A/N: Sorry for the wait! Not going to lie, this chapter was a toughie (and not just because my brain is totally in roadtrip!Olicity fluff mode). It still feels a little bit like filler, but I think it was a necessary stepping stone to finally get these crazy kids to San Fran and fully bring Tommy and Laurel into the fold. Also, it gets a little angsty? Let me know what you think!
I'm a Slave to the Wires Ch. 3
"Where's your place?" Oliver breathes against her mouth when they finally pull back for air, and Felicity has to physically bite her bottom lip to keep from ignoring him and just diving right back in.
He rocks against her at the sight, but keeps their lips apart, settling instead for nuzzling his nose against hers as he whispers, almost pleading.
"Felicity…"
Her place, right. She's going to San Francisco. She agreed to it. She's going to be impulsive and crazy and she's going to do it with Oliver Queen. Not, do it, do it, well maybe do it, but not right away...three, two, one.
"Just down the street," she whispers, and before she can savor another second of having his ridiculous body pressed up against her, he's pulling away, tugging her by the hand towards the parking lot.
He follows her to her house in a black Porsche convertible that seems just a little incongruous with her impression of the man that Oliver Queen is so far. She does find it a little worrisome, how she keeps making these assumptions about someone with whom she's had two whole conversations, but there's just something about him. She feels attuned to him in the strangest way, and it doesn't hurt that he keeps looking at her like she's a fireworks display or something.
Her house is mercifully empty and Felicity leaves him standing in her living room while she goes to pack because there's absolutely no way she's ready for Oliver Queen to see her bedroom, and also because she needs a minute to collect herself. Needs about a million minutes, really, she thinks, as her shaky hands slip over the loose doorknob she keeps meaning to ask Barry to fix.
She's always thought of her and Iris' place as a quaint little East Hollywood bungalow, but thinking about him standing in the front room, all she can see is a shabby young adult pad. The carpet is cheap and dingy, the couch is a relic from Joe's bachelor pad, the furniture and decorations are a mismatched array of eclectic tastes, a physical representation of the two smart and successful but slightly scatterbrained young women who call the place home. He's probably got a swanky house in the Hills or a condo in Malibu. Maybe both, she remembers, he is old money, after all.
She distractedly packs a quick bag, tossing in her nicest dresses and shoes and whatever else feels fancy enough for a woman that's about to get on a plane with Oliver Queen. It's just a weekend, but she somehow feels like she's both overpacking and forgetting most of essentials, zipping the bag up and jumping about a foot in the air at the sound of a knock at the door.
"Felicity?" Oliver Queen is outside of her bedroom. She imagines it will probably soon be time for her to stop mentally referring to him by his full name. It's a little weird now that his tongue's been in her mouth.
"Yeah?" she answers, and she understands that he takes it as permission to come in, but it takes her half a second longer to register why that's a terrible idea. "No, wait!"
But of course, by that point, it's too late.
"Nice place..." he starts, before pausing abruptly. She winces, knowing the jig is up. "Is...is that a poster?"
"It's a lithograph," she mumbles, reddening immediately and pushing him backwards back out the door, pulling it shut behind her. Yes, Felicity, her brain mocks, semantics will surely save you now.
"You have a poster on your wall." He's standing so close to her and it sounds like he's smiling, but she can't bring herself to meet his eyes and she remembers her mantra: he's an actor, he's an actor. That whole flirty teasing thing he's doing with his voice could totally be a cover for "code red, get the hell out!"
"It is a lithograph," she repeats, jaw clenched, apparently still trying for some measure of dignity. "Your network sent it to me as a promotion. And it is on my bookshelf. I did not put a nail in my wall for you. Or...for your show."
His fingers under her chin shock her into finally looking up and he is smiling, right at her, his blue eyes sparkling and she tries her best to frown at him for teasing her, but when she can't do anything but grin she realizes she's already so far gone. At this point, she can't find it in her to care if this is a dream or a game or like, some cheesy bet from a rom-com where the super handsome famous guy has to land an average girl as part of a country club bet or whatever. It doesn't matter, because as long as he keeps looking at her and, oh god, kissing her like that, she's totally game.
