Ghosts
The soft smile drew closer, every sparkle of sun and fold of masculine lips revealing gorgeous whites, the picture one of high definition. Clandestine happiness had her bones yearning to slide closer, and as if beckoned by the thought himself, slowly he drew near.
She couldn't comprehend the ferocity which she would anticipate this moment, and would forever be changed because of it.
The minuscule space between them was charged, fingers clenching nervously, eyes hooded, even against her every desire to keep them open. To boldly stare at the beauty before her. To brazenly commit every inhale, every twitch, every tilt to memory.
With blood vibrating in her veins and heat pouring like riveting waves through her body, her ears burned to hear her name falling from his lips, knowing the sensual caress would come, and knowing it would be her undoing.
His tongue peaked from behind teeth, lips curling with promises to be fulfilled, her future changing with the passionately uttered syllables.
"Megan."
Felicity jerked awake, heart pounding, body buzzing, the trails of her dream leaving an aching pain in her soul.
With gasping breaths she raised her hands over her hyperventilating mouth, a staggered inhale choking into a tight sob.
Torture. Her mind tortured her even still. Years of absence and still her crimes haunted her in the most treacherous ways.
Years.
Even still, after all this time, she dreamed of stolen moments with him.
She missed him so much. He would never know how he still haunted her.
How her very soul still ached for him.
But more than anything, she cried for the heartbreak her mind would never let her leave.
Never would he call her name.
Felicity
Felicity
She wanted to cry out in misery, scream her desperate rage loud enough for the world to hear. Hands clenched tighter around her gasping mouth. She would only ever allow herself this moment, when sleep and wakefulness overlapped, to wallow in her agony.
Quietly, alone.
Mocked by a world of her own doing.
He always called to Megan. That name bundled in deception and heartbreak, like a sick gift her memories loved twisting before throwing back in her face to wreck her in ways only regret could.
She'd give anything to be her. To be bare of it all.
To be Felicity.
Gotham was nothing special.
Just another dark and dangerous city in the ever corrupt world of espionage and betrayal. Felicity was okay with that though.
She felt a certain kinship with the criminals, lived in a bad part of town, walked the streets at night alone.
A part of her knew it was a self inflicted damnation, and the other part couldn't find it in her to care.
She belonged in the slums.
It was easier to get lost there. Easier to blend in.
People didn't ask questions. Everyone was hiding their own lie, protecting their own secrets.
Felicity was just one of the masses. An unrecognizable face blending into the crowd. Her once artificially blonde locks now the natural shade she'd always fought from before, the mousy brown too dull, too plain in her vibrant world.
Now, however, the blonde felt too bright. The color of sunshine, so happy, accented with pops of color dancing on her lips and painted nails always a delightful hue of the rainbow.
The shell of who she used to be, or who she was now.
It didn't matter, that person was a contradiction to who she was today, that happiness, the naive hope coupled with a zeal for life that had her bumbling over words which could never fall fast enough from her lips, someone she could barley remember.
Everything about her felt different.
Felicity was the name she gave to those who asked. Unwilling to lie about that part of who she was any longer. A defiance in the grand scheme of things that couldn't be shook.
It didn't make a difference though. She was careful to keep her name out of databases that mattered, choosing to work freelance jobs that put enough money on the table and exist quietly in the world.
Exist.
That's all she was doing. Existing.
The passions of her life felt extinguished, the near brush of death from her past only a blip on her senseless journey.
She was in exile, existing only as a means to an end.
Whatever that end may look like.
Her clothing had long since shifted from that of tight skirts and loud patterns, to snug jeans and monochromatic shirts. They matched easily with the vans and converse she slipped into now, a far cry from her once fashionable heels. A bland blend of attire that kept wandering eyes from noticing her, allowing her to slip in and out of crowds unnoticed and unrecognizable.
Her new armor in life.
Even now, with nothing but her dearest possession hanging from her shoulder, walking the streets alone like she usually did, Felicity knew she would be overlooked. An unobtrusive slip of a woman, possibly sad to those who would see her, wondering what she did to end up in a place like this.
If only they knew. Then the looks would be less sympathetic, less pitying.
The crashing of a shattering window had Felicity slowing her walk down the dimly lit street, briefly glancing over her shoulder to the noise from behind her.
Gotham, ever living up to it's name.
A bursting staccato of pops like fireworks had her clutching the strap on her shoulder tighter, her feet picking up to get off the streets faster, her heart jumping in shock.
