hoped she wouldn't. God, why would she? Never in a million years would she turn him down. He'd held out his hand for her own–

-Only for Sara to walk into the garage.

She'd felt her stomach plummet right there.

"Ollie, Laurel needs you for something." Sara had stopped several metres from them, looking expectant. "She said it was important."

Ollie, Laurel needs you for something.

Though she utterly hated to admit it, for a quick as a flash moment, one thought had blurred into existence in Felicity's brain. Laurel hadn't needed Oliver for months. So why now?

Because it wasn't just this moment; earlier in the day Laurel had taken Oliver aside, prior to his much needed sleep to speak to him. Their conversation had gravitated towards the lounge where they'd talked for roughly 20 minutes. Then she'd texted him, requesting that they co-ordinate with her. Later, after Diggle had bought Big Belly, she'd dropped by again to simply state that she was making moves to put the political hurt on Sebastian Blood.

That, and she wanted to tell her father that Oliver was the Arrow.

The subsequent argument had gone on too long. By its end, Laurel had re-appeared, flustered and unapologetic, and Oliver… strained.

And right then? They'd been walking towards his bike, him looking back over his shoulder at Sara when, at her words, he'd just stopped.

Silence had reigned for too long a moment to be simply described as considering in nature. Staring at Sara, Oliver's face had been… to describe it as impassive wouldn't be pushing it. His face was stone. A stranger. And Sara…

Bold was probably the best evocative to use here.

Felicity finally listened to what her baser instinct had been telling her for last 24 hours: Oliver and Sara were no longer an item. Maybe they hadn't been for a while.

But she didn't say a word, choosing instead to look away with her lips pressed together.

Because Laurel needed him.

Maybe she always would.

But it was a stark reminder that Felicity had shared zero of Oliver's past, had taken zero part in him becoming the man who fell in love with Laurel. Felicity wasn't a fool; she didn't want to have anything to do with the man who cheated on the woman he loves.

But… she'd missed so much. Years of his life that she'd never see…

Of how his smile had changed and grown, of how his laugh had deepened, of how much he loved and still loves his sister, of the carefree – shot of life – frat boy who actually liked boats and spending long afternoons sleeping in and watching movies. An Oliver Queen she'd never meet but one that Laurel knew intimately. She'd had that. She'd seen and basked in it.

In this area, Felicity was utterly beaten.

It had never been a competition; Felicity had Oliver's trust, which meant so much more than the space Laurel and Oliver had given each other over the past nine months. Yet Felicity never thought she'd be even a little jealous of his past.

Just because he was now available… it didn't' mean a thing. It especially didn't mean she could saunter off through cloud nine.

Get a grip. She'd felt the warmth of the moment fade in its entirety – Oliver and Sara in the middle of a staring contest, more history I'll never understand - Felicity had swallowed her sigh and shifted and made to turn, stepping from the two of them-

Oliver's head had whipped back to her.

Whoa.

The vulnerability there – the fact that he looked like he really, really, didn't want her to leave – had made words tumble free. It's me; of course I'm going to speak. "It's okay; I can go alone." She'd shrugged; smiling at him, for him. "I'm not exactly fragile right now."

By his responding expression she figured that that was so not the point and that she hadn't really understood why he'd asked to accompany her in the first place. Oops.

"That's not-" A furrow had developed between his brows and he'd released a breath. He'd moved; his palm against her shoulder, eyes telling her I'm going with you making all the breath leave her lungs. "Laurel can wait."

All thoughts had gone 'squish'.

Laurel… can wait?

Since when?

No one ever left Laurel waiting.

But Oliver's expression hadn't been an example of frustration or boyish rebellion or even of a man desperately trying to avoid a subject he'd rather never touch, no. It had been simple.

He'd looked like a man who'd made a choice.

Oh.

Calm, serene, his hand had gravitated to Felicity's upper back. "There are more important things right now." He'd said to Sara as he made to leave, already turning away until-

"It concerns Sebastian Blood."

He'd frozen.

"We've been down this road already." He'd breathed, head slightly tilted and Felicity had felt more like an intruder than a girl about to joyride on the back of Oliver Queen's beloved motorcycle.

Looking at his face, she'd heard Sara walk closer to them. "This is something you need to hear Ollie."

On 'Ollie' he'd flinched; a tiny jerk she'd felt against her spine.

But still Sara pushed. "Ollie, I know Sebastian was your friend but-"

He'd turned on her then; the hand on Felicity's back falling like the stone in the pit of her stomach. Ow.

"He is my friend."

And he didn't have many.

Oliver.

Completely no-nonsense, Sara had remained focused on him. "He's also directly implicit in Slade's plot to kill your family."

And with that little revelation, the ride was off. Felicity waved goodbye to it, forlornly.

Until Sara had offered to go with her, alone, as a trade-off.

The look on Oliver's face when she'd started to refuse – that pleading 'I'd die for you, please do this for me' expressionthat crushed her heart and killed her soul – had been the only reason she'd complied.

And now…

Mouth opening then closing, Felicity looked away from the woman, placing the arrow shaft next to the dozen others she'd completed. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Ollie's in love with you."

The simple frankness of the sentence had left Felicity mute. Deaf and dumb. Without sense or reason. It had her rib cage contracting, forced a pathetic gasp from her gullet, had her dropping the fracking arrowhead she'd been working on…

Because it just wasn't… he wouldn't. She wasn't Laurel or Sara or…

But she remembered… how they'd been with each other… yes there was something there, something that could be amazing – the whisper in her head telling her it already was, that they were already right there – but… love? As in, romantic, head over heels, you're the 'only one that I want honey' kind of love? The way she was already-

This needs to stop, she thought furiously, bending to snatch the arrow tip off the floor, people can't just go around thinking that Oliver-

"You don't believe me, do you?" Voice quiet, Sara sounded so sure, so understanding. A completely different person to the one who could barely look her way 12 hours before.

"What's to believe?" Try as she might, Felicity couldn't sound anywhere close to the calm control Oliver and Sara seemed to ooze daily. "Just because he's available now doesn't mean that-"

"Oliver's never been available."

Thrown, Felicity straightened to frown at her.

Sara was smiling – there it is - the first real smile Felicity had received from her since… since before Roy lay comatose on the table. "Even when he could have been available. Even when he could have had everything he'd wanted," Sara spoke so softly, sometimes looking at Felicity, engaging with her, sometimes down towards the floor in thought, "everything he thought that mattered. Laurel. Queen Consolidated. His mum's pride in him. Everyone knowing the truth about him." She smiled absently at the irony. "My dad's respect. But… He was never really available. Up here." Sara added at Felicity's confusion, tapping her forehead. "Ollie has all the love in the world to give but… his brain gets in the way."

The side of Felicity's mouth turned up. "Hadn't noticed."

Sara shook her head, her eyes filled with humour. "He doesn't make it easy."

"Do you," Felicity swallowed, "regret it?" Being with him. Loving him. Hurting him. Hurting yourself.

Sara took a deep breath and it was a long time before she replied. "It was worth it."

Of course it was. It was Oliver.

Felicity didn't know what that meant. She hadn't the privilege to know what being with Oliver meant. But it seemed every other woman she'd met in the past 2 years did and that was just… perfect. Laurel, Helena, Mckenna, Isabel – gag me with a spoon - Sally from accounting – I'd actually suggested he distract her with major flirting after she'd caught us both talking low and close about a heist and now deeply regret it since I had to listen to her crow for weeks about how Oliver Queen 'chose her', how Oliver Queen made her come three times – this 'Shado' from Lian Yu and now Sara.

And this mental debate is super fun, fun, fun.

Concentrate on the task at hand, "Good, I'm glad." Nodding, her lips pressed together, she moved to return to her incredibly important task of making arrows to stop a small army of super strong criminals-

"It was safe."

Eyes snapping shut, Felicity breathed in deep. Why are we even talking about this? "Sara-"

"You know Ollie was my first love?" Sara chuckled lightly, even as Felicity's newly strengthened heart began to beat so hard it felt like a fracture. She opened her eyes, breathing steady, and turned to listen. "Had a crush on him since I was fifteen, when I saw him downing shots and diving into a pool wearing the suit his mother had forced on him. He and Tommy were just laughing and… I was hooked. Then I grew up and it became more than that. Even though I knew that Ollie was commitment phobic I still thought it was worth it, I still loved him. I loved him the same time Laurel fell for him. Both sisters hooked on one guy we both knew would be hard work. Pathetic right?"

"Is it?" Felicity asked; her voice as soft as Sara's.

Head tilted, Sara looked at her and shrugged. "We were dumb. We thought we could force him to love us."

"You were also young."

"I went behind my sister's back and had an affair with him. It wasn't just on the Queen's Gambit; we," her fingers came up in the classic apostrophe sign, 'hooked up' weeks before we left for China." That was something else I also didn't need to know. "But we both knew that Ollie wouldn't love us back. He's not made that way. Yet we still expected him to change for us."

The disparity between the Ollie that Sara saw in her memories with the man Oliver Queen now was, was wide. It wasn't right that she – and by extension Laurel – refused to see how much he's changed.

"He isn't the same person." Felicity murmured with a frown.

"Yeah." Something in Sara's tone made her tense. It sounded like… bitterness.