He puts his hands on her cheeks delicately at the same time he presses his tongue into her mouth to twist around her own, and the contrast makes her knees gives out just a little. She wraps her arms around his solid waist, sliding her hands under his t-shirt and scoring her nails lightly against his lower back. It pulls a sound from him that makes her snap her head back in shock.
His hooded eyes lock on hers for just long enough for her to see that his pupils are nearly totally blown, and then he's dropping his head to her neck, licking and sucking a pattern that makes her moan and scrape her teeth against his earlobe.
"Felicity, who's car is that in the - oh my GOD!"
She hears her roommate before she sees her, but that's really Oliver's fault because he's got her pressed up against her bedroom door and he's blocking most of her view of the rest of the hall. Also, she's had her eyes closed, Felicity realizes, as they snap open, and with his head dipped to her neck she can clearly see Iris' shell-shocked expression over his shoulder as her roommate takes in the scene in front of her. Her eyes get impossible wider when Oliver turns around and realization hits.
"Oh my god, oh my GOD" Iris says, over and over again, until Oliver stops the broken record with an outstretched hand.
"Oliver Queen," he charms in her direction, but it's a lost cause.
"I...we...junket…"
"Yeah, I think you guys have probably met at some point. Iris works for the Times." Felicity takes the opportunity to pull Oliver by his hand, past her sputtering roommate and back into the front entryway.
"Wait here, just a sec," she says with a grin, patting her flattened palms on his chest and letting them linger for longer than is probably necessary. "And hey, actually do it this time."
He just keeps smiling at her and it makes her stumble a little bit as she turns back to the hallway. She breezes past Iris to grab her suitcase quickly, but she needn't have worried, as her roommate still hasn't budged an inch.
"Listen, I'm going to San Francisco for the weekend, okay?" Felicity looks in Iris' eyes, relaying the information in a steady voice that belies her true nerves. "Nod if you can understand me."
Her roommate nods, still speechless, eyes still wide.
"I would really love to stay here and freak out with you about this," she whispers a little, hazarding a glance in Oliver's direction. "But that would kind of defeat the purpose. I'll call you when we land, all right?"
Another nod.
They make it about three steps off the front porch before Felicity's cell phone starts exploding in her pocket.
"There she is."
"She okay?" Oliver chuckles.
"She will be," Felicity smiles back at him. "It's not everyday she walks in on me kissing a TV star in the hallway."
"No?"
"I mean, it happens, sure," she teases, mocking seriousness as he takes her suitcase and she makes her way to the passenger side door. "Just not that often."
"Ollie, buddy, tell me you're pulling onto the tarmac right now," Tommy's worried voice sounds over the car's speakers as Oliver guides the Porsche onto the 101. He's finally cooling down from the makeout session in Felicity's hallway, but his fingers still itch to touch her, so he reaches out for her hand. He's pretty sure he's never felt like this. Tingling with proximity, even though his head is about a million miles up in the clouds.
"Close," Oliver lies with a grin as she laces her fingers through his. "We'll be there in five, ten minutes."
"You bringing the pretty girl?"
"Hi Tommy," Felicity calls, and when Oliver turns to her in surprise, she just gives him a little shrug accompanied by a squeeze of his hand.
"Always a pleasure, Smoak," Tommy says and Oliver's brow furrows further.
"Wait, you two know each other?"
"Well, we're phone friends at least," Felicity tells him.
"As much as it may seem like it, Queen," his best friend chimes in, "you are not, in fact, my only client."
"Can you put her on the list at the airport?" Oliver asks brusquely, as a flash of something like envy shoots through him.
"Already done, my friend. By the way, I'm bringing copies of that P.T. Anderson script that Thea keeps hounding us about," Tommy tells him with a sigh. "Get ready to read."
"Can't wait," Oliver replies with little enthusiasm, noticing out of the corner of his eye how Felicity's eyebrows shoot up as he taps the button to end the call. "See you soon."
"They want you for the older brother?" Felicity asks before he can even get a word out. "The one who goes to jail?"
"Yeah, how'd you know?"
"I didn't," she tells him, eyes wide in honesty. "But you'd be great for that."
"Thea thinks so too," he tells her, knowing his voice betrays his uncertainty, tinged with a little bit of shock.
"And what do you think?"