While she was aimless in life, she still didn't have a death wish.
And Felicity knew gun fire when she heard it.
Screaming and hollering had her ducking into the first ally she could find, knowing all the back streets that could connect her to her apartment, and wanting to be off the streets police would soon be patrolling.
If anyone suspected she saw anything there would be questions.
Questions which always led to more questions, many of which she had no answers.
None to give at least.
Adrenaline began to lick her heels, the thoughts chasing her through the darkness urging her to move faster.
Her steps widened, the thoughts of prying questions—even the simplest of who she was—more terrifying than the firefight happening around the corner.
So absorbed in the thoughts tunneling through her head Felicity missed the blur of movement from above, a dark shadow tumbling suddenly from the sky, landing heavily, mere feet from her.
Felicity skid to a halt, the sudden appearance of a dark mass hunched over itself causing her throat to close in terror. Her heart thud loudly, her mind racing with the new possibilities and factoring in the new equations as he slowly eased himself into a rightened position.
And it had to be a he, because he was huge.
"Great," she mumbled to herself, palms sweating and wringing against the strap on her shoulder, the impending sense of doom urging her to turn back now, to not stick around any longer, to avoid any unnecessary interaction, to be as invisible as she normally was.
The only thing worse than the police was Batman, and she'd never wanted to cross paths with that particular creature of night.
Apparently her mouth was louder and ran away far longer than suspected, for in a split second he went from a slow rightening to a tense stand, his body turning tersely towards her, dark hood pulled low over a shadowed face.
While Felicity had never personally encountered the masked crusader that prowled the streets of Gotham, she knew enough about him to recognize his own flare for recognition in uniform.
"Oh, you're not Batman," Felicity gasped, taking a step back and assessing her exits quickly.
If this was a foe of Batman this was certainly a foe of hers. At least the Bat stood for some grey semblance of justice.
This guy was just a nut!
If it was at all possible the figure before her grew even more stiff, his body rigid and standing straight towards her, impossibly broad shoulders casting an ominous shadow over his looming frame in the most sinister way—her mind racing for a solution.
Maybe she could outrun him?
Her only escape would be to exit from where she entered, and putting her back to an unknown felt less than ideal.
He took a measured step forward, his body bathed in shadows until a faint light cast a peak of clarity on his towering frame.
Felicity felt her throat closing up as she recognized a compact bow grasped in his gloved hand, realizing suddenly who was standing before her.
The Green Arrow.
The Green Arrow of Starling City.
The Starling City she had exposed and left to ruins, the same city that she once proclaimed to run in secret, and clean in pride, under the criminal organization of Helix.
The same city that had a masked vigilante whose motto she, as well as every criminal, knew well.
And Felicity had certainly lived up to that motto.
Had she done so horribly that the Green Arrow would need to collect on her debt? Even after all these years?
Felicity really didn't want to stick around and find the answer to that question out, and without giving it a second though she turned on her heels, springing towards the entrance she'd just come from.
She was not but two steps in her retreat when the twang of a bow string and thunk of an arrow lodging itself into a pipe beside her head had the pressure exploding with a wheezing pop and torrent of hot air spewing out violently. Felicity heard her scream echo horribly along the brick walls, dropping reflexively to her knees and covering her ears as her heart leapt in terror.
He really was here to kill her then.
She had truly failed the city.
With a chocking terror she stood quickly, turning to face her punishment and staring wide-eyed at the figure that loomed before her, now much closer than he previously was.
Her heart was beating a million miles a minute, adrenaline coursing through her veins, air rushing through her lungs in quick gasps, her eyes wide and dilated, fixed tightly on the figure before her. Felicity was mildly surprised she couldn't see anything past the shadows of her accusers hood, even from how close he now stood from her.
They didn't move. The stand off tense, drawling the anxiety from her soul and leaving her shaking in her bones before him.
From the corner of her eye Felicity saw his hand raising, reaching towards her. She clenched her eyes tightly shut, her body frozen, unable and unwilling to stare death in the face.
A longer moments breath had her lungs shuttering, desperate for the last gasp of air on this earth, the sudden scent of leather invading her nostrils and subtle shift in air snapping her eyes open in wide confusion.
He stood before her, hand outstretched, gloved fingers clutching a lock of her long hair, unmoving and frozen.