It wasn't something she'd really ever link to the Amazon Princess.

Sara shifted, hands dropping in her lap. "We didn't see him. I don't think any of the women he's loved has ever really understood just exactly who he is. It's why he isn't 'available'."

If he isn't available, Felicity wondered as her fingers fluttered for something to keep her from feeling Sara's words, then why are you telling me he's in love with me? If you think that he's never been accessible then why dangle the carrot on a-

"Ollie could have been standing 3 feet from a woman, offering her his world to do with as she pleased, but inevitably he'd do something to make the whole thing self-destruct." Without warning Sara slid off the table and began to stroll around past the bench to where the Arrow suit hung. "Ollie has a pattern. He gives himself to women. Physically. He finds it so easy to love us." Sara let out a long breath before breathing in another deeper one and Felicity went rigid. Is this when she tells me I'm not enough? Not enough to get him to commit or… anything?

"I've never seen him give his heart through his eyes."

…Huh?

"Never heard him speak so softly, with so much in each word. Never…" Her words just left her: Felicity practically felt them being sucked from Sara's chest. But Felicity couldn't properly focus because, what?

Head slightly bowed, Sara turned, glancing at her side on. "He knows you. Like, he knows you because he thinks it's important and likes what he sees."

"I-"

"And you know him. You know," she gestured towards the green leather suit, "you know who he is and you like what you see too. And you don't expect him to make commitments; you're just there for him. Available." The pretty bird's eyes were calling words and emotions, trying to signify that this was important. "And you've made him available too… Just not to anyone else."

And there it was; the crux. The fact that it was coming from Sara, from a woman who said she'd known what she was getting into, a woman who was in love with another woman while she attached herself to the past – to a man who no longer exists – so easily, told Felicity there were a few things that even Sara hadn't let go of yet. In this respect, she was a mirror image of her sister.

And that was a stunning revelation.

Turning fully, Sara smiled again but it wasn't a good smile. Wasn't a 'hey girl'. It was an 'I can't believe it' smile, a 'typical' smile. Any good feelings, any warmth Felicity had gained from Sara's early words evaporated, leaving behind a cold, stinging feeling.

It took her a minute to recognise the sensation for what it was.

"You know he looks for you when he enters a room." Licking her lips, Sara laughed; it was an unpleasant sound. Sara, please. "I never even had him when we made love."

I really don't need to hear this. "Sara-"

Still smiling that cold as steel smirk, Sara lifted a finger in point. "Get it right; we screwed. We've never made love. Came close a few times, but that could have been because Ollie's magic in the sack." She tossed out, like a nail into wood.

That was it. Screw it; I don't WANT to hear any of this. "You're not-"

"But he makes you feel it, you know?" No. I don't. "Makes you feel so loved and important… even someone like me can get addicted."

Someone so broken. Someone so addicted to darkness.

Though not spoken, the words were screamed at Felicity. Forced on her. Pushed into her private space.

No everything inside her just… hurt. Like someone had shoved a fist down her wind pipe and pulled out her courage and hope, forcing a reality on her that she'd never been a part of-

Oh. She got it then, what she was feeling.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair of Sara. The situation wasn't fair.

"Three days ago, me and Ollie slept together for the last time."

All by themselves, Felicity's hands curved into fists, her gut contracting. Stop talking. But Sara wasn't done; she was in a world of her own, one filled with regret and disappointment. Completely blind to – or beyond caring - of the fact that she was hurting her so-called friend.

"It was… nice. Comfortable. We know each other that way, how our body's work, what we like and what we don't."

A burning began to spread. Jealousy, fear and pain – an amalgamation of poison Felicity never normally allowed herself to feel – exacerbated by a person she thought cared about her.

Sara knew. She always had. She'd always known that Felicity's feelings for Oliver were far beyond that of comrade, that of friend and ally. They'd mentioned it, brushed past the subject in whispers over tequila shots and muffins at breakfast time. So why was she deliberately using it against her? What was the point?

But it didn't matter; it was making her see red; the kind of colour only women could see and interpret, could use. Being a Mirakuru machine, however, meant control was an issue. Breathe, just breathe. She'll stop. Soon she'll-

"The very first time we had sex, Ollie said your name."

And with that, her whole world – one that had been on the precipice of drowning in emotions she shouldn't have had to explore – came to a halt.

Ollie said you name.

He'd been with another woman, intimate with another woman… and he'd said her name.

Mouth open, Felicity didn't see anything in front of her, didn't notice how Sara took a hesitant step closer, like she knew how she'd sounded. Didn't see how Sara looked at her. Like she was seeing something too beautiful to touch. Like she was comparing herself to Felicity and inevitably falling to second place.

"In fact," She heard Sara try for another shaky inhale but it didn't fully compute. Nothing did right then, not really. Except a genuine kind of agony. It sat behind her eyes, clogged up her ears and made her heart thump harshly. "He said it a few times, always when he was…" Sara blinked, her eyes darting all over the place as if searching the right word. "Too overcome to hear himself. But I felt like… I felt like it was the only time he'd been truly honest with me. When he was saying your name."

When he was bathed in pleasure. When he was overcome and exposed. He'd said… Felicity.

"He never stays with me, in those moments. He goes elsewhere. So he doesn't hear himself."

What… what was she supposed to say to that?

"I love Ollie." Sara all but whispered. "But, as much as I wanted it to be different, he's only ever been in love with Laurel." There was a pause lasting only seconds but to Felicity, those seconds could have been hours. "But he's never…" Sounding oddly low on oxygen, Sara sucked in a breath, shaking her head. "Felicity, he's never looked at Laurel the way he looks at you. Not with even an ounce of the love, the trust, the belief-God, he actually believes in you! Do you know how much I would have loved for Oliver to believe in me? How much Laurel wished for that, wished that he'd trusted her? And you-you don't have to do anything. You never had to ask for anything! You just-" Something in Sara's visage just wilted. "…You just had to believe in him too. And you did, you really did. It shows." Abruptly, she snorted. "He might as well have 'property of Felicity Smoak' tattooed across his forehead."

Felicity's stomach churned. I'm not taking the credit for that. He's worked so hard…

"But it's not like that at all between you two, is it? It's honest. Real."

Finally, Felicity's eyes – a glittering pool of hurt, anger, love and empathy – met Sara's, seeing the same well of emotion in the woman's face. And waited.

Sara's brow crinkled as she fought hard not to… to cry. The cry of an injured Canary. "Please forgive me for keeping him from you for so long."

Blindsided, Felicity opened her mouth-

"I knew what I was doing that first time, when I went to find Oliver after Laurel first found out I was alive." Sara continued. "I knew. But I did it anyway."

She stared hard at Felicity and Felicity looked back.

Yes… that sounded… awful really. That she'd known how Felicity had felt about Oliver and had still…that she knew Laurel would hate it… that she'd heard Oliver say her name – it wasn't even something Felicity could fathom right then and there – and hadn't asked him about it, hadn't wondered, hadn't done the right thing, hadn't forced him to see what he was blind to, knowing that their relationship was truly far more superficial than Felicity had ever imagined it to be… Sara had been selfish.

Though it was a selfishness Felicity could understand, it wasn't one she could agree with.

Not that Oliver was any less culpable in this than Sara. He just had the excuse of being completely unaware – since he'd deliberately closed himself off from the things he wants the most – of what he needed.

He didn't need Sara. Wanted? Sure. He'd wanted Sara. Wanted something tangible for a change, wanted someone who understood his darkness, wanted something that lasted more than one night, wanted this something so much that he began a relationship with her less than 24 hours after she'd returned to Starling City.

Almost as if he'd been… avoiding something. Or burying something else. Too many something's.

But it left her kind of horrified. Or at least searching for a handle to grasp. Her idea of a relationship, lasting or otherwise… it wasn't this. It wasn't… a seeping poison. Wasn't a chess game, a competition or a long walk into self-doubt, it wasn't a measuring stick for all your faults. It wasn't a means of forgetting yourself or forgetting others.

To think of it; a lasting relationship between Oliver and… herself?

She couldn't imagine it being anything other than a meeting of souls. A sharing of the mind. An honest exposure of the heart. A need for the other's touch, a touch felt in the blood…

…A genuine desire to be near, to be held, to be craved and to be loved by the other. To be surrounded by that person as they take and give. As they grow and help you grow to. As they shelter and provide, just as they ask for comfort, for guidance. As they make you better, just as you make them so.

Was that too much to ask?

Was it too lofty goal for Felicity to want that… from Oliver?

"I just…"

It wasn't exactly in Felicity to want to, or have to, listen to Sara any longer, but she agreed with her - that something very natural and truly honest was happening between herself and Oliver. Whether it ends well, only time can tell; just as something genuine was happening before her now. How could she not listen? How could she not give Sara the time of day?

For Sara, this was her last chance. To have some semblance of impact on Oliver's life… because she knew she'd never had any at all. And seeing the absolutely devastated look on her face – by the sheer magnitude of the apology her eyes cried but her mouth hadn't the talent to express – she was letting it all go.

The worst of it though?