"That she's both my sister and my manager, so she's pretty inclined to tell me I'd be great in anything."
"And what do you think?" she asks again and damn, if he doesn't want to tell her. He wants to tell her everything, he realizes, but has just enough doubt to stop himself before her goes too far.
"Tommy thinks I shouldn't have to audition," he says, opting for another kind of honesty. "Says I've been number one on the call sheet for a top-rated show for four years now and we should only look at outright offers."
"What are you afraid of?" she asks him finally, deciding to cut right to the chase because it's so obvious there's something he's not telling her. He looks so vulnerable for someone who spends his work days fighting fake crime and it's pretty damn endearing, though truthfully, she's get to see a side of him that's not.
"I'm not," he snaps, too quick and sharp to hide the truth. He takes his eyes off the road to look at her warily, like he's afraid he's going to scare her off, but she just waits patiently.
"I just...it would be the first big movie I've done since the boxer thing," he continues, voice softening in honesty. "And you know uh, firsthand, how well that turned out."
"Yes, and let me apologize just one more time for my role in that fiasco." She smiles at him, considering her next words carefully. "You know you're better now, right?"
"Excuse me?" A little laugh.
"Not that you were bad, a bad actor before, necessarily..." Felicity covers, frowning at her inability to make the words come out right. "I just mean, in the first two seasons, you were a little...lighter? Looser somehow? I don't know, it just feels like you have more gravity now. Like you're paying more attention to the weight of your words. It's better. You're better."
"I thought you didn't watch anymore," he asks with an eyebrow raised in her direction, teasing, but the depths of his eyes look so serious and she wonders if she's crossed the line.
"I said I stopped covering the show for work," she admits with a little smile. "I never said I stopped watching."
He just returns her smile then, taking her hand again, and she thinks her worries would fly out the window if the car had any.
Felicity's never been one for holding hands and she knows how cheesy it sounds, but she thinks now it might just be that she's been holding the wrong ones. Because Oliver's hand is big and warm and a little rough and there's no awkward sweaty palms and his thumb traces across her knuckles in a way that makes her breath catch in her throat.
The rest of the drive passes in near silence, both of them grinning stupidly at the passing cars. They keep glancing over at each other, but their eyes never actually meet. It should be cheesy, like it always is in the movies, but it's not somehow, and Felicity wonders just how many cliches he's going to prove her wrong about. She's so wrapped up in the thought, that she doesn't even notice the unhappy couple waiting impatiently for them when they pull into the private hanger.
Shit.
Oliver's happy to see that Laurel's standing beside Tommy, until he pulls the Porsche close enough to the Merlyn Global jet to read their body language and realize that his best friend and his ex are standing at an awkward distance, decidedly avoiding each other's gaze.
"We need to talk," Laurel bites at him as soon as he's out of the car, ignoring Felicity completely.
"Laurel, can we at least do this on the plane?" Tommy pleads, rolling his eyes at Oliver uncomfortably. "Or, you know, not at all?"
"What's going on?" Oliver turns to his friend for an explanation, certain he's not going to like it.
"Everything was good when we got here," Tommy tells him sheepishly, kicking at invisible dirt on the ground. "Until...I might have been indelicate with my phrasing when I tried to explain..."
"...how you pawned off your ex on your best friend so you could bring your new fling along on your trip?" Laurel's eyes finally fall on Felicity, who squirms a little under her gaze, like she'd prefer to go back to being ignored.
"It's nice to meet you, Laurel," Felicity offers with her hand and jesus, this girl's going to give him diabetes with how sweet she is. "I'm…"
"I know who you are," Laurel snaps, looking at Felicity's outstretched arm like it's holding up a middle finger instead of a hand to shake, before turning back on Oliver. "A reporter Ollie, really? Haven't you ever heard of sleeping with the enemy?"
"No!" Felicity exclaims. "We're not, I mean we haven't...We just met."
Laurel looks at Oliver with something like angry incredulity. Somehow, this is worse?
"Ollie, you know she's the one that wrote that piece about us after season two right?" His ex fires this shot like she says her lines on the show sometimes, straight like a bullet, aiming to kill. "The one that questioned whether or not our off-screen relationship was affecting our on-screen chemistry? The one that nearly got us both fired?"