Her heart was pounding, making it impossible to hear anything else around her.
From this distance Felicity could see so much more, and she found it easier to stare unabashed at the figure before her, eyes wide, lips gnashed between teeth.
Straps and buckles criss crossed strategically along the leather armor he wore, bow tucked behind his back, the metal fletching of arrows peaking from the quiver fashioned to his back. Around his neck Felicity could see the light of technology—possibly a voice altering device—and higher still to the shadow of facial hair framed by a mask coupled with shadows of an impenetrable darkness hiding any discerning facial features.
The only telling thing was the tight clench of his jaw. The muscles balled angrily beneath the scruff in direct contradiction to the gentle caress of her natural tresses clutched between his fingers.
From everything Felicity had ever heard of the Green Arrow, this was certainly not one of them. He was a man to be feared by criminals, but his judgement was always swift and concise, without reprieve.
He seemed to be struggling with her judgement.
A cop car flew past the entrance of the alley, sirens blazing loudly, red and blue lights strobing across the forest green vigilante, the sudden onslaught of reality breaking the odd spell. His body jerked back as if he'd been struck by electricity, hand dropping her hair swiftly and taking a step back suddenly.
The constriction around her chest lightened only marginally, her eyes watching intently as he reached behind his back in one move, firing an arrow into the sky and disappearing from in front of her just as quickly as he'd appeared.
Felicity blinked hard at the empty space in front of her, trying to wrap her mind around what just happened, mouth opening and closing in astonishment, terror, and the wash of cold relief. The wailing of another sire broke her own state of disbelief, followed hotly by a new burst of adrenaline which had her bones shaking and legs trembling beneath her.
She waisted no time grabbing the bag that had fallen to the ground at some point, and sprinted to the exit, intent on barricading herself in the small apartment she owned before she could truly evaluate just what had transpired.
She'd been face to face with death, and lived to tell the tale.
Again.
'Arrow do you copy?…Arrow? Green Arrow do you copy?'
No.
No, he did not copy.
The voice of his counterpart urged in his ear for a response, and even still he found himself immobile, his body a tight coil of muscles, shocked eyes staring down at the opened hand he'd just touched a ghost with.
A hand he'd just touched Felicity with.
Of that Oliver was certain.
It was Felicity.
But Felicity was dead. She had died. Even after four years he still felt the pain of her loss like a fallen limb.
Even after his refusal of the facts, refusal of the coroners report, refusal of his own tracking system going dark, refusal of the constant pleas to move on, to accept reality.
She was not dead.
He was always looking, always watching, long after everyone close in his life had urged him to move on, frustrated with his inability to let it go. To let her go.
He'd never stopped. He'd just gotten better at hiding it. At hiding the pain he refused to accept.
To accept that she was gone.
Felicity was smarter than that.
She is smarter than that.
Oliver's throat felt like he'd swallowed a brick, chest tight with everything that had just happened, replaying every moment like a parched man finally tasting a drop of divine water.
Her small body cowering before him, the foolish bravery buried behind wide terror staring up at him, those blues absent of her remembered frames always perched along smiling cheeks.
A dimming ember of hope suddenly blazing into technicolor fire of reality that left him reeling.
'Arrow do you copy?'
A deeper baritone called in his ear, and still Oliver could not get his throat to work, to form words, to assure his comrades he was alright.
The splayed fingers before him clenched together on his inhale, opening again in disbelief to his frozen eyes on the exhale.
'Arrow do you copy?'
She was alive.
'Arrow!'
She was breathing.
'Arrow!'
She was just standing before him.
'Oliver!'
Oliver reached up, clicking his coms on, mouth falling open, the words all rushing to come out, bottlenecking together in a cluster of what he was saying.
"She's alive," was all he could utter, the verbal acknowledgement bringing a wash of anger with it.
Anger at himself.
Anger at her.
Anger at them.
At everyone who had given up hope. Convinced him to turn his back on her. When he knew—he knew—she was smarter than that. Smarter than all of them. Smarter than anyone had ever given her credit for.
And she had been only cities away! Living in the slums like she had in Starling. He should have known.
'Who's alive?' Diggle asked over the coms, his tone annoyed at his lack of response.
The lick of anger again came to the surface, and Oliver didn't want to be here anymore. He didn't want to hear them in his ear, and he didn't want to be in this damn suit!
