Note: To the anons who commented, I can't respond to you personally, but I wanted to say thank you very much for commenting. To the anon who asked why I removed all the sex from this story: the sex, as you know, got pretty explicit at times. Like really explicit. It's a violation of the terms of service of this site, and although I know a lot of people do it and get away with it, I decided not to.
The woman who was Felicity Smoak again uncorked a bottle of her favorite Greek red and took two of her new wine glasses down from the kitchen cabinet. They were huge, gorgeous crystal glasses, paper-thin with long, slender stems. More importantly, they were a gift from Oliver.
She had spotted them in an antique store in Athens, and had been instantly drawn to them, fascinated by their resemblance to soap bubbles, delicate, clear and incredibly shiny. Oliver had managed to buy them for her without her noticing, surprising her with them when they got back to the island.
They had made the trip to Athens to pick up his belongings, which he'd had shipped from Starling, buying a pick-up truck to cart his stuff - and any other supplies they couldn't get on the island - back to the taverna.
"It's not a bad idea to have something other than your Vespa," he'd told her when she suggested they rent something instead. "Also, it will save us the hassle of returning it to the mainland."
Felicity had rolled her eyes. Only a gazillionaire would buy a car just to avoid having to make the effort to return a rental. She had to admit though, it would come in handy. Some necessities were not available on the island, and required a trip to the mainland. In the past, she'd just asked someone who was already going to bring back whatever she needed.
She carefully put the glasses on the counter next to the bottle, and turned to observe the interior of her home for a moment.
Their home.
The signs of Oliver's presence in her life were everywhere. He had infiltrated every part of her, every room in her - their - house (she had to keep reminding herself it was no longer hers alone). His toiletries in the bathroom, his clothes in the closets and drawers. His keys and a handful of small change dropped carelessly on the island, his running shoes - and his dirty sweat socks, again, dammit - in a pile by the door, a jacket slung over the back of the couch.
Their lives had become entwined - inextricably, as far as she was concerned - to the point where if someone removed all traces of him from the place, she'd feel like a piece of her soul was missing. He'd even left his mark on the decor, contributing a set of pale blue pottery vases - the color reminded him of her eyes - "for all the flowers I'm going to buy for you," a framed charcoal drawing of her he'd bought from a street artist, and other bits and pieces he'd acquired over the past month, mostly with her in mind.
Oliver did almost everything with her in mind. She'd never felt more cherished, cared for and protected. And fortunate. Incredibly fortunate. Her life was the stuff of romance novels. Oliver himself was the stuff of romance novels, tall, broad-shouldered and strong, beyond handsome, and absolutely besotted with her. He could protect her, would die for her and kill for her. Had killed for her.
She shivered, remembering Count Vertigo, and pushed the painful memory out of her mind as quickly as she pushed away from the counter. She did not like the thought of the Count, or any of the darker memories of her past, tainting the life she had built here, and continued to build with Oliver.
Picking up the bottle in one hand and the glasses, carefully crossed at the stem, in the other, she left their home for the very short walk to the beach - calling out a greeting to the Two Spiros as she made her way through the taverna - to watch the sun setting over the Aegean as she almost always did. Only these days, she watched it with Oliver.
Sitting in the sand, bare-footed and casual in faded, distressed jeans and a light knit khaki sweater that clung to him in all the right places, he was staring out at the setting sun, his arms resting on his bent knees.
She stopped at the bottom of the path leading from the taverna and observed him unnoticed for a moment.
He was so different from the person who sat down in that same spot one month ago to the day. He'd lost his unhealthy pallor; his skin was now the color of pale honey, making his eyes pop, impossibly bright and blue. His hair was longer and starting to lighten in the relentless Greek sun. The shadows under his eyes were a thing of the past, and his expression...she couldn't describe it. He looked like a different person these days, well rested and at peace.
He was happy. The day he asked her if he could move in with her was the day she had first seen him truly smile, and by 'truly' she meant a face splitting, eye-creasing, teeth-flashing, dimple-deepening smile. A truly free, unburdened smile. It had momentarily robbed her of her breath, not to mention her power to speak, and continued to do so to this day. It became her latest Oliver addiction too.