Felicity had always been of a clear mind-set; she could see sometimes, so clearly, where others couldn't. And being a woman, she could see how much both Sara and Laurel still sought to have an impact on 'Ollie Queen'. Even if they were pulling away. Even if they were letting go. It was so sad. In a way, utterly heart-breaking.

Because…

"I wanted it." Sara whispered.

Neither of them ever had.

"I wanted to be happy. With Ollie. In the way we were supposed to be."

And never will.

"I was right in front of him and he saw me. We were in the right place at the right time. But there was never an 'us'. I never…" Sara's slack hand pressed against her chest. "I felt him in here." She sucked in her lip, her eyes pleading with Felicity for something, anything; an anything that wasn't in Felicity's power to give. "But it didn't go any deeper. I wanted it to." So small and so quiet, her voice sounded more imploring than anything else. "It would have been perfect; that I'd gotten him, finally, after he was supposed to stay in love with Laurel - he would instead fall for me. But he didn't… I didn't. I don't need him the way I wanted him to need me. And he doesn't need me. Not even a little bit. I won't be used to curb loneliness." For a moment Sara just breathed, just looked beyond Felicity; those oddly innocent eyes so bright, they widened when she realised something. Huffed out another breath. "But that's exactly what we did to each other, isn't it? We just used each other."

And there really was nothing Felicity could do to fight against that.

Didn't mean she wouldn't try.

"Sara," her voice sounded hoarse even to her. Maybe that's why Sara flinched. "You and Oliver were beautiful-"

"We were supposed to be special, Felicity." Gaze suddenly hard, Sara nodded to herself, as if she needed Felicity to understand. "We were supposed to be it for each other. Even though I knew we never would be, I still hoped." The shield dropped again, briefly. The woman was an interchangeable, impenetrable wall for her emotions and only she held the little red button. "I had to try, you know?"

Not trusting herself to speak again, Felicity nodded and tried to smile.

"We were supposed to be special." Sara repeated. "But you and he… you're magic. And you're not even together yet." The smile returned; the lovely 'Sara Lance will always be there for you' smile.

It fell almost as fast as it appeared.

"If you lose control out there I will stop you."

Felicity blinked. Talk about an abrupt tangent. "What are you talking about?"

In answer Sara's eyes flickered down, to Felicity's hands and back up again.

Looking down her eyes landed on… What? I…

Felicity's hands were wrapped around the edge of the medical table Roy slept on. Her fingers had rendered to metal, twisting it completely out of shape. And she hadn't even noticed. Mouth open, she felt a sinking sensation deep in her chest. My fingers left holes.

Eyes flickering back to Sara's, they watched – hurt – as the woman's face became a stranger.

"If the Mirakuru takes over you out there, I will put you down Felicity. I won't hesitate."

Felicity licked her lips. "You won't even wait for the cure?"

"If it works." Sara shrugged. "But Ollie won't give it to you. Not straight away. He'll wait until this is over. It works for him that you can survive a bullet whilst we're fighting a war."

There was no rancour in those words but Felicity felt the sting of them; that she'd never really managed to be the badass they all were.

I will put you down Felicity.

It made sense in a way, in her own 'league of assassin' kind of way. This was how Sara protected her 'Ollie'. Her last act while she was still in the scope of his vision.

Felicity straightened, felling Sara's stare as she walked back towards her desk of arrow-heads. "Then I need to make sure I don't give you a reason. Are you going to help with this or are you just going to watch me play with sharp objects?"

27 seconds later Sara joined her.

"I expect ice cream and take out when this is all over."

Stunned, she saw Sara stare at her in her peripheral before a bark of laughter left her…

Since that moment, Sara had appeared… a little better, a little freer. Felicity only wished she could say the same.

After all, she'd only mentioned ice cream for Sara's benefit, not her own.

When they'd returned to the mansion, as cordial as can be, Felicity took great pains in staying as far away from Sara as she possibly could without being incredibly obvious about it. And it wasn't through fear that she choose to, nor was it through anger – though she had every single reason to be angry – or bitterness…

It was because she didn't want to be touched, to be afflicted or influenced in any way, by the raw negativity, regret and disappointment that seemed to pour from the Lance sisters like an open wound. Even from Laurel, who had been passing Felicity furtive looks every time she visited the mansion; Felicity stayed far away.

Oh, Diggle definitely noticed, being Yoda and all. But with his attention focused on their plans to disperse the cure - the where, when and how of it all - plus with his random moments of absence, and by moments, I mean, 3 hours here, 4 there; like I wouldn't notice right back about his rendezvous with a certain Argus agent, she and he hadn't really had time to huddle, so to speak. And Oliver-

Oliver.

She couldn't tell him what Sara said to her.

Ollie said your name.

She didn't know how. Didn't want him confused in the coming hours, especially since he seemed so much more put together than he ever has.

It was like someone had shined a light on the man. After his sleep, looking so restored, it was almost like seeing an Oliver Queen a year into the future. His bright eyes, the certainty, the willing effort to work as a team, the ability to extend a level of trust to a band of merry warriors like The League, and the very natural way he managed to end up in the same room as her each time she was forced to migrate from his side… they were all a dream. Something she'd wanted so long for him. That they were all finally seeing the man under the hood, a man none of them had ever seen but Felicity and Diggle had glimpsed and were now basking in his glow.

That he'd given her such a huge responsibility, where he would have once never trusted Laurel's safety to anyone but himself - Felicity had been sure he'd give the pleasure of protecting a woman who insisted she didn't need an ounce of it in the face of Mirakuru enhanced soldiers to Diggle – proved this. Proved he was… showing himself. Finding himself. And it was a man he could be proud of. One day.

A man who'd chosen.

"It's unthinkable." No sound came from his lips but they formed the words. "That's why I'm choosing this. Choosing you."

Hand sliding to the back of her neck – his palm warm, as always – he pulled her into him, his forehead pressing into hers, eyes closing as a zing of connection flared through were they touched.

She wanted to laugh, giddy – like a school girl – at the situation. He wanted her to be safe but trusted her to do what had to be done.

She felt his hand close around her – now syringe filled – hand and tighten.

"Don't hesitate." He murmured.

"I won't."

Looking into the tiny death-trap – the opening covered by a flimsy grate – Felicity took a deep, long breath. And nodded to herself. Laurel's depending on me… and that is so not a thing I thought I'd ever think.

I wish you'd stop thinking it and get into the damn hole already

Rolling her eyes – Slade must have been this much of a peach to Oliver on Lain Yu – she dropped to her knees and started humming 80's trash ballads that she didn't know the words to. For luck.

---

The solider – one of the many criminal escapees from iron Heights – smacked, hard, into the tarmac. A syringe attached to a plastic tube stuck out from the man's chest.

Breathing low, Oliver tapped his com-piece. "That's the last one. Area cleared."

"Copy that." Dig grunts as a hail of suddenly gunfire blasts over the channel. "Hold on a sec."

He does. Standing there, encased in one of the exit tunnels leading out of the city, the urge to strip off the green leather is tempting. It's hot, blood covered, sweat soaked work but after hours of fighting… he'd finally cleared this sector of the city.

The rest was up to his friends; he trusted Dig to do the job…

Oliver had places to be.

Places he had to be, right now. Just because he'd left her… didn't mean he wouldn't follow. I'll always follow.

Impatient, he spoke again. "Dig?"

There was a huff as the gunfire ceased. "Got it." Whatever 'it' was. "What do you need Oliver?"

"Can you take it from here?"

Dig understood immediately. "You want to go after Felicity?"

Go after Felicity… like she'd run off, ran away from them. From him.

No.

No, he'd asked her to - begged her - to save Laurel. Laurel. Who wasn't supposed to even be in this mess but who insisted that they keep her in loop. Who demanded acknowledgment from him, from his team, when she'd offered so little in return.

She'd told him she'd wanted to keep his loved ones safe. How do you do that if you put yourself in the line of fire? How do you be selfless – to act for another, for a friend – when your own self-interests are at heart. She'd been so dead-set on bringing the hammer of the Court of Law's justice on Sebastian's head, that all her claims to want to help any of them were rendered shallow…

…The Previous Night:

"Ollie; it's the perfect time." Laurel pushed. "With Slade's men distracted, I can get to Sebastian-"

"And do what Laurel?" Exasperated, his face took on a pinched look – like he was dealing with an overload of 'obnoxious'. "Follow him to his underground encampment; an area filled with Mirakuru soldiers who, may I remind you, were criminals long before Slade got to them?"

Straightening where she stood, the muscles on Laurel's face were set firm. "No. I'll infiltrate-"

"Infiltrate the building where he works, a building that might also be filled with hostiles?" He guessed, his tone deliberately patronising – he knew which of her buttons to push and vice versa; they'd always been good at that - trying as hard as he possibly could to get across to her just how ludicrous that sounded because…

She was a lawyer. Just a lawyer.

Yes; she was Laurel Lance, daughter of a detective, a woman who didn't take anything from anybody, who never liked being told 'the answer is no'… but a lawyer was all she'd ever be. She wasn't a solider. And she wasn't an assassin. She'd never created and destroyed entire networks, hadn't left 'impossible to penetrate security systems' mute through subliminal coding. She didn't know the Glades like the back of her hand, didn't live like you had to fight for the right to do so. She hadn't been forced into a fight, into a battle, into a war zone, like he had – for five solid years.