"Felicity, Diggle! She's alive." He snapped harshly, reaching up with his clenched fingers to rip the coms from his ear and flip the device off.
He didn't want to hear what Diggle had to say, he didn't want to hear what anyone had to say.
Oliver just needed to think.
He needed to re-evaluate everything.
And dammit to hell if he was going to let her slip away from him a second time.
Oliver looked over the darkened sky of Gotham, brows set in a hard line, body ready for a fight.
They were going to have that talk—once and for all.
There would be no more missed moments, no more lost time.
No more running away.
"Ready or not Felicity." He uttered into the darkness.
Hours later Oliver found himself storming into the bunker, his suit replaced with his typical henley teeshirt and dark jeans, body tense and eyes hard.
He was met by a semi-circle of his team; his sister Thea, Diggle, Roy, and the newest addition—one Laurel Lance.
The Lance sisters were a constant storyline in his life, and reluctantly he'd added the Black Canary to the foray, recognizing the capacity of his ability waining under the high profile missions the group had been undertaking for the better part of three years.
The on again off again relationship with Laurel was toxic at best. In his weakest moments he'd find himself in the familiar comfort of her arms, guilt mixed with an odd self-loathing beating at his chest afterwards. The concerned compassion and tense set of her shoulders now only grated on his nerves and made him more uncomfortable, the guilt that ate at him tinged with something more. He was unwilling to address that particular strand of thought for now. His eyes avoided Laurel to look at Diggle.
From the corner of Oliver's eye he could tell Thea was watching him with that ever concerned sisterly gaze she'd slate his way. He was familiar with it by now, over the past four years he'd been subjected to that stare when she thought he wasn't looking.
Roy darted his eyes nervously from person to person, clearly uncomfortable with the mood in the room. He was as much a hot head as Oliver was, and dealing with high emotional situations was not his forte.
Diggle was a different story.
Diggle was at times the easiest man to read, and others the hardest.
Standing now with his arms crossed and face blank, Oliver could barely discern what he was thinking, and was glad to have that to focus on. It was easier to be angry right now, and easier still to take it out on the man who was there from the beginning of it all.
Diggle was smart enough to know Oliver would't be in a chatty mood when he arrived back to the bunker, but was a good enough friend to know he would need to.
Not that Oliver was ready to talk to anyone.
Seeing them all there both irritated and annoyed him, and the misplaced anger was easier to address than the other bubbles of emotions simmering to explode under it all.
And Oliver was angry.
But he couldn't tell who he was angriest with most.
Wide blue eyes flashed in his mind, his hands balling into tight fist at his side, body tensing, ready for a fight.
Ready for anyone to say the wrong thing.
A shaky trigger finger away from releasing everything he'd bottled up for years.
Diggle could appropriately tell, for with a tilt of his head he addressed the room, his request leaving no argument and more of a polite demand. "Could we have the room?"
Oliver could see the indignation light in Laurel's body as she turned towards Diggle, opening her mouth to protest before tightly shutting it at the look Diggle leveled her way.
There was a tense silence before Laurel begrudgingly conceded, but not before shooting another hard look towards Oliver, assessing him in a way that made him want to snarl at her for.
Oliver refused to remove his eyes from Diggle's larger frame though, would not let her have whatever satisfaction she was looking for, ignoring the side eyes and quiet protest as everyone slowly left the bunker. Allowing himself only a moment of pain when Thea passed with a gentle squeeze of his arm.
Thea knew how much he'd lost over the past four years, and knew him well enough to know he'd talk to her when he was ready.
The echoing of retreating steps was loud in the quiet bunker, the solid closing of the heavy door sealing the tension in the room for only two.
"What happened out there?" Diggle asked steadily, his voice giving nothing away.
Diggle didn't know Felicity. At best he knew Megan, but Oliver always knew they were one in the same. As much as Felicity had disillusioned herself into thinking everything between them was a lie, Oliver knew better, and Oliver was never granted the liberty to prove that.
The anger was back again, his shoulders squaring, mind taking him back to that moment in Gotham.
Felicity staring up at him in terror. Her lithe body smaller than he remembered, her attire unfamiliar, hair a darker shade that must be her natural color. Her face clean of glasses, and the moderate makeup she used to wear a more modest touch of color now, one that only brought the stark blue of her eyes into clearer focus.
She was still so beautiful.
It had taken his breath away.
It had shaken his world.
It had broken his heart. At her. At him. At every miscommunication, every lost moment, every missed opportunity and senseless pain.
