"Felicity."

"Hmm."

Oliver smiled down at the arms wrapped around him. They had been parked and stationary for almost five minutes. The first few minutes, even he was loathe to move, enjoying the warmth of a certain blonde IT specialist.

He took off his riding gloves and stroked Felicity's arm. "Felicity."

"Hmm."

Oliver shook his head and laughed. He tried one more time.

"Felicity."

"Hmm-wha?"

"Come on," he shook her arm gently. "We're here."

"Can' move."

He laughed again. "Try, Felicity," he murmured. "I'm getting hungry."

Felicity took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He felt her body shift as she slowly came back to awareness. Her arms loosened but didn't let go. "I think I zoned out for a while," she said with a yawn.

"I think you're right," Oliver replied with a smile. He leaned away from her to make eye contact. He waggled his eyebrow suggestively. "Was it good for you, baby?"

Felicity laughed out loud, a bright, arresting sound he had never heard come out of her mouth before. He looked at her with amusement and awe.

"Oh, Mr. Queen," she said, trying to compose herself. "Didn't you know? That was just foreplay." She winked at him.

His jaw dropped.

Her arms left his torso and moved up to his shoulders as she steadied herself to dismount. She was taking off her helmet and beginning the process of taking off the scarf when he finally came out of his shock.

"Felicity!" He managed to sound scandalized. He was beginning to see that there was so much more to this woman than he realized.

"What?" she shrugged with false innocence. "You're surprised that I can talk dirty? Have you met me?"

He shook his head, grinning like a fool. "Touché."

The scarf finally came off, and Felicity carefully unraveled her bun. Oliver reached for her hair with both hands to help undo her helmet head.

"What are you doing!" she squeaked.

Oliver froze. "I said I would help fluff your hair!" he protested.

"No, stop!" she shouted at him.

He immediately pulled his hands away. "What now?" he asked, mildly annoyed.

"You can't…just…attack it like that!" She walked up to the restaurant window to look at her reflection and he followed, staying right behind her. She took her curls, a few strands at a time, and carefully coiled them around her finger, before letting them fall delicately down her head. "There's a method to fluffing!"

Oliver pitched forward as he held his breath with all his might, trying his hardest to contain his laughter. He saw her cheeks blush wildly. "Please," he said, teasing her, "instruct me in the art of fluffing."

She turned around and leveled a glare at him. "Not helping!" she cried.

This time he couldn't hold back his laughter. He saw her demeanor soften just a bit. "I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely, still smiling. "What can I do?"

Felicity sighed heavily. "You can stand there and look pretty," she muttered under her breath, concentrating on her hair.

Oliver shook his head and laughed. "Okay," he conceded. "I can do that."

After a couple of minutes, she straightened up and looked at her reflection this way and that. "How do I look?" she asked.

Oliver beamed a smile at her and said without hesitation, "Beautiful." He was rewarded with a smile.

She looked for the name of the restaurant. "Where are we?"

Oliver reached his hand down to grasp hers and led them to the door. "Little place called Russo's," he replied.

"Russo's," she repeated, slowly in consideration. "So I'm guessing Italian?"

"Yes. It's also a good place for a quiet, private dinner. I figured you would appreciate this better than Table Salt, where we would be surrounded by curious gawkers." He opened the door for her and they stepped inside and patiently waited for the host. Their hands remained connected.

She smiled. "You guessed right. So…" Felicity looked down at her feet. "Have you ever been here before?"

He really thought about it. "I might have," he answered, "but it must not have been memorable because I don't really remember."

She nodded her acceptance. "Okay."

"Mr. Queen!" an enthusiastic voice piped up. Oliver and Felicity both started at his voice and watched as a short, clearly Italian gentleman approached.

Oliver, accustomed to being recognized by people he didn't remember, smoothly adopted his charming persona. "Mr. Russo," he said, hoping he guessed correctly. The man had the presence of someone who owned a business. "You remember me."

They shook hands. "Of course I do!" the owner exclaimed. "I could not forget such a noble guest, especially one who came with Ms. Bertinelli!"

Oliver froze, panicking. He felt Felicity freeze beside him. Shit.

Russo continued. "Such a shame what happened to that family," he mourned.

Oliver could do nothing, say nothing, at the moment. His vocal cords were paralyzed. All he could do was nod.

Completely oblivious to the tension before him, Russo looked happily at the blonde beauty standing next to Oliver. "And who is this beautiful creature?"

Oliver found his voice. "This is," he started roughly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "This is my very good friend, Felicity Smoak. Miss Smoak, meet Mr. Russo, owner of this establishment."

"Nice to meet you," Felicity said flatly.

Oliver sighed internally. He was in so much trouble. So much for no ghosts.

They followed Russo to a table in the corner of the dining room. Oliver pulled out a chair for Felicity and then sat in his own. He plastered on a smile for Russo as he handed them menus, and then spoke to Felicity as soon as they were left alone. "I didn't remember," he pleaded.