Felicity's stomach rolls as she recalls the article Laurel's referring to. It's the kind of speculation she's always hated indulging, but it had been demanded after a series of paparazzi photos surfaced revealing Oliver in less-than-platonic circumstances with Laurel's sister Sara, who worked on their show as a stunt woman. Laurel's stunt double, Felicity remembers ironically, thinking back on some pretty regrettable turns of phrase she had worked into the piece out of spite for having to write it at all. "Birds of a feather," and all that…
"I think maybe I should go," she says softly to Oliver, her heart sinking with the knowledge that she was right after all about this being too good to be true.
"No!" Oliver replies with enough force that she jumps a little. Laurel and Tommy seem less affected by his outburst, and he turns to them first.
"Listen, Laurel, you're coming right?" As Oliver speaks, Tommy's worried eyes dart between his best friend and the woman that's literally between them. "I mean, you wanted to come on this trip with Tommy, didn't you? Otherwise you wouldn't be here."
"I just thought, I didn't…" Laurel trails off, her voice and expression softening as she looks back at Tommy and Oliver breathes a sigh of relief. At least he wasn't wrong about that.
"Okay, so come with us, at least," Oliver says. "I promise, I'll explain everything and you can keep yelling at us on the plane."
"Best idea I've heard all day," Tommy says, leveling a meaningful look in his Oliver's direction as he grabs Laurel's hand and finally looks her in the eyes hopefully. "Please?"
She gives him a small, almost shy, nod, before letting out a sighed "okay." Felicity nearly misses it, preparing to deliver the monologue she's been rehearsing in her head since the moment she realized Laurel Lance was standing in the private airplane hanger.
"Listen Oliver," she starts, once Tommy and Laurel have boarded. "I don't want to get in the middle of anything here…"
"You're not..." he stops when her eyes narrow at him in disbelief. "I mean, you kind of are, but it's not what you think."
"Okay..." Felicity sees the look of surprise flash across his face, but it's nothing compared to the shock that shoots through her at her immediate willingness to hear him out. She should be moving onto the second phase of this plan: call a cab, go home and spend the weekend with some mint chip and some Netflix. Maybe write a blind item about her night with an unnamed TV superhero. (Probably not.)
But instead, she's listening to him explain.
"I told Tommy that he should bring Laurel along this weekend, because he's in love with her, and I think it's time he did something about it," he says, like it's a far simpler situation.
She's not sure what she was expecting, exactly, but it wasn't that. Which is why her next question is less meaningful than she'd like it to be, at least as far as it pertains to her involvement in this mess.
"Does she love him?"
"I think she might," he answers quickly, and she watches him close, but if there's any trace of regret on his face, she doesn't catch it.
"And so...where do I fit into all this?" Okay, that's better. Slightly closer to on track.
"You don't," he says honestly, only smiling wider when she frowns a little at his response. "Or, you didn't. Until today. But I think I'd like it if you did."
The look in his eyes finally stops her rational mind in its tracks, allowing him to continue.
"Listen, I know this is crazy and fast and kind of a mess," he tells her, chuckling a little. "But we're already here, right? And as long as you can't tell me that you don't feel this too…"
"I…" She can count the number of times she's seriously been at a loss for words on her fingers. It doesn't happen often.
"Just take a shot, Felicity," he's nearly pleading now, like she hasn't already made up her mind. "Get out of the city with me for a few days. I swear, if it's terrible, I'll get you on the first flight home."
"I don't know," she lets him dangle, for just a second, because she already loves how cute his worried face can get. "I might not be able to go back to flying commercial now."
He presses his forehead against hers then, just like he did outside the bar, but this time he just smiles, blinding her with his white teeth and hopeful eyes before grabbing her hand and leading her onto the jet.
"She's in the back room," Tommy tells Oliver when they've finally boarded, crooking his thumb towards the private bedroom in the back, into which Laurel has clearly disappeared. Felicity does her best not to gawk at the lavish wood-paneled interior of the first private jet she's ever been on. When in Rome, and all that.
"Just five minutes," Oliver turns to tell her, but she just nods dumbly, still taking it all in.
"Come on, Smoak," Tommy places a hand on her lower back as Oliver disappears into the back. "I'll introduce you to Pilot Pete and the lovely Christine, who makes the meanest martini you've even had."
