We meet John - not yet a major character - and try out the Salmon Ladder. This somehow results in a discussion of Oliver's exes pre-island and sexual attraction. I figure with Isabel and 'gorgeous' Laurel there was always a bit of uncertainty in Felicity because she's the nerdy IT girl who doesn't fit the mold. Oliver's just trying to tell her she is the mold and ends up going just a tad bit beyond even that large confession.
"Oh, Oliver, that reminds me," his mother interjects before they can leave the dining room.
"Hm?"
"I've assigned you a bodyguard."
He stops entirely, blinking in surprise.
"A bodyguard?" He repeats.
"Yes, a Mr. John Diggle. He should be with Norris, getting an overview of the security here."
Oh, right, he had forgotten how Dig had come into his life for a moment there.
"Alright. I'll ask him to join us in the gym, then. See how he does."
It would let John know to take him more seriously from the get-go, plus maybe make his family realise that yes, things had happened on the island, yes, he really was different now and yes, he could defend himself.
"I'm surprised, Oliver," Moira starts as they walk over to the main security office. "I really thought you would fight me more on this."
He shrugs. "If he can help protect you, Thea, Felicity and Tommy, then it's always good to have another capable hand on deck."
He throws Felicity a wink at the boat metaphor and finds her trying to hide a smile as she ducks her head.
"But not you?" his mother asks shrewdly.
He shrugs again. "I mean, having someone there who can help is good – great even. But it would need a lot of trust for me to actually rely on him. And I'd be most at risk trying to protect all of you, so, really, it's one and the same thing."
Trust that they have built – on Oliver's end. Dig only knows the billionaire playboy so far and he failed him later still – hopefully not this time, though.
Still, when Norris introduces them, he offers a firm handshake and a nod.
"So… what do I call you?"
John's calm, looking at him as he nods slightly. "Diggle's good. Dig if you want."
"You're ex-military?" He can't help but ask again when Diggle joins them on the way to the gym. He's surprised his mother is following them, but she seems to be intrigued in what he can do that has him wanting to not-so surreptitiously test his bodyguard.
"Yes, sir," Oliver grimaces at the title. "105th Airborne out of Kandahar, retired. Been in the private sector a little more than four years now."
"You up for a little training session, then, Diggle?"
"Training session?" His new bodyguard asks, looking between him and Moira, confused.
"My sister wants to try her hand at the salmon ladder. After I figured I could see how good you are at hand-to-hand." Oliver smirks slightly, knowing he's being underestimated – severely so, given the training he's had in his later years with the League all the while the only thing Dig knows about him is that he was a playboy billionaire and that he has gained more muscles on the island. This ought to be fun. "You know, maybe I could teach you a thing or two," he can't help but prod.
"Oliver, buddy," Tommy interjects, putting his arm around Oliver and pulling him over by his neck – the tensing is automatic and involuntarily but he's good enough that he doesn't react on instinct and instead forcibly relaxes himself. But he knows Diggle caught the twitch of his arm and shoulder as well as the slight flinch and relaxing. "Maybe don't antagonise the well-trained military bodyguard with arm muscles the size of your head, yeah? Just for my sake. You're not even drunk – this time – so that's not an excuse."
Felicity snorts and he winks at her. She's seen him in action, and he feels himself straighten slightly under her eye, proud of the fact that she, of all people, doesn't doubt him. She shrugs sheepishly when everyone's eyes fall on her momentarily, but as they've reached the gym, it's easily diverted again. He is amused when she gives a not-so-subtle head nod towards Dig, silently asking, can you take him?
He doesn't hesitate to nod confidently, and she smiles softly at him, a light blush painting her cheeks pink. Unfortunately, Thea demands his attention moments later, staring at the salmon ladder with a curious head tilt.
"How does this work, exactly?" She asks and Oliver pulls down the metal bar and presses it into Thea's hands.
"You start out on this rung here. Then you swing up and hook yourself into the next rung. Rinse and repeat."
"What?" Speedy pales staring at the ladder with new eyes.
"No- that's not possible. How would that even work?"
"I'll show you," he says easily.
"Oliver- are you sure?" His mother interjects and he sighs.
"I've been cleared by the hospital," he repeats even though he knows she is aware of this already. "Both times." Finally, after another cautious look at him, she retracts her hand and lets him go.
