The woman who used to be Felicity Smoak uncorked her best bottle of Greek red, selected a long stemmed wine glass from behind the bar, and left the taverna for the very short walk to the beach to sit in the sand and watch the sun setting over the Aegean. She did this on most days, after a long day of food shopping, fixing computers and helping out behind the bar or with the lunch rush - which never was much of a rush on her quiet little corner of the island.
The taverna was very much off the beaten track, which was one of the reasons she'd decided to buy it with her ill-gotten gains, formerly Isabel Rochev's ill-gotten gains. That and she fell in love with the apartment above it, with its bright whitewashed walls, many balconies, window boxes of fire-engine red geraniums, and views of both the ocean and the olive grove spilling down the hill behind the house.
The rocky path sloped gently down to the beach, and she paused for a moment to turn and look back at the place she now called home - and work - for the past nine months.
She had drifted for the first few weeks she'd been on the island, exploring every corner of it, getting to know the people, and spending a lot of time just sitting in the shade of gnarled old trees on sunbaked hillsides thrumming with insect life, or floating on her back in the cool water of hidden coves, licking her wounds and coming to terms with being suddenly homeless and friendless.
Then she had found this little slice of heaven. It was for sale, and it suited her needs perfectly.
Smiling fondly at the memory, she tucked a stray curl behind her ear and continued down to the beach.
It was one year ago exactly that she had left everything she cared about behind in Starling City to start a new life in Greece. Hence the 2005 Papaioannou she was currently holding; she'd saved it for a special occasion, and decided today was that day. She was feeling a little down – almost certainly because of the date and the memories it brought back - and a good red wine was the perfect cure for a case of the blues.
Felicity, now going by the name of Allie - short for Allison - Apsa, toed off her flip-flops and sank down into the warm sand, pouring herself a glass and pushing the bottle into the sand next to her with a corkscrew motion so it would stay upright. Taking a healthy sip, she rolled the ruby liquid around in her mouth, savoring the fruity flavor before swallowing and settling in to stare at the horizon and take stock of the past year.
Leaving Starling City, leaving Team Arrow, leaving Oliver, had been the hardest things she'd ever had to do. For weeks she worked with the others on setting up the new lair, pretending nothing was wrong while secretly creating a new identity, closing old bank accounts and opening new ones, re-routing money a few times, and moving the contents of her house - the stuff she wanted to keep, anyway - into long-term storage.
It turned out to be a little easier than she expected in the end. They were all so busy dealing with the aftermath of Slade and his army, and everyone had something on their mind. Laurel was preoccupied with her father's recovery, Roy was pining for Thea, and Oliver was mourning his mother and feeling guilty about everything, as usual. Even Diggle was distracted, and seemed to be very happy about something. It was relatively easy for her issues to pass unnoticed.
So she had planned and prepared for her departure unhindered, and when the time had come, she had wished everyone goodnight and prepared to leave the lair for the last time, barely keeping the tears at bay. Oliver had briefly glanced up from his work, giving her a soft smile and a "goodnight, Felicity," before putting his arrow back to the grindstone. She stared at him for what seemed like forever, memorizing the contours of his face, and then turned and walked away from it all, tears spilling over her cheeks.
Felicity left her house two hours later a heavily made-up redhead with a suitcase, purse and a carry-on. She took a train out of the city, a flight out of the country, two more flights across a few more countries, and a boat to her final destination.
Stepping onto dry land on that crisp shiny morning felt surprisingly like coming home. The words "crystal clear" seemed to be tailor made for the air in this part of the world, the houses clinging to the hillsides so absurdly white, the doors and shutters so blindingly blue, it brought something inside her back to life.
She had painted the taverna those exact colors for exactly that reason.
Warmed on the inside by the wine, she placed her now empty goblet carefully on the sand and lay back with a deep sigh, closing her eyes and letting the gurgling, hissing ebb and flow of the sea soothe her almost to sleep. The barman's low rumble and a bark of laughter from one of the Taverna's patrons drifted toward her on the warm air, filling her with the comfort of home.
