Felicity woke up slowly, languorously, and stretched like a cat. Carefully. She was incredibly stiff, and knew that come evening, she would be feeling downright sore. In fact, she was pretty sure she had discovered muscles she didn't even know existed.
She hummed contentedly, rolling onto her back, and looked down at herself, then over at Oliver, to find he was hogging the sheet, the whole thing tangled around his hips. Reaching for her glasses, she put them on, propped herself up on her elbow, and just watched him.
This wasn't the first time she'd seen him sleep, but it was the first time she had seen him so unguarded. He was on his back, one arm resting above his head on the pillow, hand curled into a relaxed fist, the other down by his side, his face turned toward her as if he was seeking her out in his sleep.
He looked much better than he had yesterday. The shadows under his eyes had almost faded, and his face was free of the worries and stresses of his waking hours. She took the opportunity to stare unabashedly, to really drink in the masculine beauty of him, from his strong, stubbled jaw to the happy trail of downy hair disappearing beneath the sheets.
Her contentment dimmed a little when the reality of their situation intruded. Oliver had clearly come to check on her and clear the air between them, but beyond that, she had no idea what his plans were. She didn't know how long he was staying, and she had yet to ask about Queen Consolidated, Digg, Roy, or the vigilante business. He must be busier than ever, and for all she knew he could be leaving today.
Her mood plummeted even further when she realized that regardless of what happened between them, she wasn't going back to Starling. This realization genuinely surprised her, coming out of the blue as it did.
She hadn't actually given it any thought until that very moment. She had a life here. A strange and unexpected one, especially for an MIT grad whose entire existence revolved around computers, but it was a life she loved and didn't want to leave just yet.
Her old life hadn't been left behind completely, as her guest room, littered with gutted computers, spare parts, and the tools of a tech nerd's trade, could attest to. She kept herself abreast of the latest discoveries and updates, wrote line after line of code to keep her brain limber, and built and repaired computers for any one in her extended family who needed help.
Shaking off her gloomy mood she rose, wincing, and hobbled toward the chest of drawers for something to wear, pausing when her eyes fell on Oliver's discarded t-shirt lying in a rumpled pile in the middle of the floor. She picked it up, and after sneaking a look back at Oliver to make sure he was still sleeping, lifted it up to her face and inhaled, letting his distinct scent permeate her senses. She pulled it over her head and immediately felt wrapped up in him as the soft cotton slipped down over her breasts, hips and thighs like a caress.
A tremor that had nothing to do with the temperature coursed through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself, turning to gaze again at Oliver, stretched out on the crisp white sheets of her wrought iron bed. She was so busy staring, it took her a moment to realize something wasn't right about the light in the room. Usually she woke to a sun-drenched bed; currently, there wasn't a speck of sunlight on it, or anywhere else.
That was a very bad sign. Dashing toward her nightstand, she snatched up the phone charging there and let out a muffled yelp.
It was eleven o'clock. She was supposed to go to the market in the morning to shop for the day's food, and lunch was an hour away. Cramming her feet into her flip-flops, she rushed to the door, stopping as she caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror.
Felicity had been intending to go downstairs wearing just the t-shirt. It was loose and reached mid-thigh; she'd worn dresses that were far tighter and revealed more skin. It was perfectly decent, yet somehow it was completely indecent. It would be so obvious to Maria that she was wearing Oliver's shirt. Add to that a tousled head of bed-hair - that was a thing, right? - and...she took a step closer to the mirror and frowned, peering at her face. Was that...? It was. Very visible beard burn around her mouth and chin.
Pulling the neck of the t-shirt away, she looked down her front. There was beard burn all over her breasts too, which meant it was probably between her legs, and who know where else. Cursing under her breath, she dashed into the bathroom, covered the rash on her face as best she could with concealer, then stepped into her jeans, hopping across the room as she pulled them on.
She rushed downstairs and into the kitchen. "Maria! I'm so sorry...oh."
Apparently, Maria had done the shopping for her. Not only that, but lunch was well under way. Pots rattled and burbled on top of the huge aga, belching steam occasionally, and a leg of lamb was roasting slowly in one of the ovens. She was sitting at the freshly scrubbed wooden table, enjoying a small cup of Greek coffee, and giving Felicity a very searching look.
Maria was a handsome woman of indeterminate age - she had teenage grandsons, so it had to be up there somewhere - with shrewd eyes black and shinning as olives, her hair equally so. She spoke perfect English; her husband, long since dead, had been an American tourist who arrived one summer and simply never left.
"What's that on your face?" She jerked her chin at Felicity over her cup.
Felicity worked her mouth like a fish, and Maria cackled loudly, rising and opening the fridge. She took out a cling film covered plate with three pieces of galatopita and a paper-wrapped package from the butcher's.
"Is that your galatopita?" Felicity asked reverently. "Your recipe?"
Maria threw her an insulted look. "I would never serve anything else," she said haughtily.
She placed the items on the tray, and turned to take two large cups down from the hooks under the cabinet, filling them both with hot milk from the stove. Next she slowly poured some incredibly muddy coffee out of the small coffee pot and spooned some of the coffee foam on top. She set both cups on the tray, picked it up, and handed it to Felicity.
