Oliver was the first to wake. He came to awareness slowly, becoming conscious of the room and of Felicity breathing softly beside him before opening his eyes to the gloom of the shuttered bedroom.
For a few seconds he felt carefree and at peace, caught in one of those moments of absolute rightness he'd already experienced several times since finding her. Then he remembered the argument which had ended with him failing to define what Felicity was to him.
A shadow fell over his mood.
He hadn't cut himself off because he was afraid of telling her what she was to him, but because he simply didn't know. Yet. If he couldn't define it in his own head yet, how could he define it to her?
Thankfully, Felicity had been understanding enough to let it go. But at some point, he would have to sort out his feelings and decide what he was going to do about the two of them.
It was becoming clear that Felicity was dug in here, and would not be coming back to Starling with him. It had been his plan to convince her to go back with him, but now...he wasn't so sure that was a good idea. Felicity had blossomed and flourished here, and in the end, he wanted what was best for her. Besides, he didn't think he could talk her into returning, even if he tried.
He reached for his phone to check the time. It was almost three-thirty. Sitting up, he turned to observe her, lying on her side facing away from him. Her t-shirt was rucked up under her breasts exposing the dip and swell of her waist and hip, and her cotton-covered backside was pressed into his hip.
Moving away carefully so as not to disturb her, he had a good long look at her. The white lace-trimmed boy shorts left half of her cheeks exposed, and he was struck out of the blue by his desire for her. His breath stuttered, and he decided a cold shower was in order. It would also chase the remaining sleepiness away.
Showering quickly, he shut off the water and stepped out, drying himself off and wrapping the towel around his hips before heading back into her bedroom, finding her already up. She had opened the shutters and was standing in front of the mirror dressed in what looked like an off-the-shoulder ankle length white t-shirt, trying to wrestle her unruly hair into some kind of a braid.
He watched her hungrily.
Their eyes caught in the mirror and Felicity froze, her hands dropping away from her behind her head and to her sides. Her cheeks flamed at the intensity of his attention. Oliver's eyes raked over her slowly, lingering on her bottom, then lifted to hers again. He flashed her a predatory grin.
Felicity wiped the smirk right of his face when her tongue darted out, ran quickly over her lower lip, and disappeared into her mouth again.
"Do you need some help with your hair?" he asked, changing the subject for the sake of his mental health.
She went back to wrestling hanks of hair into a decidedly un-braid-like tangle of messy curls. "Not unless you can do a braid."
"French braid or regular?" He seated himself near the end of the bed and patted the space at the foot, gesturing for her to sit down.
Her eyes went wide. "You know how to do a French braid?"
He smiled sadly. "Thea fell in love with them when she was a little girl. Nobody in the house knew how to do them, so I learned. I've had a lot of practice braiding her hair.
"That's...incredibly sweet." Felicity picked up a wide-toothed comb and some hair clips, and sat at the end of the bed with her back to him, handing him the comb over her shoulder. He pulled his leg up onto the bed so he could turn more fully toward her and got to work untangling the mess she had made, until he could run the comb from toot to tip without encountering a knot. Then deftly gave her a loose French braid with a generous tail.
"What do you want me to tie it with?"
She handed him a couple of dragonfly clips, and he used them to fasten the braid securely. Reaching across the bed for his phone, he snapped a picture of his handiwork, and reached around her to show her, getting up close and personal in the process. He turned to bury his nose in the hair behind her ear, inhaling the warm, sunny scent of her, and when she reached for the phone to get a better look, slipped his hand around her waist to splay it on her stomach, feeling her muscles leap beneath his touch.
"Wow," she mumbled distractedly as he dropped his lips to where her neck met the slope of her shoulder, "you're good at that. The braid, I mean. Not that you aren't good...at...that...too..."
She seemed to lose her train of thought as he placed open mouthed kisses up and down the slender column of her neck, his hand sliding up to cup one of her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra, he noted with satisfaction as he thumbed the hard cotton-covered peak, drawing a shuddering breath out of her.
He was about to wrap his other arm around her and haul her backwards onto his lap when she pulled away from him and stood abruptly, turning to hand him his phone.