Maybe she had dreams, aspirations; maybe all this really was, was an attempt to accomplish something beyond being a recovering alcoholic. But, was she even thinking when she decided this?

Heading off, on a one-woman crusade, to rid the world of a powerful political figure armed with - yes - impressive evidence, but also on the crux of the evening Slade Wilson would declare war to confront a man – a murderer – who had an army of Mirakuru enhanced men, who wouldn't care that she was a woman, in his back pocket and Slade Wilson in his front… and she thought she could, what? Arrest him singlehandedly?

And if she could, did she consider that to be proof enough that she was capable to do… what? To join him every night? Join the team.

Didn't she realise all he was trying to do was keep her safe? He didn't want to lose another friend and she seemed determined to make it a possibility.

"You can't know that for sure!"

Actually, he could. "Laurel; I'm speaking from experience."

"Experience can blind you."

He felt like flinging his arms in the air. "So can pride." He shot back, watching as the statement hit her like a slap to the face. Before she could respond he carried on, not giving her an inch before he took a mile. "You're willing to risk it? Fine, let's say you're right and he's the only person in the building. Then what? You arrest him? And he's just going to let you?"

She pursed her lips. "He won't have a choice."

His head tilted. "Don't be naive."

"I'm not. I'll make sure he doesn't have a choice."

A sound of disbelief left him. "So you'll use force? I bet that'll look good on the arrest sheet, in the newspapers: 'Mayor arrested without warrant, beaten to a bloody pulp and read his rights by a woman not certified to give them; Laurel Lance, a lawyer, acting as a cop'."

Never mind citizen's arrest; Blood's lawyers would have her cornered in seconds. They'd use her past and publically blow out of proportion each of her mistakes. He didn't want that for her.

She stared at him, struck speechless by his audacity. True; he'd never really spoken to her like this before, but he had too much to deal with and he didn't need Laurel's stubborn-headedness or her reckless lack of awareness added to his list of growing concerns.

He gentled his voice. "You're not your father Laurel."

Her eyes flickered to the floor and he watched her take a deep breath – as if bracing herself - before looking at him and asking a question that temporarily stunned him into submission. "When are you going to start seeing me as an equal?"

…What?

Astonished, it was his turn to stare. How did it even make sense to her to go from where he was in the argument, to addressing their status as friends? Especially since it was evident that she considered them more than that; that maybe she actually thought they were comrades-in-arms…

Except – he would find – that the reality behind her words was actually much worse.

"Laurel, as a person, we are absolutely equal." It wasn't what she was looking for, he saw. She scoffed, blinking away the prideful sheen in her gaze before folding her arms and looking away. Her safety zone. "But in the field?" He continued. "I'll treat you as an equal when you've earned that right."

Her head shot back to him so fast he figured she'd gotten whiplash. "And Felicity Smoak has earned that right?"

He blinked at the abrupt question. What did that have to do with… anything?

He pressed his lips together.

Feeling something in his chest start to tighten – desperately ignoring his instincts that told him he knew exactly why she'd brought Felicity into this argument - he took a step back, didn't say a word, didn't answer the question or give any indication that he was going to. Instead he waited; a furrow between his brows but otherwise he wore a passive expression.

She waited too… and it was odd because instead of seeing the stubborn resolve exposed in those hazel orbs he found a pleading gaze. He found…she was beseeching him. To do what? To explain? To actually explain to her what he wouldn't even explain to Sara? A woman who he'd been sleeping with until a few days prior to this.

How do you explain the most sacred, secret and sensitive part of yourself to people you've placed 100% of your trust in? You don't. You don't even try.

Eyes walking the area he eventually came back to her. "What is it that you're actually asking?" He queried, quietly. What was she really looking for?

Her next breath was… shaky.

"We've known each other a long time, right?"

If he wasn't confused before, he definitely was now. Nodding, the furrow on the bridge of his nose became a heavy frown.

"Years Ollie." She emphasised at him. "Since we were kids. And after, when we were dating." Her mouth open then closed as she hesitated, licking her lips. "When we fell in love." Her tone – a gentle murmur – and her eyes – soft and gleaming - asked him to remember that; to remember what it was like to be in love with Laurel Lance…

And he could. He really could remember.

He could remember her smile; a smile that had broken after Tommy's death – a smile that she hadn't used around him since before he left on the Queen's Gambit. He could remember how her eyes lit up around him, in the way she giggled at his pathetic jokes – a laugh he felt she hadn't used in years, because she certainly hadn't laughed around him since he'd returned to Starling. He remembered well how she used to blush around him, how she used to wait on pins as he leant in to kiss her – their one night together after his return told him she'd become a biter, which wasn't reciprocated, and that whatever they'd once had, had crumbled into lust's easy embrace.

He remembered everything… and kind of wished he didn't. It actually hurt. And it hurt more knowing that it hurt in the first place. That a major essence of his life he'd once considered to be the bright spot of his existence was now a source he only associated with pain. A time when he and Laurel were in love.

But he'd only fallen in love with Laurel after he thought he'd lost her. After he'd been stranded. After he'd realised what and idiot he'd been. After knowing what being a cheat, a liar and a coward cost him.

Laurel's smile…

He missed that smile. It used to be so easy to bring out in her too. Always cocky. Confident. So sure. When he was younger, it had been a turn on.

After his initial return she hadn't smiled at him once; instead she'd offered justified rancour, something he deserved. But even months afterwards… no, he couldn't really remember her smiling- not even during their night together. Truly and freely smiling at him. And he'd wanted her to because he'd felt its absence and didn't know anything else, hadn't experienced anything near the kind of love he'd felt for her.

In fact, the first time she'd smiled at him was after Tommy's funeral… a time Oliver just… couldn't. With anyone. Not even her. Especially not her.

What they used to be, the feelings they used to share…

It felt… acrimonious now. Old. Used. Tired. Tried. Neglected. And ultimately, over and done with. There had been no solace to find there; in both his memories from a simpler time and the memories of the past two years. He thought he could find the love he required in the arms of a woman who he knew would want little to do with him when he returned – and he was right to think so, even before 'it should have been you'… he'd slept with his girlfriend's sister; the same woman he was running to China from – but he'd learned much since then. About the type of love he wanted as opposed to the type of love he needed.

Still, he'd reached for Laurel those first nine months. Hoping, maybe, that they could heal their past selves with their love… but there was too much of everything else in there, too much for love to override. The love they'd shared wasn't strong enough.

Maybe that was why he'd so easily slept with other women. Why he'd slept with Sally from accounting just 6 weeks after he took over as CEO. Why he'd slept with Isabel-

Isabel.

She'd been the coldest, most wanton sex he'd ever experienced with a woman. Quick too. They'd both been pent up, alone and searching for momentary respite. And he'd used it to distract her from his real purpose in Russia. She'd rode him hard – not really seeing him at all - and he'd let her, only seeing her as a means to get off – an available vagina with narrow hips. And nothing more.

In fact, it was barely memorable. Crappy sex. A quickie. An average fuck.

But it broke something he couldn't fix afterwards.

Worth it?

No.

I think you deserve better than her.

She'd floored him with that. Rendered him utterly speechless and confused.

Even then she'd wanted the best for him… even when she was hurt, even after he'd told her through his actions, through his voice and expressions that he was unavailable as a potential romantic partner and yet still rubbing – and it hadn't been the first time – this so-called unavailable status in her face with every easy lay and screw, as if he was available to all but her…

And he was. Available to all women that weren't her.

All other women were expendable. Breakable. He could lose them and he'd heal, change, adapt, and move forwards. It would hurt, but he'd survive their deaths.

'All other women' included Sara and Isabel and Helena… even Laurel.

With Felicity… it wasn't possible, not with her.

So he thought she needed protecting. From himself.

Yet… the expression on Felicity's face when she'd seen Isabel leave his hotel room with her dress left unbuttoned at the back, her shoes and stockings held by delicate fingers, a snarky comment thrown haughtily over her shoulder…

It made his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, feeling like the scum of the earth – and he had been, using what should be an intimate act as a distraction – as she'd turned away from him.

But he saw it – sex - as a means to an end, always. At the time, the idea that he deserved so much more than a quick fuck, was laughable. He didn't. Hadn't. But she'd thought, genuinely believed, that he did. And Felicity… she wouldn't lie to him. She wasn't the type to bullshit him, or the type to allow herself to be such a hopeless romantic that she'd say and do anything just to make him feel better.

She meant it.

And it was selfless – because it didn't have to be her, she didn't have to be the one who made him happy just as along as he was happy. He could feel it from her, was spellbound by it… it frightened him. He'd never met anyone that deserving of all the love the world can offer, but there she was. Is.