It made him angry.
"Felicity is alive." Oliver growled out, watching the small twitch between Diggle's brow before it smoothed out again.
"Oliver," he began, and instantly Oliver knew what he was going to say.
He interrupted Diggle before he could continue, anger spiking higher with each word, "She's alive Diggle, I saw her with my own eyes. She was standing right in front of me!"
Diggle's brow furrowed again, this time staying, contemplating, evaluating, trying to gauge his delusions.
So many times had they had this conversation, but never did Oliver have the proof. Never had he seen Felicity with his own eyes.
That had all changed now. He knew she was alive.
There was nothing on this earth that would change that absolute.
"In Gotham?" Diggle asked, trying to crack Oliver's information open further, to determine the validity of his claim.
Oliver couldn't stand still anymore, the tension in his body vibrating to move, to fight, to do something.
He stalked past Diggle, stopping in front of the elaborate setup of computers and monitors, his hands clenching and releasing at his sides, eyes focusing on nothing and everything in front of him.
"Yes Diggle, in Gotham. Alive." Oliver chopped out, turning partially back towards the man steadily watching his every move, "Terrified, but alive."
He'd put that terror there. But in the desperation of the moment, watching her turn away from him, running away from him again, Oliver did the only thing he could think to stop her in her tracks.
She'd never been in any real danger with him there, but Felicity didn't know that.
Felicity didn't know anything about the Green Arrow.
Just as he'd known nothing of Felicity Smoak. Not until it was too late.
And the pendulum of lies is what wound them up in this mess to begin with.
But was his time gone now? Had she moved on? Was she happy? Did she still care?
"You can't beat yourself up about it Oliver. For all intents and purposes she was dead." Diggle placated, as if seeing the wheels and cogs moving furiously through his head.
Oliver slammed his hand on the aluminum table suddenly, the tension too much. He swung his hands out furiously, the resounding crash of equipment echoing off the walls and swinging wild eyes to Diggle, the anger clawing to get out.
"But she's not dead Diggle! She's been alive and in Gotham this whole time!" He spat, focusing that furry on the man in front of him.
Diggle held both his hands open in submission, tilting his head and voicing the reason he'd always verbalized in times like this, "There was no way of knowing that man. We've always had a trace running on her name. Nothing has ever popped. She went dark, and she knew how to go dark. She must have faked her death, you know how hard it is to find people who don't want to be found."
And that was the crux of the situation.
Felicity had faked her death, had shaken them all.
Oliver could rationalize why she did it. Government agencies from Homeland Security to A.R.G.U.S. and every criminal mastermind jaded by her misdeeds would be hot on her tail following the blowout from Helix, but Oliver thought he was better than that, better at prowling the streets for the real information.
Oliver knew how easy it was to fake a death. He'd seen it done time and again throughout his life. He'd always held a small hope that she might have faked it all, that he could find her, that she'd let him find her, even after everyone had written him off as crazy.
Had encouraged him to give up.
Had pleaded with him to stop looking for the lost dead girl.
She was just a criminal, why would he care so much anyways? It was the unasked undercurrent of every conversation on the topic.
But Oliver knew better, had known better. He was angry at himself for allowing the noise of everyone's misplaced reasoning to weaken his resolve. To hit the streets and look harder, to look like he was trained to do.
So he bottled the topic away, finding himself on missions, watching faces, peering into shadows, hoping for some signs that would point to an answer. Never committing himself fully to a search, secretly fostering the dim hope that felt like a child's dream.
He was alone and absolute in that respect, unwilling to give that part up completely.
In the quiet of his mind Oliver could also admit to himself that he was scared. That he didn't know what was better.
To keep looking for the dead, or find out one day she really was.
Oliver could admit that past the ember he secretly harbored he'd never allowed himself to dream of the what if's. The feasible reality feeling more like a pipe dream and less like possibility. Never fantasized past the idea of her actually living. He didn't know what that would even look like. How it would transpire. How he really felt about it.
The emotional churning was endless, his mind a vapid hole of self-loathing and longing.
And the reality was more powerful than anything he could have imagined.
To just stumble across her, by chance, by coincidence.
It felt like this was the first time the universe was giving him something, and it was a foreign feeling. One that left him skeptical, left him feeling like the other shoe was going to drop.
The world was never this kind, especially not to Oliver.