"Sounds fantastic."
"What the hell, Laurel?" Oliver explodes the second he shuts the door behind them, because this is so not how he'd hoped to be making use of the jet's master bedroom. As much as he wants Laurel and Tommy to work things out, he had starting making plans the second Felicity agreed to come San Francisco with him, and none of those plans involved holing up in the back bedroom of the jet with his ex.
"Stole my line, Ollie," Laurel snaps. "Just like always."
"Look, can we not do this right now?" Oliver asks, nearly begging. "We're finally on hiatus, this is supposed to be a fun, relaxing trip."
"So you brought a reporter along?"
"She's not...she doesn't even work there anymore," he stammers in response to her sarcastic tone.
"As of when?"
"As of today." He winces a little, knowing how this is going to go over. "She told me she was quitting when we did our phoner earlier."
"Great, so you talked your way into her pants AND out of her job?" Laurel sneers. "Pretty impressive, Ollie, even for you. That is, if she's telling the truth."
"She is," Oliver says immediately, but the next part escapes him unbidden "I trust her."
"I'll bet you do," his ex says sarcastically, but he can tell that she's surprised at the weight of his words.
"Don't do that," he says, warning, understanding the weight that her tone adds to the meaning of her words. "It's not like that."
"Then what's it like, Oliie?"
"I don't know!"
He blows up a little, the pressure of emotional insecurity and this added complication pushing all of his emotions to the surface. It's a release he would only allow around a select group of people he could number on one hand. Two of them, maybe a third if he lets himself hope, are on this plane with him right now.
"I don't know, Laurel," he says again, softer this time. "Look, can we just talk about what you're actually upset about?"
"Which is?"
"I think you're scared of this thing with Tommy," he levels with her. "I think you're scared and I think you're worried that this is finally about to happen and it's not completely on your terms and I think you're mad at me for telling him pull the trigger without giving you a say."
It's sharper and way wordier than he means it to be, but the sentiment is the important part. The two of them have been dancing around each other for the last two years, probably longer than that, if Oliver's honest with himself. And it's past time everyone got their shit together.
"There's still time for me to leave, right?" Felicity asks, only half-kidding, when they sit down in the plush chairs that make up the seating in private cabin. When Tommy doesn't answer immediately because he's preoccupied with staring worriedly at the door to the private room, her runaway mouth continues. "I mean, they haven't even done the safety demonstration or anything yet."
"Yeah, they don't do that on private planes." Oliver's friend and publicist answers distractedly, before huffing out a loud breath and turning his full attention back to her. "You're not going anywhere, Smoak. First of all, Ollie would kill me..."
"I swear, I'm not here on a story or anything," Felicity interrupts him, still hung up on Laurel's mention of her article. "I didn't know she was going to be here. Hell, I didn't know I was going to be here until about 45 minutes ago."
"Yeah, it's been that kind of day," Tommy sighs. "Don't worry about Laurel, she's just extra wary around the press, what with being a legacy and all. She's practically grown up with reporters breathing down her neck. It tends to make you a little extra spikey about that kind of stuff."
Felicity softens, remembering that the group of them, Tommy, Laurel, Sara and Oliver and a few dozen others had been part of a group of "star kids," children of Hollywood that had the unfortunate timing to hit adolescence just as social media was coming into its prime. With all the issues of today's young celebs, but none of the online savvy, most of them, even the ones that kept themselves out of jail or rehab, were skewered by the press on the regular, she remembers uncomfortably.
"They've been back there a while," Felicity attempts to change the subject and take her mind off the fact that they've started to taxi with some forced levity. "You don't think they're back 'on' again, do you?"
It's a weak attempts at a joke, but Felicity realizes just how far over the line she's crossed when the smile drops completely from Tommy's face, and he blanches.
"I'm sorry," she covers quickly. "Oliver told me... but I didn't realize…"
"It's fine," he brushes her off. "That's what I get for falling for my best friend's girl, huh?"
"So you really do, huh?" Felicity asks, remembering what Oliver told her. "Love her, I mean. Not that it's my place...at all..."
"I think I've always loved her," Tommy interrupts, not really paying her any mind. His gaze is on the back door, but his mind's eye is somewhere else, with someone else.