So, inevitably, he closed that box inside him; the one filled with dreams and possibilities that his heart and his brain told him would never come true but that his soul still craved-

"You once told me," he blinked, Laurel's voice breaking the spell and found that she'd stepped closer; not exactly within reach but… closer all the same. "That I was your future. That I knew you better than anyone else." And she'd been holding onto that for a year; he could tell. The fragile smile she wore expressed that hope so obviously it hurt to see. "Isn't it just another step forwards to trust me? To work with me. To work together instead of apart. Doesn't that make sense?" Her voice lowered and his eyes followed as she took another step closer, a hand falling on his arm – like it had hours before when she'd told him 'this is safe', that being with him was safe – and she peered at him through her lashes. "We've stayed away from each other all year and it's brought nothing but pain for us. Loneliness." She shook her head - as if she thought they'd been fools - as whisper of a laugh echoing through her. "You even went to Sara, Ollie. Like in the past; when you were running from 'us', you went to her, repeating the same pattern. Over and over. And you only do that when you're trying to stay away from this." Her hand lifted, gesturing to herself before coming back to him. "I said I wanted a future with you and you ran. Then all I had to think about was the fact that Tommy died because I was in CNRI. I ran away too. I became an alcoholic. But I got better; now I'm sober. Isn't it time we stopped running away from each other?"

I have loved you for half my life… but I'm done running after you.

Did she not remember?

She thought he'd been running away from a relationship with her after Tommy's death?

Running away?

No… he'd just made a choice.

He'd told her that choice. In the letter he'd left her… that he'd needed to leave.

She'd been his saving grace; that such a waste could have such an amazing woman want to date him. And he'd told her that. He'd said she was the best part of him, of who he used to be. That he'd loved her and had decided to let her go. He'd made a decision. Because it wasn't her that he needed after Tommy's death. He hadn't wanted or needed anyone after his best friend's death. He'd just wanted to be alone. Not to start planning the future, not to start moving forwards when he'd already taken fifty steps back as Tommy died in his arms.

He knew she didn't need him to live her life… and it was then that he'd discovered – when he'd left a second time for Lian Yu – that he and Laurel didn't need to be close to each other. Didn't really need each other at all. Not to breathe. Not to survive. Not to hope. It wasn't the kind of burning love that tore at your insides and wormed its way inside you. It wasn't a passionate, fervent love that created desire and the covetous natures that led to touch. It wasn't death defying. It wasn't soul rending. It didn't whisper in the ears, didn't make dreams better than reality…

It was just a form of love.

A painful truth. That it wasn't special. He'd returned thinking that loving Laurel would be worth it, would be sanitizing. How awful to discover that it wasn't even healing. How sad to remember it dripping with betrayal. Tommy…

Feeling the urge to speak he opened his mouth but she beat him to the punch, pressing closer until he could feel her against him. A jolt of something sparked through him; his heart clenching. "Isn't it time we finally have what we want? Let's choose Ollie." Smiling at him, her eyes flickered to his lips. "Let's choose to have each-"

-Again, he'd already chosen in this too.

His hand over her mouth stopped her before she could kiss him.

Eyes large, she blinked at him.

I don't…

Heart thundering in his ears, he looked down at her and wondered where he'd gone wrong with… all of it. But he couldn't find it in himself to sympathise; he was too galled.

Appalled.

His body fought the desire to just walk away from the empty study they'd decided to talk in.

"I told you," he uttered slowly, "what you needed to hear. What I wanted to believe at the time." That she and he were perfect, that they'd finally come together and were fate – game, set, match – instead of the truth. That they'd hooked up. One last time; for old times' sake. To glory in what they used to be and maybe, just maybe, see if they could last. "And you took the words for what they were – you didn't think for a second that maybe that's all they were. You didn't trust me the whole time since my return but you trusted me then." When I was telling you what you wanted to hear. In her apartment, the night everything changed, the night where he'd offered… nothing. All he'd told her was that he wanted to be with her – that he was ready and she'd flown into his arms. It had seemed so romantic at the time.

His voice remained low – disbelieving and angry - and her eyes fluttered but she refocused back on his face, a frown forming. "It was a lie, Laurel. You don't know me. You never did. And I can't say I've ever had the pleasure of knowing you either."

He saw it then: she'd completely pushed the letter out of her head. Their very own Dear John.

Slowly, so slowly, her eyes were widening as she started taking what he was saying for what it truly was. "If we'd known each other the way you wished we had," the he'd regretted they hadn't so many times, "we'd have done the right thing. We'd have broken up months before I stepped on board the Queen's Gambit." In fact, if they had… "And if we had," He inhaled, "I may never have left in the first place." Terrified by all the expectations surrounding him: school, work, relationship commitments. "And none of this – any of it – the Arrow, Slade, Tommy-" Choking off the name he paused, clearing his throat. His hand pushed further against her mouth when she tried to move to speak, clearly as affected by Tommy's memory as he was. "None of it would have happened." He whispered, staring down at her.

Finally, he moved his hand and she swallowed.

He smiled then; a small smile and it seemed to surprise her, to stun her. She liked it. "We may have had a chance, you know. We may have actually gotten back together; had that white picket fence and 2.3 kids." She flinched at his mention of children but seemed to melt as he breathed the rest. "Tommy would be alive. I'd have control of my father's company. My sister wouldn't have a year's worth of memories I wish she'd never had to endure and my father would be there, watching over me." He shook his head, eyes flickering above her head, lost in visions of what could have been.

But Laurel wasn't lost in dreams. "Ollie. We could still have that." Like she was grasping at straws – and she was – Laurel's hands landed on his arms and tightened. Like a noose. "You could still take control of your father's company. We could still-"

"It's my idea of a nightmare."

As if she'd been electrically shocked, Laurel stilled.

"A prison." He hashed out. "A four-by four cell. On one side would stand my parent's never ending judgement about my life choices and how they're just never good enough for them. On the other side, the responsibility to run a company I'd never had any intention of being part of prior to this year, an ever present reminder that my life was never my own. The wall in front of me would house you, Laurel." Still he didn't look at her. Didn't need to; it was all crystal clear behind his eyes. "Wants, promises, expectations… always expectations." He repeated, a breathy laugh of irony escaping him. "Constant expectations. At every side."

The hands on his arms slipped off like she'd lost all control of them. Part of him was just as stunned as she that he was actually saying this, after all this time.

"And the last wall would be Tommy." He closed his eyes. "If we'd have gotten back together, if we'd sorted ourselves out as much as we were able, you would never have known Tommy the way you had."

And what a waste that would have been? For her to miss the chance at something real and devastating as being loved by Tommy Merlyn-

"-He gave us his blessing."

Like the words had sparked something in him his eyes shot open. "He wanted you to be happy." He threw at her and she had the decency to flinch. "That's why he broke up with you. That's why he pushed us away and that's why we slept together."

Because if Tommy hadn't? Oliver would never have though 'fuck it'. He would never have gone for it. Would never have gone to Laurel's apartment whilst knowing that she and Tommy were together… but would she have gone for it too? Even if Tommy had begged for her back? Would she have wanted Oliver regardless?

Would she see it as settling if she'd picked Tommy?

"You said he wanted me to be happy." She repeated, fighting for composure with her eyebrows raised – but not in arrogance – in an epiphany he didn't share. God, laurel. Please don't. "Being with you… and that night when you came over to my apartment, telling me you were ready. And making love… it made me really happy. One of my most treasured memories." She smiled softly, sweetly; tears present in her gaze.

Treasured memories.

What he would have given to have her look at him like that just a little more than a year before.

Something like misery travelled through him and his features twisted with it. "Excuse me?"

It was… ridiculous.

And so. Fucking. Painful.

Like shards of agony he really didn't want re-opening. If she was so in tune with him – like she obviously thought she was – why wasn't she seeing the hurt she was dredging up? He was so sick of living inside pain.

His tone made her swallow; her shining eyes dimming and she took a step back like she'd understood – finally – that she'd crossed a line. "Laurel, I never made you happy." He almost shouted the words at the sad girl before him. "You never smiled when you were with me. I never brought anything but pain into your life." This time he did shout. "I slept with your sister, Laurel!" He stared hard at her, incredulous. "We slept together behind Tommy's back! How do you consider that a precious memory?"

"It wasn't like that! Why don't you understand that?!" Vehement denial; always vehement. To the last. A splice of anger infected her features. "Tommy… he broke up with me. He pushed me away." Yes, she sounded angry. At Oliver. For downplaying what they'd had together. "I tried so hard to make him take me back but he was adamant that you and I were meant to be together. And what if he was right Ollie? What if…"

He watched her lips move but the sound in his ears – the crushing waves – stopped him from hearing the rest.

He'd left her there.

The first and last time they'd had sex… He'd been exhausted.

He remembered feeling the weight of the mountain of lies and secrets unravelling regarding his mother and the Undertaking. How the breaking of his friendship with Tommy to ruins – the fear and disappointment he constantly received from him – had made him ache for simpler times. About how his sister, who had been improving socially but utterly failing academically, was not only dating a petty criminal but who was also feeling the effects of a brother and a mother who no longer spoke to her. He'd spent days at a time at the Foundry leading up to the Undertaking. And his mother had spent hours at Queen Consolidated, mourning the absence of her second husband. At the time the group cohesion with his team had begun to spiral to new heights; they were the only bright spot, so he inevitably spent random nights worrying about their safety. About how he was going to keep them safe as opposed to how they would all keep each other safe. A notion he understood a lot more about now and favoured.

So after sleeping with Laurel… oddly, trying to remember the finer details of that night was impossible. Since then stronger, lasting memories had taken their place. And betrayal had corrupted the rest. But he still remembered feeling the longing for her that he'd finally managed to sate. It had been as good as he'd remembered. Yet he'd hoped for better, he'd hoped for more.