She frowned suddenly, focusing intently on his face. Now that she was paying closer attention, the look of perpetual contentment he'd worn since then was currently missing. He looked more like the tortured Oliver of the past than the carefree Oliver he had become, but she refused to let her heart sink and doubt to creep in, and started purposefully toward him.
He looked up when she stepped between his feet, his face clearing like the sky after a storm, and flashed her that breath-stealing smile. She handed him the glasses and sank to her knees between his legs, pouring the wine as he held the goblets out for her.
"You look preoccupied." She kept her tone casual. "Are you having second thoughts?"
"Felicity," he said sternly as he set the glasses in the sand beside him, then took the bottle away from her and did the same. He reached for her hands. "I'm not having second thoughts. This is my home. You are my home. I'm just...I still feel guilty from time to time. Like I don't deserve this, like I should be back in Starling, protecting the city."
Felicity shifted and crossed her legs, scooting a little closer between his legs, her knees touching the backs of his thighs. She squeezed his hands.
"Oliver. You deserve this more than anyone. You've given the city so much already, almost everything you had. You've lost so much. You have the right to have a life and love of your own, and to be happy. You just have to let go and give yourself permission. It's not like you have to hang up the hood permanently; if Starling City needs you again, we'll go back for a visit, and then come home when it's over. It doesn't have to be one or the other. It might be more difficult in Starling, but here, you have a blank slate. You can be Oliver Queen, and become the Arrow when the Justice League needs your help."
"The Justice League?" He raised his eyebrows in amusement.
"It's what I call Roy, Digg and Laurel in my head," she explained, pulling her hands out of his, reaching for the glasses, and handing him one. "Now enough about all that." She lifted her glass and tapped it against his, enjoying the deep chime it made. "To us," she said, "and to many more sunsets together."
"To us," he whispered, overcome by his emotions. He watched her take a sip, drinking her in along with his wine.
"Mmmm," she hummed, looking down at the garnet liquid. "This is really good. And It would be even better if I could see the sunset a the same time," she added as an afterthought. "Hold this for a moment."
He took the glass and waited as she uncrossed her legs and turned, settling herself between his legs and burrowing back into him, taking back her glass. He put his down and wrapped his arms around her, much more interested in having them full of warm, scented Felicity, than he was in drinking an admittedly excellent red. He could have wine anytime, but...He stopped and smiled into her hair when he remembered he could have her anytime too, now.
"Thank you," he breathed into the the slender column of her golden neck, not aware he had spoken out loud until she asked him what he was thanking her for.
"For being you," he replied with intensity, his eyes on the horizon. "For putting up with me, for giving me more than I ever gave you, for not waiting for me to live your life, for running away from me, for not sending me away when I found you, for not pushing me to talk when I wasn't ready, for trusting me, for loving me, for..."
"Ok, I get the message." She laughed, but it was a shaky laugh, and he could tell she was deeply moved. She tried to turn so she could look at him, but he tightened his arms around her like steel bands, preventing her. He thought he might fall apart if he looked into her eyes right now. Too many feels, as Thea would say.
"I don't think you do," he countered quietly. "Not the complete message, anyway. It will probably take me my whole life to get that across."
She turned her head, nudging his jaw with her nose and then kissing it. Her hair, freed from the decorated chopsticks that held it up, brushed against his arm, licking against his bare skin like soft, cool flames.
"You'd better get cracking, then," she murmured, her hot breath on his throat going straight to his loins.
They sat in silence as the sun sank, streaking the sky and the waves with burnished gold, until the weight of words unsaid became crushing and he knew he had to speak before he completely lost his mind.
He took a deep, shuddering breath. This was it. He'd never been so terrified in his life. "Felicity?"
"Mmmm?" She stirred sleepily in his arms.
"S 'agapó̱."
She froze, and for a moment he thought he'd said it wrong. This time when she twisted in his arms, he let her. She settled on her knees again, facing him.
"Did you just...?"
"Yes." He smiled at her expression, her eyes filled with a blend of astonishment and hope. "At least I hope so. S 'agapó̱, Felicity. I love you."
She just stared at him.
"Maria," he said, answering her unspoken question. "I asked her how to say it."
"Say it again," she ordered him, taking his face in her hands.
Whatever she wanted. Always. "I love you, Felicity" he repeated, and let the words set him free.