"You should tell her that," she tells him, and that pulls Tommy's focus back to her, lustful eyes instantly turning unsure.
"You think so?"
"I really do," she tells him honestly. "And I think you should really push Oliver to do that Anderson project. He'd be great for it, and vice versa."
"You're something else, aren't you Smoak?" Tommy says, considering her over the rim of his glass as he gleans the last drops of his martini.
"That's what my grandma used to say," she tells him wryly. "Though, she would have added a few more expletives."
"Ah, potty-mouthed grannies are my favorite kind," he grins like the Cheshire Cat before narrowing his eyes again. "You should tell him to do the movie, you know. Something tells me he'd listen."
"I just met him," Felicity demurs, cheeks flushing against her will.
"Sure doesn't feel that way, though, does it?"
Tommy stands then, rudely leaving her brain to mull his words over as he charms another drink from Christine.
"I'm sorry I pulled this on you tonight." Oliver scrubs a hand over his head, letting out a sigh. "I don't know what's happening with Felicity, honestly. It's new. Like, really new."
Laurel scoffs a little at him, but it seems mostly good-natured, so he keeps digging.
"All I know is that she's not here because she's a reporter," he says. "She's here because I asked her to be. I want her here with me. Just like Tommy wants you here with him."
"He said you told him it was time to start getting serious," Laurel tells him, eyes widening to some emotion he hasn't really seen since they were teenagers.
"I did," he nods. "Is that what scared you?"
"Maybe."
He's never seen her look this vulnerable off-screen. Maybe she did, back when they were a couple, and he was too busy fucking things up to notice. Or maybe not, because the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes how big this thing between her and Tommy could be. Already is, truthfully.
"Listen Laurel, we both know he's one of the good ones," Oliver tells her on a sigh. "Maybe the best one, if we're being honest. And he loves you."
"I know," she answers, quietly. So he tells her again.
"He loves you, like I've never seen him love anything," he says, meeting her unsure eyes. "He's always there for you, always on your side. But he's been holding himself back, and that's partially my fault. So I told him to stop."
"Why?"
"I keep having dreams about that scene in the finale," he confesses, and she nods a little in recognition. "There's a long moment after, as he's falling, when he thinks about all the people who are important to him in his life. But in the dream, it's me. I'm dying and it's my people and all I can see are the things I've done wrong. All the ways I've hurt those people."
"I never asked you to torture yourself, Ollie," Laurel says, soft eyes betraying the sharpness in her tone. "Nobody did."
"I deserve worse," he tells her before reigning the darkness back. "But you and Tommy, the two of you deserve so much better."
"With each other?"
"Maybe," he tells her. "If that's what you want. All I'm asking is that you give him a chance, Laurel. Hear him out, let him show you who he is when he's not worried about the other shoe dropping."
"What's the second thing?" Felicity asks Tommy when he sits down again, full martini sloshing in his hand.
"Huh?"
"You said first of all, Oliver would kill you if I left. What's the second of all?"
Tommy studies her for a minute, and his cool appraisal is her first clue that the rumors might also be a little off about Oliver Queen's best friend. Sure he's a playboy, a fast talker, a PR tornado, but something tells her that this guy runs a lot deeper than anyone knows.
"I don't know if you remember, about two years back," he starts, still studying her even though his eyes have gone a little glassy. "There was an accident."
She hadn't put it together, actually, but the second he says it, all the puzzle pieces snap in her mind. A stunt on their show had gone wrong. Not fatal, but bad enough, and one of those accidents that could have been a lot worse, but for a few inches of wire and a lucky landing. Production had to be shut down for a week or two while everyone regrouped. Sara, Felicity remembers. It was Sara Lance that had gotten hurt.
"It wasn't his fault, it wasn't even close to being his fault," Tommy tells her. "But he got it in his head that it was because of him and Sara. Karma, or something more, like if he hadn't been...distracting her, it never would have happened."
"That's crazy," she says with a voice that's shaking more than she's giving it permission to.
"That's Ollie," Tommy tells her. "And since then…"
He trails off and Felicity has to remind herself to breathe.
"Since then it's like he's been atoning for something." Tommy studies the ice in his glass. "He's more serious, but it's more than that. It's like he's shut down, like he's afraid of what might happen to the next person he lets in."
