Chipped Blocks
An Olicity Flash Fic Story

Flash Fic Prompt #40: Christmas Eve

Chapter Twelve

Spending the night had not been a part of his plan.

Then again, neither had falling asleep, yet both things had occurred.

After Oliver carried an already sleeping Felicity into her bedroom and put her to bed, he had sat down beside her. Leaning up against her headboard, Oliver had wanted to make sure that she really fell into a deep slumber before resuming his search of the city for her daughter. He didn't want Felicity to toss and turn for an hour and then force herself awake. Oliver admired her dedication to her child, her commitment, and her courage. In fact, those were some of the qualities that attracted him to her. But, over the past week, he had watched those same strengths take their toll. If Felicity continued the way she was going, it wouldn't matter if he fulfilled his promise and found her daughter for her, because Felicity would already be dead.

It amazed... and made him furious... to know that, up until they had met, Felicity had been fighting Mia's addiction on her own. While he knew that her mother was a part of their lives, it was from a distance. She could support her daughter emotionally, but Felicity's mom didn't share in the physical and mental abuse that living with and loving an addict caused. She wasn't there for the day to day struggle, or the worry, or the self-blame and self-doubt, or the sacrifices. Perhaps their relationship was new – so new, in fact, and faced with so many complications that it was impossible to know if there was even a chance for the two of them to make it work, but Oliver had already promised himself that, together as a couple or not, when it came to Mia's... and subsequently Felicity's... health, he was going to be there.

At least, for now, he didn't have to worry about Felicity collapsing from exhaustion. She had slept through the night – so thoroughly, in fact, that he had fallen asleep right beside her without even realizing it was happening. One minute, Oliver was counting every rise and fall of her chest from where she laid beside him, and, the next, he was feeling the soft warmth of the sunrise as it came in through Felicity's bedroom window. Still, however, he didn't get up. Too comfortable, too content exactly where he was – now, laying down next to Felicity, Oliver had allowed himself to doze, to hover in that lull between the unconsciousness of sleep and the awareness of being fully awake. Then, Felicity touched him, and he couldn't have stood from that bed even if the city was falling down around them.

Her fingers were cool. For a woman so bright and vibrant, this surprised Oliver. Hair of sunshine, lips of fire, clothes of life and light, he had just assumed her skin would burn as hot. The contrast, though, the contradiction, was addictive. So, he remained still. He kept his breathing and heart rate slow, and he made sure not to react to her touch, yet Oliver also didn't force his stillness, for he didn't want to appear unnatural. And, despite wanting to return the embrace, he allowed Felicity her chance to observe him without comment or interruption. Maybe they hadn't known each other for long, but that didn't mean that they didn't know each other well, and Oliver knew, as soon as he opened his eyes, she would stop.

And he didn't want her to stop.

If he had to describe her touch, Oliver would say that it felt as if Felicity was trying to map his face. The very tips of her fingers ran over his hairline, his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose. She traced the lines that burst out from the corners of his eyes and the shell of his ears. Though her skin was the petal of a delicate bloom, at one point, Oliver felt the crisp smoothness of the glass vase being brushed over the stubble that covered his cheeks, chin, and jaw. It took him a moment to realize that she had turned her hand over and what he was feeling were her painted nails against his scruff. But then she touched his mouth. Oliver would swear that he could detect the swirls and lines of her fingerprints against his lips before the tease of her fingernails against the tender flesh made him gasp, his mouth opening. Instinctively, his tongue slipped out to wet his lips, and, before Felicity could react quick enough to pull her hand away, for a brief moment, he tasted her.

As his still heavy with sleep lashes flickered open, Felicity emitted a sharp, "eep!" It was adorable, though he knew better than to say so. A lazy, content smile took possession of his face... but only for a second. Because then Felicity was apologizing, and that was the last thing he wanted to hear from her. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't understand what she had to regret. Gone was his grin only to be replaced with a frown. "It's fine." She groaned, pulling the blankets up and over her head, holding them there and hiding herself. "Felicity?"

"Felicity just died of embarrassment. She will be erased from your memory in three, two, one."

As she talked, Oliver chuckled underneath his breath and tried to tug the sheet from her grasp, but she held on tight. So, getting creative, he sat up and slipped to the end of the bed, crawling underneath the sheet from the bottom and advancing, stalking, his way up towards the headboard and a hiding Felicity. "Why are you embarrassed?"

She glared at him, tilting her head to the side like he was the one being absurd. "Oliver, I was petting you."

"I know." she groaned again. "And I liked it."

"Oh." Deciding to take a chance when he realized that naturally her legs had parted to cradle him as he slid up along her body, Oliver lowered his hips, fitting precisely within the juncture of her thighs. He pressed into her, and, this time when she made a sound, she gasped. "Oh."

"Felicity, you never have to apologize for touching me. I know now isn't the right time, but I wanted you..."

"Who says it isn't?"

Caught off guard by her interruption, by her question, Oliver could only say, "what?"