"If we keep this up, we'll never get anything done today." Her smile widened, presumably in response to the disgruntled expression he was sure he was wearing.
"Come on," she laughed, reaching for his hand and pulling him up. "Get dressed. Let's go into town, check you out of your hotel, and I'll show you around a little."
He reached for her, intent on dragging her back, but she evaded his grasp, and backed away to the door.
"Dress," she ordered him sternly, pointing a finger at him. "I'll be waiting for you in the living room."
He did as he was told, pulling on his jeans and tucking his phone and wallet into his back pockets. He stepped into his shoes and was buttoning up his shirt as he joined her in the living room where she was rummaging through a large purse.
She looked up when he walked in and gave him a once-over, her eyes settling on his Italian leather shoes. "We need to get you some more appropriate footwear. You need some espadrilles or flip flops, something more suited to this climate. You must be uncomfortable in those shoes."
"I'm not wearing espadrilles." He spoke with absolute finality.
"Flip flops it is." She shouldered her bag and opened the door leading down to the taverna. "There's a store that sells really nice leather ones. We'll stop there first. let's go."
He followed her happily and without question. He was coming to realize he would follow her anywhere.
They decided against walking into town. It was just after four and while the weather had cooled somewhat, it was still a little warm to make the half-hour walk. Felicity led him out via the front of the taverna, onto a gravel road that dead-ended in the taverna parking lot, where her Vespa was parked. It had been fitted with a large wire basket "to carry groceries back home," she informed him, showing him the additional space under the seat.
Oliver reluctantly let her drive, sitting behind her and wrapping his arms around her, and they headed south along the coastal road - which was more like a lane barely big enough for two cars to pass each other - making the short trip into town.
Felicity whizzed deftly into a parking lot reserved for motorcycles on the outskirts of town, pulled into a small space and turned off her bike.
"We'll walk from here," She dismounted and pulled her purse out of the basket. Their hands brushed, and he took the opportunity to lace his fingers through hers. She smiled up at him, and they started their walk into town.
They headed toward the docks, their first order of business - after getting Oliver some flip flops and stowing his shoes under the seat of the Vespa - being to check him out of his hotel, and have his luggage delivered to the taverna. Once that was done, they wandered up the steep roads into the town, exploring side streets and finding hidden squares, many of which had some kind of a water feature in the middle.
Oliver, unable to shake his lingering desire for her, saw only potential places to make love to her. He was beginning to think he would never be sated, that he would always want her - which of course brought him back to the problem at hand, namely that she was firmly entrenched here, and he was based in Starling city, a vast ocean separating them.
Then again, did he really need to be based in Starling City? Queen Consolidated was thriving in Walter's capable hands, and crime was down enough that Laurel and Roy, with the help of Quentin Lance and Digg, could easily handle what was left.
Both Laurel and Roy were thriving in their secret identities, especially Roy. He was a born do-gooder who wanted nothing more from life than Thea, and to defend the weak and oppressed. With Thea missing, defending the city took up all his time. Did the city really need the Arrow anymore? Dare he let his alter-ego go for now, and have a life for himself? He could always make trips back and forth, if he was needed. It's not like money was an issue anymore.
"Hey, are you OK?" Felicity broke into his thoughts with a squeeze of his hand, moving to stand in front of her. "You seem distracted."
He looked down at her, smiling. "Just thinking. Sorting through some things in my head," he said, affectionately pinching her chin.
"Anything I can help you with?"
"Not right now." Unable to resist, he stepped closer, releasing her hand, and cupped her face with both of his, dipping his head to kiss her slowly, deeply and thoroughly. "But I promise to tell you when I've figured things out," he finished when he'd had his fill of her mouth.
"I'll hold you to that." She rose on her toes, finding his lips again with hers.
"Now let's head back down." Turning, she towed him along behind her. "There's something I want to show you. I found this gorgeous little cove the first week I was here. I got lost, ended up trying a short-cut down this rocky path between two houses and found it completely by accident. You can't actually swim there 'cause there's no way to get down, but..."
He listened to her babble, following her wordlessly as she wandered cobbled alleyways ending in countless dead ends or locked gates to the beach.