At Oliver's silence Dig took a slow step forward, gauging his next words carefully, uncertain where that left everything.
"What do you want to do from here?" He asked.
The question was loaded. That same question one that ran on repeat in Oliver's mind.
What did he want to do from here?
Where did he go from here?
Charge into her life? Demand more answers? Find everything out that he could? Oliver didn't know what he was supposed to do.
He didn't know if he was even ready to do anything.
But he needed to.
The urge to do something was one that wasn't going anywhere, but for the first time in a long time, the obvious course of action was a blurred haze of unknowns.
So many things had changed since that last brief, and heartbreaking, conversation with Felicity.
Oliver had left then, feeling on a high. A small loss to a greater victory. Thinking all his ducks we're in order. The tracker was on her persons, his professional life was being fixed, hard decisions were made, but before Oliver could follow through with his promise to finish their talk, to have the real conversation, everything had gone to hell.
The Undertaking was a criminal masterpiece that went far beyond what was on the usb encryption Felicity had given him, more organized, more destructive, and far more sinister than anyone could have planned.
It was only partially stopped.
Oliver was only able to prevent one bomb from exploding, and when the rest had set off it was to a magnitude of destruction no one couldn't have prepare for. Cities upon cities had been targeted. Executed with cold deliberation. Simultaneous explosions had rocked the country, hundreds of thousands of lives had been lost.
Felicity's tracker had been lost in one of those explosions.
Oliver would never forget that moment.
The comforting blue dot, a beacon of possibilities yet unexplored, suddenly absent on the map.
Oliver could never forget the mad desperation he's felt as he rushed to the location where the GPS had last pinged, unwilling to believe, needing to see, his heart pounding in denial. He'd never forget the ice that had seized his bones to the core upon seeing the total obliteration of rows and blocks of charred buildings. Their exposed beams and ruins standing out like daunting skeletons in hell.
It was chaos.
There would have been no way to escape that alive.
Countless unidentified bodies had been pulled from the rubble, an archaic list of death coming out every day for hollowed eyes to see.
He'd stuck to that list like every other person, waiting with baited breath, denial screaming in his head, the agony a slow and torturous wait, until the day came when he, like so many others, saw a name on that list that he never wanted to see.
And it was her real name.
Felicity Megan Smoak.
The memory still made his heart to a shudder. The remembrance of disbelief, agony, heartbreak and misery one Oliver would never forget.
He'd been too late. Too slow in his attempt to tidy his life up with the perfect bow. And in the end none of that had mattered.
In his distraction of pointless nonsense he missed his only opportunity to find her.
Oliver was a stubborn man though.
Stubborn or stupid.
Denial or delirium.
He'd refused to believe it.
But he'd become complacent in his fading hope.
"I don't know." Oliver finally admitted, the fight feeling like it was draining from his body, the turbulent emotions waxing and waning faster than he could keep up with.
Oliver wouldn't give up. It went against his nature, from the first moment he was kidnapped, to this moment right here, he never wanted to become complacent again.
Oliver could feel his resolve steeling. He would right this wrong that had gone on for far, far, too long.
With a fire burning in his eyes he looked over to Diggle, "I'm going to find her." He told Diggle with a resolution he could feel settling deep with absolute.
"I'm going to find her, and we're going to finish our talk."
Diggle only stared back, knowing there was nothing he could say that would convince him otherwise.
"What about Highsmith?" Diggle questioned, the man still at large, his particular charm that of trafficking arms and women. They'd traced a lead to a cell organization in Gotham, and were one step closer to pinpointing his operations, but Oliver knew they were far enough along to continue without him.
"You're more than capable Dig. Lead the team like we planned. If anything too serious comes up I'll be there." And though the words felt like lead in his mouth Oliver knew he would. The mission was still important, but this mission was for his life.
Wide blue eyes flashed in his minds eye.
It was long overdue for him to selfishly pressure a small iota of happiness in his bleak life.
Whatever outcome occurred, Oliver would accept it.
But he couldn't leave it like it was.
"I have to find her Dig." He told him, and Diggle only nodded, a small tilt lining his lips.
"I know man." Diggle clasped his hand over Olivers shoulder, nodding once, "I hope you do this time."
A week.
His search had lasted for a week. A week of casual inquiries around the block he'd stumbled across Felicity on, a week of prowling the area at night, a week of waiting to see if she would walk the same path again, a week of nervous anticipation and doubt wreaking havoc in his life.