"Alright," Oliver says, taking back the metal bar. Unfortunately, as he reaches upward to place it in the lowest rung, his far-too-tight shirt refuses to stretch all the way, constricting around his shoulders and upper arms.
He could postpone this. Could do it later, when the tailor's been, and he has some clothing which fits. Hell, he could probably ask Dig if he had a shirt, he could lend him.
Except… well, Felicity's watching. And it's her first time watching him do the Salmon Ladder. Oliver kind of wants to show off for her. Wants to feel her admiring gaze on him.
On the other hand, his whole family is here, too.
Oliver sighs, acknowledging to himself silently that it's not necessarily a bad thing. Thea hadn't realised quite why he didn't want to talk about the island last time around, pushing and prodding – until she saw. This time, admittedly, he's at least forewarned them, but it would probably help them stop expecting him to be Ollie, to just jump in and do as they say. Even his mother, who knew the percentage of scarification, of injured, fractured, and broken bones, hadn't actually seen it. Which, as it always does, makes all the difference.
"This is not going to work," Oliver says easily, eyeing his shirt, decision made. "You know what we talked about last night?" He asks, mostly rhetorically as he grasps the edges of his shirt. "I've got a few permanent reminders – scars – so if that bothers you, don't look."
With that helpful warning, he pulls off his shirt. His mother gasps, Tommy looks shaken, and Thea has a hand clasped in front of her mouth, looking horrified.
Dig looks curious but appears to be more focussed on re-assessing Oliver's image in his head as a rich, playboy billionaire.
Felicity is unused to scars or wounds, but she's never met Ollie before either, has never seen him without scars as his family had, so she's not as shocked as they are. To her, this him is Oliver, has always been him. She eyes the scars with sorrow, but there's more heat in her gaze as her eyes rake over his torso before finally meeting his eyes. He winks at her and is gratified to watch a full blush erupt over her face.
"Ollie," Thea gasps out, voice heavy with tears, "what did they do to you?"
"It's alright, Speedy," he pacifies, squeezing her hand before grasping the metal bar again, intent on ignoring their reactions. He doesn't really feel up to opening up more to them – doesn't really want to. Tommy's and his mother's links to Malcolm still set him on edge. Not to mention just how deep his mom's involvement in, well, everything is. They know all they're going to know for now.
He steps away and towards the Salmon Ladder. Within moments, he climbs the rungs – the bottom and up to the next one. And the one after. And after. Then going down the same way. Tommy's mouth is open, but he can practically feel Felicity's eyes on him, watching his muscles clench, watching his every move, watching his abs, heat trailing in the wake of her eyes.
"Yeah," Thea says, voice faint, when he jumps off and lands in front of them. "I might need to train a bit more before I can do that."
Oliver shrugs. "I'll help."
Tommy is still pale, still uncertain – they'd grown up together for a long time, but Oliver's body has made it starkly clear for his friend just how much their experiences over the last five years have diverged from one another. His mother has composed herself – mostly. But he can see the white knuckles on her fist, the slight shaking of her hands, the shimmering in her eyes. He wonders if she thinks that whatever he went through was worse than a quick death on the ocean floor.
Felicity on the other hand is flushed, lips parted and looking a breath away from reaching for him. Her pupils are blown, and he can feel a trail of heat where her eyes skate over his torso. It's only when her tongue sneaks out to wet her lips that he forces himself to tear his eyes away from her.
"Up for a bout, Dig?" he asks instead, intending to let some of the restless energy out another way. By the twitch of his bodyguard's lips, Oliver's diversion had been noted but would remain uncommented on.
"Of course. Hand to hand?"
"How are you with eskrima sticks?" Oliver asks instead, grabbing two off the wall and throwing one to his bodyguard who catches it without pause. Being a billionaire makes life so easy in many respects – one of them having people come in and install things on your say-so with barely any notice and no complaints. Money makes a lot of things in life so much easier.
"Adequate."
"Hmm. Let's see, then."
Dig takes off his suit jacket, loosens the collar on his shirt and grabs a staff.
The ensuing bout is fun – and short-lived. Despite everything, Diggle was still underestimating him. Severely so.