Finally they ended up in yet another dead end, this one with an archway off to the left. It had one of those old fashioned wooden inn signs hanging from a wrought iron contraption sticking out from a whitewashed wall. A diminutive man in the black pants and white shirt of a waiter started prattling in Greek at them, reaching for Felicity's hand and kissing it. She looked startled but not uncomfortable, so he let it slide, following as she was led through the archway into a walled patio beyond.
There was a tree growing in the middle strung with tiny white lights, and the corners of the patio were choked with terracotta pots crammed with colorful plants and flowers. Ranged around the tree were a few wrought iron tables covered in white cloths and set for dinner. The candles were lit, but no one was seated at the tables.
"Felicity?" he questioned, when the waiter bypassed the patio and led them through a door and down a dark hallway, passing a kitchen and an indoor dining room.
"It looks like we are having dinner here." She turned to grin wryly at him. "This waiter is very convincing."
"Are you OK with that? What did he say to you?" he asked her retreating back, not sure if she was being somehow coerced. "If he's being pushy..." He stopped when Felicity gasped, and looked beyond her.
They had been led onto an outdoor terrace, shaded by vines heavy with grapes, built right up against the ocean, straight to a table at the very edge. Hanging baskets dripping flowers ringed the terrace, and here was a six foot drop down to where a malachite sea was lapping against the wall below. It was quite romantic, he thought, scowling when the waiter held out Felicity's chair for her, beating him to it.
The waiter tried to hand them menus which Felicity rejected, having some sort of an animated discussion with him that seemed to please him very much. He eventually left, taking the menus with him.
"What was that all about?"
"I told him I was leaving our dinner choices up to him," she told him happily, reaching for and crunching on a bread-stick. "He's going to bring us a selection of everything the restaurant is most proud of."
She stopped. "I hope that's OK," she continued uncertainly. "I didn't think to check with you. It's just it's a great way to discover new dishes you might never have thought to ask for on your own. Except I did ask for calamari, which he said are the best on the island. I didn't tell him Maria's are in fact the best. Not that I've had the calamari here though, so who knows. We can call him back if you want to order something specific..."
"It's perfect, Felicity," he interjected softly, reaching for her hand across the table. "I want to discover this place through your eyes, doing things the way you do them. I'm happy to just be here with you."
It ended up being one of the best meals he had ever had, and that was saying something, considering his money had bought him some astounding meals over the years. They were brought smaller portions of various appetizers and main courses and shared everything, with Felicity describing each dish to him and correcting his pronunciation. Stuffed, they declined dessert, only to be brought a sampling of cookies and pastries with their coffee, on the house. Given the number of times the red-faced chef poked his head out on the terrace to look at Felicity, reddening even further when she expressed her enthusiastic approval for his food, he guessed it was entirely due to her presence.
They were lingering over their second cup of coffee when he caught her observing him over her cup with a pensive look. He raised his eyebrows in silent question.
"Why did ARGUS owe you a favor?" she blurted out, taking him completely by surprise. Of all the questions she could have asked, he had not expected that one, which was why he felt, and probably looked, like a deer caught in the headlights.
"It...uh...it wasn't exactly a favor," he stammered, thinking quickly. "They...the deal was I had to do a job for them in exchange for their help." He hoped, in vain, that she would leave it at that.
Fat chance. She was Felicity "mysteries need to be solved" Smoak after all. Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of a job?" she asked warily, setting her cup down.
"I...they needed me for access to somewhere only Oliver Queen could go," he replied reluctantly. It was the truth, but he was being deliberately vague.
"You don't want to talk about it do you?" she said, stating the obvious. "You didn't have to kill anyone for them, did you?" she continued sharply, as the thought occurred to her, a wild look in her eyes.
He replied with zero hesitation. "No," he lied confidently. Killing for them had not been part of the deal, but he'd had to anyway. It was only afterwards that he'd realized that it would have been impossible for him to do the job without killing. They had set him up, which was why they were absolutely not an option when it came to finding Thea. He would never trust them again.
And Felicity must never find out the lengths he had gone to to find her.