"He doesn't…" Felicity starts, but her brain is spinning with more than just the altitude and her fading wine buzz. "It didn't seem to me like…"
"Like I said, Smoak," Tommy raises his glass in her direction. "You're something else."
She takes a shaky breath as the big picture of Oliver Queen comes into even sharper focus.
"Do you think he still loves her?"
It's the question she knows they both need the answer to, and she's just short of thankful when Tommy dodges it like a pro.
"I don't think he ever loved Sara."
"Not Sara." She gulps down a deep breath, glancing over her shoulder towards the back of the plane.
"He's been telling me he doesn't, says he hasn't for years," Tommy admits, with a vulnerable look that makes him look like the teenager she used to see in the tabloids. "Today is the first day I think I actually let myself believe him."
"How come?"
"Apparently, he had some kind of epiphany when they were filming the finale," Tommy scoffs. "And then of course, there's the way he looks at you."
And all of a sudden it's too much.
"I need some air."
Felicity stands from her seat and is mildly shocked when nothing dings and no one stops her, belatedly remembering, oh right, private plane.
"Plenty of that up here, Smoak."
"I think I might be having a panic attack," she says, mostly to herself, the words spill out of her mouth as she paces down the aisle. "What's that feel like? Sort of like you're being attacked by panic, right?"
Oliver's stomach drops when he opens the door from the back room and doesn't see Felicity sitting in the cabin. Once again, Tommy crooks his thumb at him, raising an eyebrow and motioning towards the jet's bathroom. A wave of relief crashes over him, but it ends up being just a mouthful of sand, as Tommy shakes his head.
"No, buddy, you should..."
Oliver grimaces, but crosses to the door and knocks anyway.
"Felicity?"
She opens the door, and his heart twists at how young she looks with her wide worried eyes and flushed cheeks. When she makes no moves to step out, he pushes past her into the cramped space. It's bigger than a commercial airplane bathroom, sure, but they're still pressed pretty close and even with her in heels, he has to tilt his chin down awkwardly to meet her eyes.
"You know," he smiles, "this is probably your worst attempt at running away so far."
"Well it's not my fault there's nowhere to go on this stupid jet!" She feigns exasperation, but he can still see a little panic on her face. He opts to just rip the Band-Aid off.
"Look, I'm sorry I took so long with Laurel," he tells her. "But I think I talked her down a little bit. Can we just go back out there and try to get back to normal?"
"Normal?!"
She spits the word at him likes it's a vulgarity, eyes going even wider if that's possible.
"There's nothing normal about this, Oliver." Her hands move quickly with her words, brushing against his chest every so often, and she barely glances up at him as she rants. "We've crossed over into some crazy bizarro universe where I jump on planes with a bunch of TV stars who are all in love with each other!"
"Hey now," Oliver stops her. "Tommy is no TV star."
"You're really making jokes right now?"
"I'm sorry," he says, sobering.
"I don't know what we're doing here, Oliver," she says softly. "I know what you must think of my line of work, but I prided myself on being a good writer and a professional. And then today, not only did I burn that to the ground, I literally bolted. I left town with someone who's not only a celebrity, but also basically a stranger. And I just, I don't know. Because no matter what I feel, no matter what you make me feel, at the end of the day, I'm still just Felicity Smoak. And you're still Oliver Queen."
He winces, both at the mention of his full name and the implications she gives it. But he presses on, in the name of honesty. He wants her, sure, but only on her terms. And that means full disclosure.
"I don't have a good answer for you, Felicity, this isn't really a typical first date for me," he tells her truthfully. "In fact, I haven't had a first date in a while. Not since…"
"Sara?"
He nods solemnly, unsurprised. Either Tommy told her or she'd figured it out. Neither would shock him.
"I still go out with Tommy sometimes, to keep up appearances, but there hasn't been anyone, no one that…"
He trails off, watching her watch him. He could be imagining it, but he swears there's hope behind all that wariness.
"Then I heard your voice on the phone today and it was like a switch flipped inside me," he smiles, recalling their first conversation like it was a whole lifetime ago. "There was just something about you."
"Yeah, I was faking my way through the world's worst interview," she says with an adorable dopey chuckle.