Afterwards he'd lain there as she curled up happily against his side and he'd looked at her with a small hope. A simple hope that asked for nothing but peace. It was another thing he didn't receive. Seconds later he'd fallen asleep too.

But then Diggle had called and he'd left her there, without a second thought. Hadn't even occurred to him that she might upset by that, that she might worry about him falling back into old habits; he'd put the city before her. The first time he'd put something before her since his return.

After Malcolm abducted him, then he'd remembered. He'd even called her, asking only if they could talk later. Thinking about it, how it must have felt for her on waking – with him not next to her; a cold patch where he'd lain – he couldn't understand how she could consider it a treasured memory. Wouldn't distrust have marred it, with discontent muddling the waters?

Next he'd seen her was hours later. Hours. And they'd spent roughly five minutes in the hallway of the Queen mansion. Five minutes where he'd preened and pranced about half-truths; the whole thing dripping with wishful thinking. An outside observer might have cringed.

At the time it had felt very real, what he'd said. Now it felt like the worst lie.

Because he didn't tell the most fundamental truth about whom he was, who he is, and what made him do the things he did and still does. He hadn't been even a little honest with her.

He left her again when Tommy died…

How could she think it was a good memory? It was one of his most shameful.

Destroy it.

Destroy her belief in an 'us'.

He wouldn't even have to lie. Again. The truth would show her. Normally he'd be averse to doing so; to really letting her see the side of him she hadn't seen when they were together – the side he fought so hard to keep from her – but… she wasn't giving up. He could see it in her eyes. She believed, for some inexplicable reason, that they were destined. She may even believe that she could wait for him; allow him to sleep with all the women he chooses until he's so tired of screwing around that he'd pick her?

And because she was so blinded to it – probably a consequence of processing so much in so little time; that he was the Arrow, that her sister was the Canary, that a man she'd dated who was now running for mayor was a psychopath – she didn't see how insulting to her that was.

And how, where once that might have worked for 21 year old 'Ollie', it didn't appeal at all to Oliver.

"We'd been dating about four months." He suddenly began, interrupting whatever flow of words she'd been unravelling. "There was this week where we'd had a date every night. One each to celebrate the story of how we met, how we grew, how me came together and for our future? Remember?"

The hope that shined on her face – the hope he'd just put there – made him almost want to stop talking. But he didn't. She needed to see. And to move on. Even if by force.

"After 4 dates I was exhausted." A flicker of unease swept through her, he saw it in the way her brow puckered, in how her breaths turned shallower. "I wanted release."

She frowned then. "Hadn't we…"

"We'd slept together on each date, yes, but that isn't what I meant." Looking at her he felt the same self-disgust well up inside him that he'd managed to cover over these past months. "Being in a relationship? Being committed? At the time, it wasn't right for me. Couldn't take it." Like a man would. But he hadn't been a man; he'd been a dumbass boy with his brain in his pants. "I needed to release some of the stress, the tension, to be… bad."

He uttered the word like it was a sickness. Sure. As if he'd understood back then what being bad truly meant.

"So I went on a joyride. With two others. Two girls."

Like a shattered mirror he watched the light in her eyes dim, saw the abrupt admiration she'd been offering him the last 12 hours fall to pieces at his feet.

She hadn't known about every affair that he'd had. About every sordid affair, every hook-up, every orgy. Every mistake and physical stain he'd made on their relationship.

His next words came out harsh – partly because she needed to see just how not good he was for her and partly because he was, again, disgusted with himself. "They had my pants off by the time we got to the car and I drove to a hotel just in my shirt and boxers. By the time we arrived, one of the girls had already given me a blowjob." He was breathing hard, like it was soul-sucking to say. And it was. "To this day I don't remember their names. Or their faces."

Laurel was just staring at him.

"And after that? There was some girl from some party at someone's place," which was how he remembered the majority of his one-night, one-morning, one-day stands, "then there was Sandra… then Max Fuller's fiancé… and Sara." The words continued to tumble out, like spores. "You thought she was the only one? Did you think that the Queen's Gambit was the only time we'd hooked up? Laurel… I was a bastard. Who didn't really understand what it meant to love, honour and cherish. Who was terrified of the commitment you wanted. And you were oblivious." And if there was a slight accusation in his tone then so be it, because he'd always wondered how a woman who was supposed to know him like the back of her hand could miss all his solicitations, all his… deviances. His dalliances.

Could miss that he just hadn't. Been. Ready.

Not to move in, not to make plans; none of it, any of it.

Focusing on her, his expression weary, guilty and wretched, he breathed again. "Is that… what you want?"

To be with a man like me who's only that way when he's with you?

It wasn't like he liked remembering how he'd been. Honestly, if he could go back in time, go back to all those moments he'd…

No… no he wouldn't change a thing. Not a goddamn thing.

"Then why did you come to me?" Her question, her tone, was flat. Quiet. But he could feel acid beneath it. He'd hurt her. Again… but she was still on target. "Why did you want to be with me? Why did you tell me at the hospital that you still love me?"

Feeling pain shoot to the bridge of his nose his voice took on a guttural rasp. "I never said I loved you. I said it wouldn't be true to tell you that I didn't."

"What's the difference?"

"The fact that you'll never hear those words come from me?" Wasn't that enough? "Not now, not ever. Not after everything I put you through."

Chest expanding with a massive, Laurel blinked away tears. "That doesn't mean you don't love me."

"Laurel…"

"Then why did you come to me after his funeral? And then again a few days later? We kissed." It came out almost as a wail. His eyes closed. "You held my hand and I told you I was excited for the future and you-"

"Left. I left."

She shuddered with a sob. "You ran."

I wasn't running, but… "What did you expect?"

Yes, that stunned her. "I beg your pardon?"

His head tilted slightly in wonder, eyes narrow. "Tommy had just died. After we betrayed him-"

There was something in her eyes that told him she'd at least thought about it, yet she still… "For the last time Ollie, we didn't betray him!"

"But that's how he saw it. That's how I saw it. You even used it as an excuse to go after me – as the Arrow – for six months Laurel!" He spat the words. "You told your father; I heard you. The guilt you felt over being at CNRI the night of the quake… and the many times you reminded me that we'd lost him afterwards, about how much you missed him." And how it was like a punch to his stomach each time.

Realising how hard he was breathing he took a step back, sending one harsh look her way before turning away to pace. To drag his hands down his face. Before he knew it he was mumbling though his fingers.

"I went to you because you could understand why it hurt so much."

"I did. I still do."

"I know." He stood there for a moment before he burst another of her bubbles. "It was comfort. Just comfort. But then you started talking about 'you and me'… only days after losing a man we both loved, a man who felt less than loved because of us before he died. Before he was killed. By his own father." His hands dropped but his head remained bowed. "The idea of starting a relationship with you… made me feel sick."

He heard her gasp but didn't turn. Just continued to twist the knife.

"We'd infected it. Both of us." It was surprising how choked he felt – his tone certainly indicated tears – how close he felt to crying now. Buried hurts forcefully upheaved. And it was oddly cleansing. Words bubbling out that he hadn't realised he'd needed to say. "Because we wanted so badly to remember how good it had once been. Because we wanted for something in our lives not to remain a disappointment. A mistake."

"I didn't see it that way."

"Neither did I at the time."

Looking back on it though?

He'd felt like that boy once again; the 21 year old who couldn't keep it in his pants.

Couldn't they have both controlled themselves? Because if they had… Tommy might still be alive.

"And that's why you're turning to Felicity Smoak? You're secretary, Ollie?"

Derision. Demeaning. Distaste. Disdain. Disrespect.

That's all he heard from her now.

It was a button… she could not touch.

Felicity.

"Oh," Slowly he turned back to her, his voice an anecdote on 'lethality'. "You don't want to go there Laurel."

Don't you dare.

There was evidence of tears on her cheeks but her defiance was strong enough to render those streaks mute. "So everything, all of the supposed growth, dating Sara – all of it! It was about falling back into old habits? Sleeping with your secretary?"

He just looked at her, impassive. "Executive assistant."

"Oh my god." She breathed; every word a bitter jab. "I've got to say that goes right up there with the billionaire playboy routine; old habits die hard."

The way she went back and forth in her own argument – the way she stated that he was worthy, yet reminded him, repeatedly, that he was good for nothing at all…

"Hard to let go isn't it?" He whispered. He knew, better than most how hard it could be to let go of the past.

And that was it. Finally. The push. Every last ounce of warmth she'd been offering was shuttered away behind hard eyes. Truth made corporeal.

He looked at her for a moment.

"I've never slept with Felicity Smoak."

How the words burned.

Sleeping… with Felicity…

In dreams he pushed far down, in visions he'd allowed himself to wander through during board meetings at QC, in the dark when he was alone in the Foundry… he'd thought about it. Of course he had. It was inevitable. But never did it think it could actually happen.

Just the notion – that there was even a hint at a possibility - lit him up, feeling heat rise slowly from his toes to the north of his thighs before settling in his chest. Christ.

His fingers twitched.

