After Felicity left, Oliver felt drained from their argument. How had things changed so quickly? One minute, he was holding her in his arms as she cried. The next minute, she was yelling at him and leaving. How did this happen?

He knew it was his fault the moment the question formed in his head. He never should have doubted her. She was right, and as painful as it was, she had every right to react the way she did. Why did he choose that time to doubt her? When she told him what had happened, at first he was furious. How dare her attacker show up here when Felicity was by herself! Obviously this man knew of Oliver's skills, because he didn't have the guys to show up when Oliver was there.

Then, as he was holding her, all he wanted to do was let her know everything would be alright. But, boy, had he chosen the wrong way to do that. Saying she might've been too paranoid was obviously not a good idea. Once he put his foot in his mouth, though, he couldn't figure out a way to get it out. So, logically, he shoved it all the way down his throat and into his stomach. Way to go, Oliver.

He just felt so helpless when it came to the entire situation! He couldn't stop her attacker the first time, and now he couldn't even let Felicity know he believed in her. Why did he always find a way to hurt this woman? Why couldn't he just be the person she deserved?

"This is not the time for pity, Oliver. Get your head together!" Oliver muttered to himself, feeling like a crazy person.

He knew what he had to do.

While he drove, he called Diggle and told him he would watch over Felicity tonight so Diggle could have some time with a very pregnant Lyla. Diggle seemed suspicious, but didn't press.

After stopping at a café by Felicity's apartment, he climbed off of his bike took a deep breath. This had to be done.

When he got to Felicity's door, he shifted the food and wine he bought and raised his hand to knock on her door. After three light taps, he heard her footsteps in the apartment and immediately started to panic. What if this wasn't a good idea? What if she's busy? What if-

Oliver's thoughts were cut off when Felicity swung the door open, wearing a large t-shirt and one-size-too-big pajama bottoms. He thought she never looked more beautiful.

Felicity narrowed her eyes at him, obviously still mad, and said to him in a clipped tone, "What?"

Oliver couldn't help but be startled at how mad she sounded. Even when she told him to get his head out of his ass last year, she wasn't this mad. The thought made Oliver gulp.

"I brought wine." Oliver replied, letting the first words he could squeeze together fall out of his mouth. He held up the best bottle of wine the café had, and watched as Felicity's wall started falling. She was always weak when it came to wine.

Felicity looked back and forth from him to the wine for a full minute before she opened the door further, indicating he could come in.

When Oliver stepped inside and closed (and locked) the door behind him, he finally got to see Felicity's apartment from the inside. While he had spent many nights on the fire escape, being on the inside felt so much more… intimate.

He saw Felicity grab some wine glasses, so he took that as his cue to open the wine. When he poured the glasses, he could feel Felicity's gaze on him. What could possibly be going through that brain of hers?

"So…" Felicity said, trying to break the tension that was between them.

"Felicity, I'm sorry." Oliver had to say those words before anything else could be said. He had to let her know he knew that he was in the wrong earlier, and that he never should've doubted her.

Felicity paused halfway to her mouth with her wine glass and looked at him. It seemed like she was trying to dig in her brain for a way to respond.

"Gee, what could you possibly be apologizing for, Oliver? Are you apologizing for calling me crazy? Or for not believing me? Or for not having faith in me? Huh? Which is it?"

Oliver's mouth fell open at her bluntness, but he knew that's who she was. She didn't beat around the bush when it came to how she was feeling, and he was forever grateful for that. Except, of course, in that moment.

Oliver took a deep breath and set his wine glass down before grabbing her glass from her hand and setting it down as well. As he reached for her hand, he realized she could easily pull back and not let him take it. After reconsidering it, he placed his hand between them on the couch and rose his eyes to look at her.

That was when he saw she was on the verge of tears. He could get a bruised ego, but he didn't care. He immediately closed the distance between them and tucker her into his side. For the second time that night, he realized she fit there perfectly. With a deep breath, he started talking.

"Felicity, I need you to know that I trust you with everything I have. When you told me he was there, I wanted to break something. Anything. But I knew that wouldn't solve anything. Then, when I saw you breaking, I couldn't help but feel like it was my fault. How could I let that guy get anywhere near you, for the second time no less, without knowing anything?!" He paused to take a deep breath and run a hand through his hair. This was harder than he thought it would be. "I can't lose you, Felicity. I've come so close to losing you so many times, but this time feels different. The not knowing is killing me, and I know it must be taking its toll on you too. We will find him, and when we do, I want you to know that I believe with all of my being that it will be because of you. It won't be because of me or Diggle or the cops. It will be you, because you are amazing and smart. Never let anyone, not even me, make you think otherwise. Okay?"

Felicity had stopped crying and was staring at him. She had a pool of emotions in her eyes, and all he wanted to do was go swimming in them. She looked like she was still processing what he had said, so when he went to let go of her, she squeezed him tighter and pulled him into a hug.

Oliver knew they still had a lot to talk about, but, for now, this was all that needed to be said.

She forgave him.