"That's siglino, in the package. Men need meat. Now go and make yours a good breakfast."
Felicity felt her face heat up. "He's not my..." She rolled her eyes as Maria gave her another loaded look. "Never mind," she muttered.
She shuffled over to Maria and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you, Mana mou." She lifted the tray a little to indicate it. "And thank you," she continued, with more meaning. Maria had been there for her in every way a good mother should be and had been a huge part in easing the pain of losing everything she had known and held dear.
Maria's eyes softened. "You're welcome, Koritsi mou." She patted felicity's cheek affectionately. "Be happy. And I don't want to see you at all today. But tomorrow, I expect to see the shopping here when I arrive, and you and your man ready to pitch in."
Felicity curtseyed. "Nai kyría mou," she said pertly, turning to leave the kitchen before Maria could flick her with a dishtowel.
"Don't you sass me, child," Maria called out after her.
After putting the milk pie and the package of smoked pork in the fridge, Felicity carried the two cups back into the bedroom and set them on the night stand.
Oliver hadn't moved. She took off her jeans and as she climbed onto the bed, he finally stirred. She looked up to see him watching her through half lidded eyes. His face broke into a lazy, sleepy grin, and he stretched.
"What time is it?" he asked her, his sleep-roughened voice doing strange things to her stomach. Before she could answer, he raised his head, heat flaring in his eyes. His voice got impossibly raspier. "Are you wearing my shirt?"
Felicity might have squeaked. "It's somewhere between eleven and twelve, and yes."
Eyes the color of stonewashed denim raked over her, something undefined in them. They rose and caught hers, and the two of them shared a long, intense look that made her drop her eyes and smile shyly. Her cheeks heated up for the second and probably not last time, and she busied herself handing him one of the cups of coffee.
"It's the Greek version of cappuccino," she murmured, avoiding his eyes as he rose on one elbow to accept the cup. "Just a warning, there are coffee grounds in the bottom. And it is slightly sweet. That's just the way Maria makes it. She made it for us. I didn't think to..." She flushed even warmer, as she realized she was babbling. Reaching for her cup she sipped slowly from it. Anything to keep herself from talking.
She felt Oliver sit up. He settled himself cross-legged in front of her, knees touching hers through the sheets that pooled low on his hips.
"Felicity," he murmured, making her name sound like silk and velvet rolled into one.
When she finally looked at him, he was sipping his coffee and wearing that soft smile she loved. He reached out and lightly placed his free hand on the back of her arm, skimming his fingers lightly down past her elbow, to her hand, catching it in his. She broke out in goose bumps again and shuddered visibly.
"It's good to see that you still ramble," he said softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, and making her blush all over again.
Felicity was putting the finishing touch to breakfast - more accurately brunch - when a freshly showered Oliver wandered into the kitchen barefoot, dressed in jeans and a white shirt still unbuttoned over his bare chest, towel drying his hair.
"That smells good." He came up behind her and wrapped one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist, caging her against him.
"A Greek breakfast." She leaned back in to him while expertly folding the large omelet, in which she'd shredded some of the cured pork and added graviera cheese. She cut the omelet in half with the spatula and twisted out of his arms to plate each piece.
"Here." She handed him the plates, and he put them on the island where she had already set two places, a small crock of fresh butter and some of the bread leftover from yesterday, warmed up again.
"...and for dessert," she deposited the plate of galatopita next to the bread, "milk pudding. Also a breakfast food in Greece. It's a bit like cheesecake," she finished, when he raised his eyebrows in question. "Since this is basically brunch, dessert is a must."
They ate in companionable silence for a while as the sounds of lunchtime at the taverna drifted through the open windows along with a warm ocean breeze. It reminded her that but for Oliver's presence, she would be down there helping out as she did almost every day and would be doing again tomorrow. That in turn made her wonder if he would even be there tomorrow to pitch in as Maria had requested - although it was more like an order than a request - which kind of ruined her mood all over again.
"Is everything alright?"
She looked up from her half eaten omelet to see that Oliver had finished, and was watching her. Pushing her plate aside, she poured them both some more coffee - plain old drip coffee this time - and sighed.
"Oliver...when are you leaving? I don't mean to make it sound like I want to get rid of you, in fact you are welcome here, and I do mean here as in 'in my house' because of course you are welcome on the island, it's not mine to not welcome you to - did that sentence even make sense? My point is maybe we should check you out of your hotel and move your stuff here, but not if you have to head back out today. That's even assuming that you want to stay with me, which I'm guessing you do, given last night." She stopped and inhaled a much needed breath of air.
He smiled that lovely smile again. "Felicity. I would love to stay with you, and I'm not leaving today. This trip is open ended. I don't know how long I am staying."
Oh. "But what about...you know. Don't you need to get back to protecting the city from bad guys?"
Oliver pulled the plate of galatopita between them, removed the clingfilm and picked up his fork. "Roy and Laurel are keeping the bad guys in check with Digg's help when he isn't busy being a dad and Walter is back at QC as CEO, so..."
Wait. "What?!" Felicity shrieked, sending a piece of the pie flying off her fork. "Digg's a...Lyla had a baby?"