She didn't react but he could tell she didn't believe a word. "I don't have to justify myself to you but Felicity is a good person… she's the best person." He murmured; his head swimming suddenly in images of honest laughter, of ice cream Sundays and blond hair long enough to tickle his arms when he leant over her shoulder to stare at her monitors. "I've gone to sleep with her. But we haven't made love." At 'made love' Laurel's face crumpled.

Because it would be that: him and Felicity… making love to each other.

"And let me tell you, going to sleep besides the one person on the planet – the only person – who has continuously believed in you, who makes you feel like you can be good – who makes you feel safe when you didn't realise you needed to feel it - that you can be a hero, that you can have exactly what you want for a change, that you can touch the light rather than the darkness… it's addictive." He exhaled; it was, but it was also soothing. Honest. Warm. "It's healing. And," his eyes flickered back to Laurel's. "I'm in love with her."

It was first time he'd ever said the words to – about – a woman.

And Laurel looked completely dumbfounded.

"The next time I say those words, they'll be to her, to her face. And only to her." The first… and last person. God, he already knew. He knew. "Felicity… I need her, Laurel. I don't just want her. Though I do, want her." He spoke in segments, annoyed that the first time he'll speak the words they'd be to Laurel and not Felicity but also relieved to get some of it off his chest. But not all of it. Not even close. The rest would be for Felicity's ears alone. "And I never thought I could love like this. And be loved so completely in return." Even though he had nothing to offer her… even though she asked for nothing from him.

Except for him to believe.

The silence that followed his words was so heavy he was surprised they both still standing.

She didn't look at him. She simply stared out of the window, into the night. He couldn't properly see her face but he could guess – she was regaining her composure.

After a few minutes he heard her sigh.

"I'm sorry Laurel." He uttered. Because he truly was.

They'd both wasted years of their lives for different reasons that inevitably hurt each other.

She shifted and quietly responded with. "So am I." Before turning back to him, a little pale in the face but her arms were once more crossed over her chest. "But I'm going for Sebastian."

All at once the agitation returned. "Laurel-"

"I am not leaving the city; it's my home. And my father isn't safe."

"So you think you can keep him safe?"

"I think I'd rather be with him if something happens than to not know."

And that wasn't something he could fight her on.

Sensing she'd finally won something, she stepped closer once again. "I'll stay with my dad. But when it's time I'm going after Blood."

He opened his mouth – almost snarling at her, because as much as a romantic relationship between them was a testament to insanity, he still considered her a friend he'd grown up with as a child. A woman who had changed him once. Had made him wish for love.

But before he could she spoke the sentence that ended his argument. "And if something goes wrong… I'll know you're out there. I know you'll come for me."

Present time…

He couldn't coordinate a strike whilst worrying over Laurel's safety. And he couldn't just let her get killed. Not Laurel. He didn't want to lose another link to his past, to any of the good memories buried there.

But the only person he 100% trusted on the planet was also the only person he 100% couldn't lose.

It would kill him. In a way losing his mother or sister wouldn't have done.

And yet he'd chanced it all – the lives of his family and friends, the City of Starling, Slade's life – on Felicity's Smoak.

There was no one else he could think of more capable of defeating Slade then she.

It would sound ridiculous to anyone else but himself. Even Dig would find the notion absurd. But Oliver understood that sometimes you have to do the unthinkable, risk the precious and be as unpredictable as possible to beat the unassailable.

Slade… even though she was on Mirakuru, he'd drop his guard; let himself continue under the belief that she was a scared IT girl.

But she wasn't. God, she wasn't. She was the smartest, strongest person he knew.

It had taken years for him to grasp the concept of true strength. The secrets of which weren't held within the shields men and woman project. It lay in the heart and Felicity's heart was too strong to be corrupted by a psychopath with an eye-patch.

I love you

He'd said the words. He hadn't meant to; they'd just… come out. And the whole of him eased as they did, as if his body had sighed, an air of 'rightness' settling about his person. He loved her. And he'd finally told her.

And then he'd kissed her.

That… he'd definitely meant to do.

He'd thought about doing so on their ride over to his secret secondary base of operations, with one hand on the bike and the other linked through the fingers wrapped around his waist from behind.

He'd thought about how she'd taste initially, about how her lips felt beneath his – if they were really as plump as they looked, as perfect and supple and moist as he'd seen them covered in pink and purple and red lipstick - then about how she'd react when he did. Would she fall into his arms, into his control? Would she melt? Would she stiffen then sigh? Would she kiss him back? …Would she reject his advance?

And suddenly it was easy for other thoughts to trespass, ones he'd never allowed himself to indulge. On how they could ride together again, after all this was over, only this time it would be… out of the city. Away. Elsewhere.

It had shocked him… because he hadn't known that he'd wished to just go.

And it wasn't even about a destination – he didn't possess an urgent need to see Hawaii, he didn't dream about sunsets in Tuscany…

It was just about her.

Just… about the two of them.

Leaving Starling. Together.

Forever.

It shocked him how that word slid so easily into his brain.

But that's… all he needed really. He'd finally found it. The big 'it' that only a few people are lucky enough to find. How he was one of those people he didn't understand. But he would make sure he spent forever and more thanking her. Loving her.

And of course the kiss was… everything. And more. They'd both given; there'd been no taking. He'd told her exactly what and how he thought about her through his lips and she'd pushed the same feelings back into him. He didn't need her to tell him she loved him– he already knew she did.

Since then, since leaving her down there… the energy flowing through him – the adrenaline and the idea that it would all be over in a matter of hours – and the knowledge that he'd sent her into the lion's den, the knowledge that he was in love, the knowledge that she reciprocated, the mere idea that he might have a shot at genuine happiness when all was said and done… it had turned him into a fighting machine.

A machine who didn't need to kill to stop the unstoppable.

Staring out into the distance, where he could just see the docks – the factory, he replied to Dig.

"I need to." Need to go after her.

"You won't get an argument from me." He really wouldn't.

He hadn't explained to Dig exactly what his plan was or that Felicity was the linchpin. All he knew was that Oliver had asked her to go save Laurel. And it wasn't even about Laurel Lance at all. Still, not saying anything in the face of the disappointment John had thrown at him had hurt more than he'd expected.

"Go get our girl, man."

---

A few minutes of twisting pipelines and dark corridors before turning a sharp corner and Felicity finally landed eyes on someone familiar:

Laurel.

She was cuffed to a large pipe hissing steam several feet above her head. Sweat glistened on her face where she stood, but she wasn't fighting against the metal at her wrists like Felicity expected her to. Leaning slightly, so that her face and shoulders appeared briefly from the corner, Felicity saw why: a Mirakuru soldier stood a few metres away. His wasn't facing Laurel – thankfully; she didn't want to see another orange and black mask anytime soon - as if he didn't find her the least bit dangerous – and she wasn't, not to him. But, by the way the man kept shifting on the spot Felicity figured he was waiting for someone. Some signal.

And he'd get one. It just wouldn't be the signal he was expecting.

Being a vessel of Mirakuru had its low points but one of the pros was that it had made her incredibly light footed. So it was embarrassingly easy for her to step up to the man from behind.

A sharp gasp from Laurel made him aware - I have been making a habit of appearing out of nowhere - but by then it was too late. Just as he'd begun to turn around, Felicity had already jammed a syringe filled with the cure into his bicep.

He went down in seconds.

That was… really fast. She felt a little sorry for him really; being taken down so easily by an IT nerd. Sucks to be you.

"Felicity?"

Laurel's voice – stunned disbelief lining each syllable, like she just couldn't believe what she'd seen – broke through her mental rambling. Felicity winced, grimacing - and here we go – before turning to the Lawyer.

"Hey." She smiled, softly and stepped closer; checking on how tight the cuffs had been. "You okay?"

The brunette bombshell nodded, blinking hard and fast. "I'm fine."

Good. That was one worry put to bed. There was a thin red wring around Laurel's wrist but other than that, she didn't look hurt.

"Where's Oliver?" Laurel prodded, breathing heavily despite the fact that she'd only been standing there. She must have been so scared…

"He's co-ordinating the attack." And doing a damn fine job. "Don't move for a sec." Pushing two fingers into the opening between cuff and wrist, Felicity pressed into the back of the ring of metal with her thumb. It snapped immediately in two. "Did I hurt you?"

Looking at Laurel, Felicity was reminded that the woman had very little experience with dealing with the bizarre situations that she, Oliver and Diggle got into on a weekly basis. Currently, she didn't seem to be able to stop staring, open mouthed, at her wrist. Her eyes flickered to the broken manacle before she'd glanced back at Felicity.

Even though Mirakuru and its effects had been explained to her… yeah, it was still a shock to see small fingers break metal apart.

Then, in a blink of an eye – I swear it was less than two seconds – Laurel regained her composure. Straightening, she dropped her hand. "Ollie sent you?"

There was nothing really in that question that should make Felicity worry. But the underlining tone – the very slight scepticism – made Felicity feel… uncomfortable for some reason. Like she was invading someone's territory.

Laurel's. And Oliver's-

I love you

Right…

…She took in a deep breath, keeping her voice low and quiet. "He asked me to come get you." Felicity replied, wincing when she realised how the words had sounded.

Like he'd sent her on an errand.

