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So far this had been my favorite chapter to write. Hope you guys like it!

SPOILERS 2x11

Laurel. Gorgeous, stunning Laurel.

She knew they still were close friends, albeit with the strangest history ever, but close; and that Oliver had a weakness when it came to her. Still seeing it firsthand, how easily he dove head first into trouble for her, hurt like hell. If there was a word to describe Oliver was collected. Always in control, of his emotions, carefully hidden behind a permanent mask; of his body, as a result of years of training; of his heart. Except when it came to Laurel.

The first instinct was to resent her for having that effect on him. But Felicity wasn't really the jealous type. She didn't have a hold of Oliver; she was his friend, his IT girl, secretary, his partner. And it was enough… it had to be.

There were days when it felt like enough, being by his side through it all, trying to lend a helping hand when he didn't push her away. Still there were others when she longed for more.

If she was being honest with herself what hurt the most wasn't really that it was Laurel per se, but that it wasn't her. She had seen him at his lowest point, alone, battered and bruised, and no matter how hard she tried he never let her all the way in. She rarely got to see glimpses of the real Oliver, behind whatever mask he sported at the moment, but she knew he was broken. If only he would lean on her, share the burden he carries. Until then she would try to lighten the load by making him smile. Whether it was joking around, babbling or sharing more awkward thoughts than she cared form, seeing his hard features soften and a small smile appear on his face made her feel accomplished.

"You certainly know how to talk yourself out of a victory" she quipped, satisfied when his eyes lightened and he bantered back. It lasted merely a second and then he was back to worrying, this time about Roy. She saw how deflated he looked, the guilt of Laurel's shooting hanging above him. The other word to describe Oliver beside collected definitely was guilt-ridden, even when he wasn't at fault. The amount of pressure and responsibility he put on himself was inhuman, and she could see by his posture and the lines of his face how it took a toll on him.

That night, as the lair emptied, she walked around the darkness remembering the one time he'd let her in.

The floor shook beneath her feet, debris falling all around. The computers started to fail as the tension lowered. An explosion went out behind her; she shrieked terrified. Unshed tears blurred her vision and all she could do to keep it together was grip the edge of her desk. This was it, she thought hopelessly.

She'd always taken pride in being somewhat of an optimist but being underground a metal structure during an earthquake she knew her chances weren't good. Still her thoughts wandered to Oliver. She hoped he made it through this. As if he hadn't had it bad before, he'd just found out his mother had plotted to destroy the city. And then there was Tommy.

She listened to Oliver's muffled cries as his best friend died in his arms, the way his voice broke calling his name, how he blamed himself for it all. All she could do was sit and listen, feeling intrusive and at the same time wishing she could be there, holding his hand.

She turned the coms off, held her legs to her chest and broke down; letting herself feel everything she'd been holding back.

It wasn't until a few hours later that he came back to the foundry, tossed through the debris and reached her side. She wasn't asleep, just numb; her head still crawled against her chest. His hand fell on her shoulder and she looked up, dried tears on her cheeks. She mouthed an apology he dismissed and took the hand laying on her shoulder. He closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself, trying to get a grip on the downpour of emotions that were bottling up inside. She took the time to study his features, letting her eyes wander to the bloodstain in his jacket.

"You're hurt" she gasped, her voice hoarse, tainted with worry. His eyes met hers and her heart broke because he looked utterly defeated. He always walked with so much purpose, determination, but the Oliver that stood beside her was anything but that. She rose from her seat, instantly feeling the loss of his hand in hers, and carefully walked to their medical cabinet. When she came back to his side, she tossed the medical supplies on her desk and made him sit in her chair. He reluctantly let her help, barely flinching as she cleaned his wound. His eyes were lost in the distance, thoughts surely drifting further away. Darkness surrounded them as she worked on silence. When done she looked at him, silent tears streaming down his face.

"Oliver" she breathed. She stood in front of him, her hands reaching to hold his face. His grief-stricken eyes met hers and her breath caught in her throat at how much pain was held in them. She wiped his tears away with her thumbs, biting her lips to suppress the load of questions that were threatening to be voiced; the main one being 'are you okay?' for which she already had an answer. His eyes pierced through her, a silent prayer for help. She was terrified of him shielding himself away, as he always did. Her hands kept caressing his face softly, wishing the pain away.

"I'm really sorry, Oliver" she muttered, trying to convey as much emotion as possible, without scaring him away. He hesitated for a moment, trying to gather enough strength to put his walls up and walk away, but finding none. Then his hands were at her hips, tugging her forward, as his parted. He looked up at her stunned face, asking for permission and at her slight nod he rested his forehead against her stomach. Breathing out deeply he let go, tears now falling freely down his face, dampening her shirt. She could barely keep it together, but knew she had to, for his sake. So she hugged him, lightly running her fingers through his hair in a soothing motion, trying to keep her own tears at bay.

They stayed there, holding each other as if their lives depended on it. She didn't know how much time had passed when he pulled away, hands still on her hips, and looked up, their eyes locking. She wiped the remaining tears from his face as he did with hers, standing up. His mouth rose in a humorless smile, and then he was gone; an untold promise lingering in the air: they weren't going to talk about it.

She cleaned up and went home, knowing full well he wouldn't bring it up again, but content that he'd finally allowed himself to feel, even if it hurt like hell. The next day, he was gone.

So much had been lost that day: his best friend, her innocence, his purpose. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it still broke her heart knowing he lived with that pain. The best she could do was making sure he knew she was there to let it all out again.

A little olicity flashback for you all :)

Thank you for reading! Please like/comment. As always, encouragement or constructive criticism is always welcomed :)