Instead of answering him directly, however, Felicity revealed, "last night, for the first time in I don't know how long, I allowed myself to just... be me. For a few minutes. I pushed aside my worry for Mia, and I savored... you. And it made me realize that, while I'll never quit on my daughter – I don't care if it takes me another day or the rest of my life to find her, I won't ever stop looking, I did quit on myself." Pausing to lick her lips, and Oliver wouldn't have been human, wouldn't have been a man very much attracted to the woman lying underneath him, if his eyes didn't appreciatively follow the movement, Felicity regrouped, took a breath, seemed to center herself. "I have teaching and my students. I have my side business. I have Mia. But that's it. I have... had nothing for myself... until you. I know it's fast, but..."

"No, I feel the same way." Because Felicity had been so honest, he decided to offer her the same sincerity. "There are... things I need to tell you. Important things. Things that... made me promise myself, when I first met you, that I wouldn't let this... us happen. But I couldn't push you away, Felicity. Everyone else in my life, I keep at a distance, but you..."

Not knowing exactly how to explain what he was feeling, Oliver shared something else, though it held just as much significance and weight. "Since the Queens Gambit went down, I haven't slept without nightmares. Not once. But last night, sitting next to you as you slept beside me, when I had no intentions of staying, I fell asleep. And I stayed asleep, all night – no night-terrors, no night-sweats. I didn't wake up in a panic. So, yeah. I feel it, too."

Reminding himself that they had known each other for just a week, Oliver slipped off Felicity's body and to the side, laying next to her with his head pillowed by his bent elbow. "I'm glad you stayed."

"But I shouldn't have," Oliver continued to protest. But that protest died in his throat when Felicity sat up and pulled her t-shirt over her head, leaving her gloriously bare from the waist up. When she settled back down beside him, she, too, was laying on her side so that they were facing each other. Her delicate, nimble fingers lifted to his own shirt, slowly unbuttoning it.

Oliver didn't question her or her intentions; he wouldn't insult her that way. And he certainly couldn't turn her away. Instead, after his shirt was shrugged free from his shoulders, his arms, his wrists, his hands and tossed aside, he held his embrace open for Felicity to move closer, bidding her to, "come here."

And she did.

She moved into his arms, and she dropped her own to begin removing their remaining articles of clothing, and she kissed him. It was a lazy kiss, and it matched their explorations of each others' bodies. He ran a hand down the valley of her chest, spreading his palm and fingers out wide to spider against her torso. Oliver's touch practically spanned her entire abdomen, Felicity was so tiny, and it just made him that much more determined to protect her. He curled an arm underneath her shoulders, her neck so that he could tangle his grasp within her full, messy, blonde locks. Oliver then clenched his hand that was in her hair, and Felicity moaned, granting him the chance to slip inside of her mouth. He slid his other arm between her legs, lifting one and wrapping it around his hips, opening her body and helping her ready it for their joining. Oliver noticed a scar that ran along her lower abdomen, and his heart clenched in recognition: that was her battle scar, her mark of survival, her memorial to someone she loved.

And then he entered her, moved inside of her.

Afterwards, as Felicity donned a long, silky robe, and Oliver stepped back into his trousers, he watched her closely. She was smiling softly – that secretive smile women had and men would forever chase. "You're not going to ask?"

"Oh," Felicity murmured, glancing up at him. That smile grew. "Breakfast?"

He thought she'd want to know about his scars, his tattoos – those physical manifestations of what had been five years very much not alone and not actually always on a Chinese island. But she didn't. Her gaze tracked his body, but it wasn't in curiosity, or fear, or pity; it was in appreciation – not through denial but total acceptance, the good and the bad. "I've seen your cupboards, Smoak. I don't know if that's such a good idea."

He was teasing her, and she was lapping it up. "Maybe I can't cook, but I can smear."

Felicity went to leave her bedroom, and Oliver followed after her. "Smear?"

"Bagels. With cream cheese."

It wasn't what he usually ate for breakfast – all carbs and no real substance, but a bagel suddenly sounded delicious. And they were already running late, so they probably shouldn't linger. Oliver had phone calls to make – he needed to check in with Connor, apologize to Digg for failing to show up the night before, and he needed to run home to shower and change before going into the office, but he wasn't ready to leave, to leave her, yet. And Felicity had to go to work, too, and their search for her daughter had to resume, but what was forming between them shouldn't and couldn't be rushed out the door.

Felicity was still chattering on excitedly in front of him, hands waving and words coming faster and faster as she explained the proper smear technique when Oliver detected a shift in the stillness around them. Floorboards creaked, the air moved... as if a door was being opened, and he heard someone, someone besides Felicity, breathe. "Well, it looks like somebody's been awfully good this year."

The remark was not said in praise or even playful jest but cruelly, derisively. But Felicity didn't seem to care. She pushed by him and ran down the hall towards an extremely petite, young girl with skin too pale, and hair shorn too short, eyes too hard, and a frame too thin. "Oh, god, Mia," Felicity cried. But before Felicity could take her daughter into her arms, the teenager pushed her mother away.

So, this was Mia Smoak.