This is inspired by yet another Bond novel. Thank goodness I've only got short stories left. The quote is from Ian Fleming's The Spy Who Loved Me. There's been a lot of talk in the fandom in the last few months about when Felicity realized she was in love with Oliver and I thought this was a good way to explore when I think that happened. As always, feedback is appreciated.
"But my days and my nights were so full of this man, I was so dependent on him for so much of the twenty-four hours, that it would have been almost inhuman not to have fallen into some sort of love with him."
Felicity pauses in her reading, so struck by the aptness of the passage that she sets the book in her lap to think about it. She stares out at the sunlit beach in front of her and sees Oliver in the distance, shirtless and working out, doing one of the very things that slowly turned their acquaintance into love.
It had been a slow process for her, as if weight had slowly been added to one side of a scale–one unnoticeable ounce at a time–until one day it tipped and she suddenly realized she was already in love.
Her first inkling that the feelings between them might be more than camaraderie and mild lust (on her end) was that horrible time Helena left her tied up on the floor of her office. She'd been so scared, more for Oliver's safety than her own because someone was bound to find her eventually and then she'd have some awkward explaining to do. But then she'd heard him say her name–so worried and maybe even a little frightened–and then he'd been so gentle, so comforting, that she'd suddenly felt something more than appreciation and concern for him. Before she could analyze exactly what though, he'd run off again and left her confused and scared at more than just Helena.
The real turning point came not long after, on that day when Oliver put his hand gently on her shoulder and told her she could always talk to him about her day. She gazed into those sincere blue eyes and the knowledge came crashing down on her so quick and forcefully that she'd barely been able to whisper her thanks. She had been guarded with what she said to him after that (as much as she could be without a filter) and had managed to never really declare her love out loud until that horrible, wonderful night in Nanda Parbat. Before that, the closest she came was the night of the Undertaking, when she told him being part of Team Arrow meant she was with him until the end. And she hadn't known how true those words were.
Even now that the Arrow had ended, they were still together, letting those first, breathless days bleed into months of meandering, sunny bliss undisturbed by threats of death or any thoughts outside of each other. She should be incandescently happy–and she is–but she's noticed a mounting restlessness that seems to appear more and more quickly after they arrive at each new place.
"Hey, Oliver?" she calls out. He turns without breaking stride, runs toward her up the beach and skids to a full stop next to her chair–sand flying–and Felicity yelps and throws her hands up to protect herself from the spray. "You bastard," she says through a smile, playfully swiping at him. He easily dodges her swing and laughs as he drops to his knees next to her, bracing his hands on either side of her on the chair so his face within inches of hers.
"Hey," he pants, "what's up?" He gives her that wide untroubled smile Felicity sees so often now and yet she still takes a moment to marvel at how grateful she is to see it after everything they went through. She reaches both hands up and rests them on his shoulders, his bare skin hot and damp with sweat.
"Do you think we should move again?" she asks tentatively.
"Whatever you want," he says softly and then leans down to kiss her. And Felicity's glad he does, because it keeps her from wondering what could be missing from this life they've both wanted for so long for just a little while longer.