But it meant a slow progression – upping the skill level each time, until they reached the limit of Dig's skill. It's fun. Diggle's not on Oliver's level, especially not after the League's training regime, but he is incredibly skilled and good enough that he can't afford to let his focus drift to the beautiful blonde watching them. Oliver wasn't quite asshole enough to give the man tips to improve in front of his employer – Oliver's mother – but not enough to stop himself from then challenging him to hand-to-hand combat.
By the time they finished up, Oliver was covered in a fine layer of sweat but at least Dig looked somewhat worse off.
"So, excuse me for asking, but why do you need a bodyguard?" Oliver offers his hand and pulls up his new bodyguard.
"Not much one can do against tranquilizer darts being shot at you from behind, I guess, so having someone who has my back is not necessarily a bad idea." He claps the man on the shoulder, stepping closer so his mother doesn't overhear. "But just for the record, anything goes astray, first priority are Felicity and Thea. Then Tommy. Then my mother."
Diggle looks intrigued at the order of prioritisation but merely nods. Oliver doesn't doubt that this will be discussed in future, but not now; which is good enough for him.
"You're sweaty," Felicity voice comes out quietly, in a breathy gasp and his lips curve up in a smirk. He can practically hear the silent addition of 'Amazing'. In a rare moment of better judgement, Oliver doesn't say anything but ignores her comment and focusses on his ever-present family instead.
"Thanks for joining us for breakfast. And, mom, thanks for hiring my bodyguard." It's a fairly clear leave-me-alone and all of them know how to read it.
"Well, yes. I'm not sure how good a hire that was, considering you managed to beat him, Oliver. I may have to keep looking."
Diggle didn't say anything to dispute her statements, so Oliver jumps in.
"Then I'll hire him from my trust fund," he says with a shrug. "He actually is very good, by the way, mom. Either way, I want him as my bodyguard. I'm not sure the next one will be anywhere near as good or as good at assessing people and circumstances."
Dig had noticed exits, entrances, skill levels and was always open to reassessing his own evaluations when he got new information. Not something everyone could say. And he was trustworthy, which made him one of, maybe, a handful of people in Oliver's life. Lives?
Moira hesitated, then nodded. "Alright then. I'll put him under your employ, son. The contract will be in your office by the end of the day, provided Mr. Diggle agrees."
Dig nodded sharply and at long last, at least his mother left them – not without another glance at Felicity, of course. But at least there wasn't open malice, and everything seemed to suggest she either genuinely liked Felicity or was trying to lure her in with honey, at least. While the latter was more worrying, it was not as frightening than if his mother had actually disliked Felicity outright. Even now, years later, Oliver was certain he only had the smallest of glimpses what his mother was capable of, but it was more than enough to ensure he didn't want her after Felicity.
"Well, buddy, I've got a meeting later this afternoon in town," Oliver eyed Tommy, fairly certain that was a lie – or, possibly, an excuse to meet Laurel – but he had been rather overt in his desires to send his family away and get a few moments alone with Felicity. "But we should definitely sit down sometime tomorrow and talk."
"Of course," Oliver said, polite smile in place, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "We can meet in the morning and take a drive out somewhere to talk. And I'd appreciate if all of you could keep this quiet. The story for the media and everyone else will stay that I was alone on the island. So, no sharing with family friends," he eyed Moira, "Or Laurel, or Malcolm, or friends from school. I will have a talk, probably, with the Lance family at some point, but I would appreciate if you respected this. I choose whom to tell what."
His family members agreed easily – if they followed through was another question – but for the moment, Oliver was content they wouldn't immediately tell others. It had to suffice for now. Within the space of a minute, it was only him and Felicity left in the gym, along with Diggle who did his best to stand unobtrusively in the corner.
"Look, give me five minutes, I'll take a shower, and then I can have Diggle take you home or to the police station for the statement, whichever you prefer." He slips his shirt on quickly and makes his way out.
"Oh," his favourite blonde deflated in front of him, looking hurt and confused and Oliver cursed himself, half-way to the door and quickly turning back. He's back in front of her in two rapid steps forward, one hand covering her shoulder as silent comfort.
