Based on a prompt from placeofold on Tumblr: Felicity Buried alive and talking to Oliver. Maybe Oliver having trouble/getting frustrated with the computers because they are taking too long
"Where is she?" Oliver yells through the comms as he races through the darkened cemetery.
"Keep running straight 500 feet and then take a sharp left," Diggle replies, voice strained.
"Oliver," Felicity starts, voice small from either fear or a lack of oxygen, he doesn't want to think which, "if I don't—"
"You're going to make it, Felicity," he cuts her off, straining to pick up speed. "I'll be there soon."
"I know," she says drowsily. "But my battery is almost out and in case you don't, I—" The line goes dead silent.
"Felicity! Felicity!" Oliver yells, panicking.
"I've lost the signal," Diggle says, "but you should be there now. Do you see any fresh graves?" Oliver looks around desperately and nearly falls to his knees at what he finds.
"There are two," he says.
"Pick one and start digging. I'll be there as soon as I can."
Oliver stands a moment–reading the headstones as if they can tell him which one Felicity is beneath–chooses the mound on the left and then begins shoveling the dirt out of the way like a man possessed.
She has to survive. She has to. He doesn't know what he'll do if she doesn't. He's been so stupid. He knew not starting a relationship with her wouldn't be enough to keep her safe. He should have cut her off from the Arrow too, never let her anywhere near him again. But he was too selfish for that. He couldn't live without her completely and now she's paying the price.
He makes bargains with whatever higher power might be listening as he digs, promising to never kill again, to break all ties with her, to do anything as long as she lives. His whole body is aching with the effort of digging when he finally feels the shovel scrape against something hard.
"Felicity," he yells, falling to his knees to clear the rest of the dirt away with his hands. There's no answer and he worries he's chosen the wrong grave or he's too late until he wrenches open the coffin's lid and finds her inside, unconscious.
"Felicity," he yells again, reaching down to pull her out and sobbing in relief when he finds her pulse weak but still there.
He climbs out of the grave and the act of hauling her onto the damp grass next to it jostles her awake.
"Oliver," she mutters when her eyes flutter open, one hand coming up to weakly grip the material of his shirt.
"I'm here," he says, brushing the hair out of her face and glancing around fruitlessly for her glasses.
"I was so scared," she says, starting to cry.
"I know, I know. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't get here sooner," he says, a wave of hate running through him at the prospect of finding the bastard who did this.
"Thank you, thank you," she says, sitting up to wrap her arms around him. He moves to meet her but doesn't realize that he means to kiss her until their lips meet. He fears she'll move away for a moment until her hands come up to the side of his face to keep him from doing so.
Still, he pulls away anyway because she needs to catch her breath. But now that he's started, he can't stop, promises be damned. He kisses her hands, her nose, her cheeks–her tears salty on his lips–until he can't keep away from her lips any longer.