She was happy, without a doubt. Quietly happy, but happy none the less. But it was a happiness tinged with a faint but ever-present longing for the life she had left behind - and she was slowly coming to terms with the fact that this longing would never leave her. She missed Digg and Oliver deeply.
Family, for her, had always been made up of friends you make along the road of life, and she had found a new family here, inherited when she had bought the taverna, lock, stock and barrel, from the cook's son. The business might have changed hands, but little else about it did. Maria, the taverna's cook who had become her substitute mother, had stayed on along with barman Dimitri and fancifully-named occasional waitress Chrysoula.
Maria had embraced her like one of her own, and Maria's very large extended family had followed suit shortly thereafter, drawing her in regardless of what she wanted. What Felicity had wanted at the time was to be left alone, but she hadn't been given much of choice. She'd been included in every christening, wedding or just-because party that her new family had hosted or had even been peripherally involved in, as if she had always belonged to them, and soon her solitary heart had opened to them, letting them in.
Now, she could not imagine life without the endearing rabble of noisy Greeks of all ages that had overrun her life.
She sensed more than heard someone approaching and sat up again, shaking off her sleepy torpor, but took no notice at first. The taverna's customers did occasionally come and go by way of the beach. But after a while they spoke, and she stiffened, her heart stuttering to a halt at the sound of a voice she never thought she'd hear again.
"Felicity?"
He'd recognized her immediately, even from afar, even with the changes she'd made to disguise herself.
Gone were the glasses and brightly painted lips. Her sun-kissed face was fresh and clear of make-up, her straight blond hair now a riot of dark Titian curls twisted into a bun held in place by a pencil and...was that a Philips screwdriver? His lips curled up in a faint smile. She wore faded threadbare jeans and a thin, light sweater that hung off one tanned shoulder, very different attire from the sleek, form-fitting colorful outfits she used to favor.
He stopped about 15 feet away and simply watched her, drinking in the sight of her, so different from the girl he'd last seen leaving the new lair. But her physical appearance wasn't the only thing different about her. There was a certain stillness, a seriousness about the former bubbly girl that he had never seen before. She seemed subdued, yet very much at peace.
"Felicity?" His voice slightly rough with disuse.
He watched her stiffen in surprise, her eyelids fluttering closed briefly. "Apparently, I am not as good at making myself disappear as I thought." She spoke quietly, not bothering to look at him. "How did you find me?"
He approached, dropping his backpack and sitting down a respectable distance from her, facing the setting sun. "ARGUS. And it wasn't easy. It took them almost a year. You did a great job disappearing."
He saw her turn toward him out of the corner of his eye. "What are you doing here, Oliver?" There was no anger in her voice, only a hint of curiosity.
He turned to her then too, finally looking upon the face he'd been missing for too long. The sun had finally touched the horizon, setting the sky, and her eyes and hair, on fire. "I...I wanted to see you. To make sure you were ok...to ask you why you left the way you did. To talk. We need to talk." Now he was the one babbling.
She turned back to the sea. "I thought John would have explained it all to you."
"He did. He showed me your email, actually."
"He shouldn't have done that. It wasn't meant for you." She sounded uncertain, uncomfortable, pulling her knees to her chest and toying nervously with the frayed hems of her jeans.
That hurt him a little. "Felicity..."
"It's Allie now. I mean that's what I'm known by here, so be careful when there are other people around."
He was glad she didn't ask him to call her Allie. She would never be anything but Felicity to him. "Why didn't you write to me too?" he asked gently, almost afraid of her answer.
Her poise slipped a little, and her knew his question had upset her. "I...I tried. I just didn't know what to say." She paused and finally looked at him again. "I'm sorry."
At that moment they were interrupted by a male voice calling out in Greek from the bar behind them. Felicity turned and replied, also in Greek.
"I have to get back. Dimitri is leaving, and we still have a couple of customers." She stood, slipping on her flip-flops and dusting the sand off the seat of her jeans. He remained seated and watched her, unsure as to what he should do, waiting to take his cues from her
"Are you coming?" She threw him a glance as she picked put the bottle and glass and started to head back to the bar.
He hopped quickly to his feet, snatched up his backpack, and followed her to the house tucked against the hillside.