And in a way he had. Saving Laurel was only her secondary objective. Getting the cure to Slade was her primary. Finding Laurel so easily had been a simple act of chance. That and the ghostly figure of a younger Slade advising her where his older self might be situated helped too.

Laurel understood all this immediately. "He sent you?"

Felicity flinched. "Yes?" Did I seriously just turn that into a question?

"Of course he did." Laurel nodded, but it took Felicity a moment to notice the derision on the woman's face. "I mean, why would he come himself?"

"Laurel-"

"It's fine." Laurel uttered, flatly. "I told him I trusted him to be there and he made his thoughts on the subject extremely clear." The sentence told very little and a lot all at once.

Laurel had talked to Oliver the day before. But now Felicity knew what they might have discussed, what she might have said, and what she might have asked of him.

And he'd said 'no'.

Oh.

I trusted him to be there… Laurel trusted Oliver to always be there, to always want to be there. But, he'd put the city before her. Just like he'd chosen Sara over Laurel. Just like he'd…

"Don't hesitate." He murmured.

"I won't."

Just like he'd chosen to trust her above all else.

"Don't make this personal, Laurel."

The words just came out and Laurel frowned at her.

"What?"

"This isn't about you." Felicity stated. "Or me." Watching as every muscle in laurel's face tightened. "Or Oliver." An echo of shame flickered through the woman and Felicity felt a pang of sympathy. Empathy. "It's about the people of Starling. It's about saving our home. And it's about stopping Slade."

For a sum total of 13 seconds – she knew because Spectre Slade counted in a monotone after stating that 3 seconds was 10 seconds too long - Laurel just looked at her.

"So I need to get you out of here." Felicity abruptly shot out, though quietly. "Slade is hiding somewhere and-"

"No, I want to stay." Laurel insisted. "I can help."

Eyes flickering left and right, Felicity asked, "How?"

For a moment - Felicity figured it was a first for her - Laurel appeared lost for words. "I… I can't just leave…"

"Sure you can."

"You want me to let you confront him alone?"

"Ssh!" Because loud. She licked her lips, glancing about them. "That was… kind of the idea actually."

Laurel crossed her arms, leaning on one leg. "Well, what can you do against him?"

The look Felicity gave her could only be described as 'please, dumbass, really?'

And normally… yes, there was now way she'd normally be so condescending, especially not to the all mighty Laurel Lance but this really wasn't the time for Laurel to be stepping on her toes. Plus, Felicity was terrified. She had to cure Slade Wilson, meaning she had to confront him. That she had Mirakuru didn't dull that fear a bit so whatever Laurel thought, well, it could keep.

And what Laurel thought was written in bold across her face: she looked like she'd swallowed lemons.

Felicity arched a brow.

"Mirakuru?" Laurel gritted out.

Felicity nodded. "Yep."

Lips pursed, laurel took a deep breath through her nose. "Fine. Where am I supposed to go?"

"You need to get to your father. Keep each other safe." Pivoting, Felicity gestured for Laurel to follow her as she stalked back the way she came. "I can lead you back out – the hole is super tiny BTW," Laurel's confusion did nothing to deter her, "but once you're out-"

"She's not going anywhere."

Stiffening, Felicity stopped cold.

To her right, an opening led out into an open area of the factory. Standing there… was Isabel.

Decked to the nines in a really intimidating leather combatant suit – orange is the new black - she stepped closer. "And neither are you." As Felicity just stared at her both of Isabel's hands reached behind her. Slowly, she pulled out two swords – the scrape of steel a shiver on Felicity's spine – knowing full well Felicity stood weapon-less. By the smirk on her face, she couldn't care less. Preferred her prey terrorised. Powerless.

"I've been waiting a long time for this Miss Smoak." With every word something savage inside of Isabel seemed to increase.

Felicity blinked. Momentarily side tracked form the sight of Isabel's swords because – sharp. "Er, why?"

The smirk quivered under supressed rage. "You. Ruined. Everything." Eyes flashing, they slid to Laurel. "For you too I bet. She just swans in and all of a sudden she's all he can see."

Okay, colour me confused. Feeling Laurel shift in her peripheral, Felicity tried to prod her into staying behind her but-

"Ever since the day Oliver said your name, I've wanted to wipe that haughty little smile right off that pretty face of yours." Isabel snarled… and for the first time Felicity thought the reputed beauty looked supremely horrible- wait, what did she say? "Or take a limb." She pointed a sword at her leg. "Or two." Then her arm.

But Felicity wasn't focused on that.

Ever since the day Oliver said your name

Ollie said your name

No… It couldn't be the same… there were months between them; he couldn't have. Not then. Not in Russia.

God, Russia. How she hated Russia. She always remembered it as the day Oliver became Ollie again, lost leave of his senses and slept with the enemy.

And apparently it had meant nothing.

How could sex mean nothing? It was a concept she couldn't understand, didn't want to understand. It sounded so cold. They'd just used each other… I mean, does that really make men and women feel good about themselves?

But now that she had a clearer view of who Oliver really was at heart… she remembered it with sadness, which wasn't much better but still…

He'd been lonely. And he hadn't thought he'd deserved anything more than an emotionless roll in the hay.

"He said her name? That's an odd reason to be angry at someone."

Felicity closed her eyes. Laurel. She was probably trying to inject some sense into a situation that probably seemed senseless to her. But it was so not a-

"Oh… I forgot, you don't know. Do you?" Said so slowly, so softly; the glee in Isabel's face made Felicity's stomach drop. It was the kind of expression a child might spare a kitten, before the child kills said kitten just to see what would happen.

"Know about what?"

Laurel's voice shook as she spoke; she was afraid of her. Felicity figured Isabel had been the one to kidnap her but for Felicity it was more of the fact that Isabel was now a super solider skilled in the art of hurting others. And Felicity… was not.

You have me

Slade… yes she did-

"About me and Oliver." Isabel murmured.

Felicity almost rolled her eyes, stepping away from Laurel in a moment of clarity. Get Isabel away from the one person in the room who can't recover from a sword to the chest. "If you really think there was ever a 'you and Oliver' then you need some serious therapy."

Isabel's teeth shone. "Jealous?"

Slowly shaking her head, Felicity adopted a pitying expression and watched as Isabel's smug venire slipped off her face like water. "…No. I don't get jealous of an easy lay."

The pure rage thrown at her then almost made Felicity run a mile. She was saved this massive embarrassment by Laurel who, very understandably, sounded like she wanted to gag. "You and Oliver? What, was he desperate?"

Wow, the laughed that cackled free from Felicity became a hasty cough.

"Probably." Isabel replied; a curious look in her eye – she stared at Laurel. "Probably because someone wasn't giving him what he needed."

Laurel frowned. "Me and Ollie aren't-"

"I wasn't referring to you." Isabel chewed on the inside of her mouth; a bitter laugh flirting with her oesophagus. "You think it's always about you; you self-absorbed little-"

Felicity tried to interject. "Isabel-"

"He said her name." Still locked in a battle of the gazes with laurel, Isabel absently flickered a sword at her. "During." Oh God. Finally her eyes, those brown killers, slid back to Felicity. "He said Felicity when he came."

…I know.

Of course she did. Even if the earth beneath her feet didn't feel quite so solid anymore, she knew. It felt real. Important. Hell; she'd say his. In fact…

She had.

It was humiliating to admit actually, even to hersekf. Because she'd been truly alone when she had.

When The Count had taken her, she'd whispered it. When the Glades had fallen, she'd said it through tears. When he'd been injected with an anti-coagulant she'd spoken it as a prayer. When Slade tried to kill his mother and sister she'd thought it as a shield. When they'd held each other she'd murmured it.

When, at night – in her bed – she'd groaned and whimpered it as she gave in to a very real need and pushed her fingers into her panties.

All those times she'd gone home, too stressed to sleep. When she'd left the Foundry feeling such relief that her boy's were okay after a brutal shoot out. Those moments when being alone wasn't something to savour, wasn't freedom. And the times she'd been afraid of what was outside her door, of what could lurk in the dark, of the knowledge of the type of men and women that truly existed in world, when she'd wanted to cower in the corner with all the lights on…

It had become a ritual. Sometimes, it was the only thing that made her feel like herself. Wrapped in the sensation of pleasure.

Was that… bad?

That she thought of Oliver? That he was her safe place?

"You don't look surprised." Isabel muttered, head slightly tilting as if to offset the surprise.

Felicity did nothing but look at her, upset that something so private had been used as a weapon.

Laurel's expression was a testament to that. She'd… paled.

…And took a step back. Away from Felicity. Closer to Isabel.

Alarmed, Felicity's arm shot out. "Laurel, don't-"

Isabel cut her off. "No Laurel," her right arm sliced up and the sword in her grasp was suddenly pointed at the lawyer's sculptured chin. "Stay." The sharp edge pressed ever so gently to Laurel's neck and Laurel froze: staring at Isabel in horror. "Neither of you are leaving this place alive. Orders from above."

Trembling, Felicity fisted her hands. "Want to bet?"

"Bravado? Or something else?" Mouth twisting, Isabel dropped the polite attitude. "He may have told me not to harm a hair on either of your heads but I don't always listen to him and I've been waiting a long time to-"

"-Good." Felicity snapped, cutting her off before shooting towards her.

And I've finally snapped.