"Hey, hey, Felicity. I promise, none of whatever your beautiful brain just told you is true," Oliver tapped her forehead gently to illustrate but that only deepened her frown lines, bent over so he cradles her face in his head, ensuring she is looking at him and can see he is being honest.
"And what would you know about what my brain is telling me?" She asks instead, eyes narrowed.
"I know it's probably telling you I don't care, or never did. That it was a fad, a passing amusement. That I want to get rid of you. That, if you leave now, I will never see you again. That the promises I made will be broken." Oliver can't help but smile tenderly down at her. "And I want you to know, that none of that is true. Not a single one." He caresses her right cheek softly. "But I should have been clearer. So, if you'd let me, allow me to explain."
She bites her bottom lip, but her frown lines have disappeared, and she's visibly softened, her guard lowered, allowing him in. He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"Thank you," he breathes out, relieved, because he knows she's been hurt before – been made fun of, the genius little girl with all the older kids at MIT, but he won't allow that to take her away from him.
"The reason I was getting Diggle to take you home is because I figured you needed time alone. You met me yesterday and haven't had a moment to breathe without me, to think about everything that's happened, everything I said, away from me hovering over you. I figured you wanted time away from me to consider and research. And when you're ready, just send me a text or call me, and I'd be happy to come over – or meet with you elsewhere. I will tell you anything you want to know. Share with you all that I know. All I've been through. Anything you ask, I promise."
She eyes him uncertainly for a moment, before audibly releasing her held breath and leaning against his chest, eyes closed. He allows himself to cradle her closer to him, to breathe in the smell of Felicity in his shower gel, the feeling of her warmth, her softness, pressed close against him.
"Alright," she whispers into his chest. "Did you- that… Yesterday. After the- after that. I tried to-" She breathes out sharply, annoyed with herself and he is helplessly smiling at her in adoration.
"Yes, I remember," he says softly, before she tries to paraphrase their near-kiss more.
"You stopped me," she says, and he tilts his head. "And I know you said you- that the time had to be right or something like that. But… did you mean that? I mean, I saw your type when I looked you up this morning. And the women usually on your arm in the pictures were typically brunette, leggy, model-like, really, but with larger… assets. And Gorgeous. Can't forget that. And I'm- Well, I'm just me. Not that me isn't good – but I'm not, well, not that."
Oliver frowns – he doesn't remember her ever being so self-conscious before. Although he does remember her referring to Laurel as 'gorgeous'.
"What are you saying, Felicity?" He asks because he honestly isn't sure.
She breathes out noisily, forcefully stepping back slightly so there is a small distance between them before making eye contact.
"Are you even interested in me in… that way? Like, kiss and… in other things. I mean, I won't be mad, I get that I'm not-"
It's probably not the appropriate reaction – scratch that, it's definitely not the right reaction, but he can't help but burst into laughter. Felicity and him, during their relationship – and marriage – had often struggled to keep their hands off each other. Honestly, it's been the most sexually active relationship he's had.
Ever.
Including Helena, Laurel and Sara.
His relationship with Felicity had always been deeper, different to everything else before her – but it also meant that he didn't have just sex with her when adrenaline was high, or at night. Felicity would devour him when he was coming home fresh from his jogging or any other exercise. Him making breakfast would have her climbing him. And he was no different. Felicity would just say something, something innocuous and irrelevant and he couldn't help but think about just how clever his wife / girlfriend was and be all over her. Once they'd ended up having sex on top of all their fresh laundry they'd been trying to fold before one of them – or both, honestly, had fallen all over each other. The laundry had to get redone, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. But seriously, laundry was the least sexy thing ever – and yet, somehow, they'd just been unable to keep their hands off of each other. And it never really stopped. Not even years later.
"Sorry," he apologises, fairly insincerely, because he can't help but think how utterly and completely ridiculous that thought was. Felicity just needed to call him "Mr. Queen" or even just look at him and they'd be all over each other.
"It's just… It's so absurd, Felicity. I honestly don't know," Oliver shrugs, still unfairly amused at the thought that there was a universe where Oliver Queen wasn't into Felicity. "That you think you're not my 'type' or entirely perfect, is just ludicrous to me. Yes, I want to kiss you. Yes, I definitely want to do 'other things'" he quotes, amused, "with you. Always. All the time. Anytime. You are incredibly desirable. But, to be honest, I'm about ten steps ahead of you in this relationship, Felicity, and I know that." He sighs.