Felicity wasn't looking at him. She was looking down at the table. She put her hand up to stop him from speaking further. "I just need a minute," she croaked, her voice obviously distressed.

"Please, Felicity." Oliver wasn't above begging for forgiveness. "I'm sorry—"

Felicity finally looked at him, and the fire in her eyes stopped him cold. Her hand turned into a finger, silently asking him for some time. He gave it to her; it was only fair, and he deserved her wrath.

He suddenly felt the heavy weight of his past mistakes between them, and his heart sank. He was never going to be able to give her the kind of relationship she really deserved, one without baggage, without a dark, selfish, tortured past. She deserved something easier, less burdened with regret.

"Stop that."

Oliver looked up at Felicity with wide eyes. "What?" he whispered, unable to speak any louder.

"That," she said, pointing at his face. "That I-am-a-terrible-person-that-doesn't-deserve-any-happiness face." His breath burst out in what felt like a laugh if his heart wasn't already in his throat. She was uncanny, the way she could read him so easily.

She continued. "I only asked for a minute to get my thoughts right about this whole situation, and I need you to stop jumping to conclusions before I get there." The firm authority she had in her tone could put any military leader he met to shame.

"The thing is," she started softly, taking both of his hands in hers, "I should have expected it."

He didn't think he could feel like less of a human being until just then. Her words stabbed at his heart and filled his body with shame.

"I don't mean it like that," she said in a rush, squeezing his hands. "Oliver, please look at me."

He shook his head. He couldn't speak. He felt one of her hands leaving his and then she lifted his head. Her expression saddened with compassion for his misery.

"What I meant," she continued, "is that I know what I'm getting into. I know who you are, Oliver, and I know who you were. And I'm still here."

He felt tears filling his vision, and was helpless to stop them from falling onto his cheeks. "Why?" he croaked.

"Because I believe that you're a good man." He shook his head in protest, but she continued. "I believe that you truly regret your mistakes, and only a good man does that." She fell silent, pausing to let that sink in, and she never let go of his hands.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered brokenly. The tears were falling in earnest now.

"I know," she whispered back. "But I'm here anyway."

A feeling unlike anything he had ever experienced before filled his soul, and he quietly started sobbing. A weight he didn't know existed felt like it had been lifted from his chest. Before he realized what was happening, he had his arms full of Felicity, her comforting weight on his lap, her arms gently stroking his back, his face buried in her neck, and quiet, soothing noises filling his ear.

He wondered if this was what grace felt like. He was never really a religious man; the closest he got to religion was Buddhism by osmosis from all his time in Hong Kong. But he had been around enough religion to know the intellectual concept of grace, receiving that which was not deserved. He didn't know then how powerful it was. How it could fundamentally shape a person, from the inside out, how it not only touched a person's soul but also wrestled it into submission, casting away all self-recrimination and guilt. Guilt and shame had been his closest companions for so long that it felt strange to have this other feeling replace them. He felt lighter, and in all his years on the island and all the years that came after, he didn't think it was possible to feel this way ever again.

He looked up at Felicity with awe. "How do you do that?" he wondered out loud, shaking his head.

She seemed to sense his happier mood. "Do what?" she asked, wiping the tears from his face.

"Get inside my soul like that," he replied.

Felicity beamed at him. She shrugged. "It's a gift."

Oliver laughed out loud. He hugged her tightly. He wanted to give something back to her, and suddenly he knew what to say. He wanted to lay everything at her feet and tell her how much he cared about her.

"I wasn't lying," he said, looking unabashedly into her eyes. At her look of confusion, he clarified. "That night in the mansion. I wasn't lying."

He was transfixed, watching the emotions on her face as she received what he said and placed it in her heart. She went from shocked, to pained, to stunned, in a matter of seconds. Tears of her own gathered in her eyes, and fell helplessly onto her cheeks. She let out a watery laugh, and then leaned her forehead against his.

"I guess that gift goes both ways," she murmured.

He couldn't help it. At this angle, her lips were inches away, and before he could have second thoughts, he reached for her lips with his.

He heard her gasp, and time seemed to freeze around them. His entire attention focused like a laser beam to the point of contact between their lips. His lips tingled with electricity that radiated throughout his entire body. Her mouth was so soft…

A groan was shocked out of him when he felt her tongue peeking through his lips, and he met it with his own. Her answering moan shot a lightning bolt of arousal down to his groin. They played only with the tips of each other's tongue, still tentative, still cautious, when a throat cleared beside them.

They broke apart violently and Felicity stood up quickly, almost losing her balance. Oliver quickly reached for her hips to steady her, and they both blushed at the intimacy of that touch. Once she seemed steady on her feet, Oliver's hands withdrew, reluctantly. Clearing her throat, Felicity walked back to her chair, and sat down with dignity, as if what they had been doing was perfectly normal and nothing to be embarrassed about.

Oliver looked at their waiter. "We need another minute." The waiter nodded, smiling knowingly, and left.

He looked back at Felicity, who was studying her menu, and he picked up his own with a smile on his face. He couldn't wait to see what the rest of their date would bring.