"The best interview I've ever had," he corrects her, and he'd go through all of this again to see her eyes sparkle like they do then. "And when you ran out of that bar tonight, I just, I didn't want to let you get away…"
She gets a faraway look in her eyes and a little frown that confuses him.
"What?"
"Nothing, I'm just mentally going through four seasons of dialogue to see if I owe your writing staff a thank you for any of that."
"Nope," he says proudly, grinning at her in that unfair way of his. "That was all me."
"Impressive." She smiles back because he looks so pleased with himself and that furrow between his eyebrows is finally gone for the first time since they got out of the car. "Maybe you should ask Tommy to see if that warrants a spot in the WGA."
"That good huh?"
"Pretty good."
He takes her hands in his and leans down to kiss her lightly, smiling against her mouth as she hums in contentment. It's simple and chaste, but she clutches his hands when he tries to pull back and pecks him once, twice more, like she just can't stop herself.
"I don't know what this is either, Felicity," he admits breathlessly. "All I know is that right now, I want to be with you. I want to spend time with you, away from all the LA crap. I want to take you out on Tommy's boat and go to AT&T Park and watch your face light up as Team Pretty Faces finishes out a victorious week."
"Oh no, there are no Giants on Team Pretty Faces," Felicity tells him, making her most serious face in an attempt to betray the fact that her insides just turned to goo. "We weren't allowed to draft any, Andy's a massive Dodgers fan."
"Well then, we're in luck," he tells her, and her eyes sharpen at the bait. "Because the Dodgers are in town and guess who's pitching tomorrow?"
"Clayton Kershaw?" she asks hopefully, letting out a sigh when he nods in the affirmative. "The prettiest face of them all."
He drops another kiss on her lips, but this one feels a little possessive.
"Now now, don't be jealous of the super handsome three-time Cy Young winner."
"Not jealous," he smiles against her lips. "You're talking to a two-time Teen Choice Award nominee here."
She giggles at that and kisses him a few more times just for good measure.
He's happy to finally see smiles on Laurel and Tommy's faces when they emerge from the back bedroom, and only the tiniest bit surprised to see a smudge of pink lipstick on the corner of Tommy's mouth. His shoulder relax at the sight of them and Felicity blows his mind yet again when she rubs a hand across his upper back like she noticed somehow.
"Felicity," Laurel starts with a deep breath as she and Tommy take the seats across from them. "I think I owe you an apology."
"Not necessary," Felicity waves her off with a kind smile. "It seems like we've all had kind of a crazy day. Let's just chalk it up to whiplash."
Laurel grins at her gratefully, and so does Oliver when he catches her eye before she turns back to his ex.
"Just for the record, I have written more good pieces than bad about you guys," she continues, "I mean, I guess 'good' is subjective, but favorable, anyway. I actually just wrote a piece this month about female characters in comic adaptations and how exciting it is that you're going to be suiting up next season."
"I remember that," Laurel admits. "I loved that one, actually. That was you?"
"Yeah well, mostly," Felicity looks down at her hands just briefly, pursing her lips. "We've had some uh, byline issues over the last few months. It's actually one of the reasons I left."
It's been a drama-filled trip so far, but Oliver makes a mental note to push her harder about that later. Because, for all the confessions of the day, she's still got cards that she's holding close to the chest and the newfound desire to make sure nothing makes Felicity unhappy, ever, is beginning to consume him.
"Anyway, it's about time, right?"
Oliver can't tell if she's talking about Laurel or the show or what's happening between any of them right now, but he's inclined to agree, and when Laurel and Tommy look at each other blissfully, he feels grateful and content and a couple other warm and fuzzy things all at the same time.
He laces his fingers through hers, grinning all the while and when he presses a kiss to the back of her hand, the warmth in her eyes distracts him so much that it barely even registers when Pilot Pete pokes his head out from the cockpit to give them a friendly warning about some turbulence as they begin their initial descent into San Francisco.
A/N: So, we finally made it to San Fran! Next up, sight-seeing and sleeping arrangements! Keep the comments coming, they're seriously so awesome and helpful, as I'm kind of flying blind with each chapter, and just hoping people like it. Everyone's been so awesome so far, I can't thank you enough! #ThisFandomISTG