"I want you to take your time. I want you to hear me out. To understand me, my past, my everything before you decide. I want something more with you than just physical attraction, but, yes, there definitely is a lot of that, it's really not something you ever have to worry about, okay? I just don't want us to kiss until you know everything. Once you do, where we are at, what we do, completely up to you. I remember. Your life, your choice. I would never interfere with that. I just want you to understand before you make a choice. Then, I promise, I won't be able to keep my hands off of you. Alright?"
She nods, cheeks flushed while he's still smirking at her, amused that she could ever think that. He allows himself to indulge, for just a moment, allowing her to see as he drags his eyes slowly up her body, just how much he wants her, how much he lusts after her, before he looks her in the eyes again.
"Never ever going to be a problem. But I want more than just sex with you, Felicity. You're worth so much more than that," he breathes out, thumb caressing her cheek as he makes sure she's looking into his eyes, "I want everything with you."
Her brows furrow as she tilts her head slightly, a large flush from him ogling her openly still spread across her cheeks and down her chest. "What do you mean? Everything? What's 'everything'?"
Oliver breathes out inaudibly and hopes he doesn't scare her off.
"I'm- I've still got a lot to tell you," he tries, "and this may be pushing it."
"You said you'd be honest," she challenges and after a slight pause repeats her question. "What do you mean 'everything'?"
He swallows. Hard.
"I mean, everything, Felicity," he finally says. "I want a life with you by my side. Always. I want to wake up at your side every morning. I want to make you breakfast and have dinner with you. I want to be there when you're sick and take care of you. I want you on my arm when I go to events. I want- I want-" he should stop himself, but she is right there, and the words burst out of him with a sense of urgency and desperation he hadn't known he felt. Felicity is right here, and he has all the time in the world but she's also so far away and has no idea what she means to him.
"I want a ring on your finger," he says in a near-whisper and watches her eyes widen, "I want to introduce you as my wife, as Mrs. Queen. I want to have a family with you. I want to watch you grow old. I want to be with you. I want you, by my side, forever. I don't want anyone else. I don't want anything from anyone else. But from you, Felicity? I want everything. Everything you're willing to give me. If that means we don't get married, we don't have kids, we don't have sex, I don't care. I just want you in whatever capacity. Even if none of it ever happens."
It had taken him so, so long to get there last time. He still can't quite fathom it now – but it's as true then as it is now. He wants Mia. And another William. Wants to be there, watch them grow up this time. He wants a family. He wants her to be Mrs. Queen. But if she doesn't? He'll take what she is willing to offer, whatever that may be.
Felicity gasps, tears in her eyes as she looks at him, frightened and uncertain.
"I'm sorry," Oliver says, reticently. "It's too much, too fast. I know. I promise I'll explain. Everything. Please give me a chance to explain. You- You don't have to say now. I realise I'm putting too much on you right now. If you're okay with it, I'll have Diggle take you home now. Just to make sure you get there and you're safe? And you have my phone number – just call or text me when you're ready for me to talk. If you're ready. No strings, promise. Just me talking with no expectations of anything."
His beautiful blonde is quiet – so quiet, far too quiet. He's made her uncomfortable, uncertain, frightened her. Who the hell says they're ready to marry and have a family just over twenty-four hours after meeting someone? It's no wonder she wanted to run. Because apparently Oliver Queen does just that. A day after his resolution to court her slowly. To woo her. He basically proposes with everything but the ring.
Felicity leaves and Diggle escorts her out, driving her home. He groans to himself once the door is closed behind them, disbelieving that he'd really let it go that far.
Well, at least he's got a salmon ladder and a mannequin to take his frustrations out on before the tailor is here.
It's Thursday, just an hour shy of midday, when Felicity leaves the mansion behind, and it takes until four am on Sunday morning before she gets in touch with him. By that point he was half-certain she never would.
Notes: What would you like to see in our Sunday talk with Oliver? And did you like the Salmon Ladder? Or the talk with Oliver / Felicity?
What do you think Diggle thinks being the silent observer/listener to all of this with a client he just met today who is not at all what he expected him to be?
Anyway, what do you think? Please comment / review.