Finally though, his efforts had paid off.
Standing in the shadows of a balcony from the same alley he'd first laid eyes on her Oliver felt the breath catch in his chest. As if she'd been beckoned by the universe, a gift he didn't deserve, a divine coincidence he wouldn't question, he heard soft steps echoing through the concrete labyrinth, waiting with anticipation to see the person daring to walk through the darkly lit space alone.
He wasn't disappointed when a moment later a slip of a silhouette appeared, the frame too small to be that of a man, too delicate. The lights from the equally dangerous road casting shadows across her body, much like it hid his own.
She paused at the mouth of the alley, looking down the dim entrance.
Oliver could only guess what she was thinking.
He thought she would keep walking, choosing to stay to the path of street lamps and open spaces. He should have known better.
Felicity couldn't help herself when she was curious.
She took a hesitant step forward, then another, her pace growing steady, back straight. That messenger bag he knew held her trusted computer slug over her shoulder like the quiver slung over his.
A security light cast the first glimpse of her face to Oliver.
He felt his heart leap, the slopes and angles of her face coming into focus through the darkness.
Oliver stood as still as he could, knowing she wouldn't be able to see him from his vantage point, and took full advantage of his position, drinking in the image she made like a voyeur, committing every new detail to memory.
Felicity was the same as the last he'd seen her.
Simple dark jeans, forest green shirt, a denim jacket to keep the slight bite of autumn from her skin. She looked smaller than he remembered, and Oliver wondered if she was eating properly, his concern a nagging pest.
Why would she even walk the streets so late alone?
Why, still, would she choose to go back down the ally she probably thought she would die in?
The would have to talk about her safety after this was all said and done. And if Oliver had any say in it he would make sure she was at least more equipped to deal with a dangerous situation.
His life was full of them after all, and he'd learned that the insistent need to always protect his friends and family was a pipe dream, there would be times that he couldn't. So he worked to equip them all with their own ability.
Felicity slowed her steps where the broken pipe was, the pierced hole still there. Gotham residents in this part caring just as little about the structural integrity as the Glades did.
Oliver watched as she gazed at the spot, wondering what she was thinking, watched as she shifted her attention forward, and then up, towards the rooftop he'd retreated up last time.
Oliver contemplated dropping before her again, wondered what she would think seeing him again, but then remembered the terror in her eyes from that night.
He decided against it, knowing she would probably think he would be there to finish something he'd started, and while he knew his presence again would spook her, he didn't want her to have the option of running from him again.
Not until he had a chance to say what he needed to say.
After that, Oliver conceded to himself, he would respect whatever decision she made.
If she didn't want him in her life, if he'd horribly misread every interaction they shared, if their time had passed, he would respect it.
It would be a new wound he would have to recover from, but it would be the finality he so desperately needed to move forward with in his life.
So he stood still, silently quietly watching as Felicity shook her head and began the trek down the alley to the opposite entrance. And with skills that were ingrained into his body from a young age, Oliver began the game, following her down winding blocks of buildings to a dingy apartment nestled between equally as decrepit establishments.
Apparently, he would have to advise her on her choice of living quarters too.
Oliver watched Felicity from a separate building as she entered the small apartments, his power of deduction leaving him confident that he could find her room, timing the point of her entry to the point of a light flipping on floors higher and knowing that was the one.
An excited adrenaline ran along his body, fingers clenching at his side in anticipation.
It was now or never.
The time to expose his own secrets, his own truth, finally here.
He waited a little longer, seeing lights dim and flip further inward, knowing his moment was now.
Oliver leapt with the help of his trained agility, grappling across the street unseen and landing quietly on the emergency fire escape outside one of her apartment windows.
With little effort he slid the window open, sliding quietly into the apartment and feeling his feet freeze as he turned to face the space.
It was a small dwelling, simple living space, small kitchen, a half hallway with one door opened to a lit room. From the echoing acoustics he could hear it was probably the bathroom, another door to the left going to what he assumed was a bedroom.
Nothing was decorated much, just small odds and ends that he suspected Felicity wouldn't mind parting with at a moments notice.
The life of someone always looking over her shoulder, always on the run, never comfortable anywhere they stayed.
Oliver was intimately familiar with the feeling.
His own escape from his past resembling this at one point in time.
He could hear Felicity shuffling around in the bathroom, could see her bag slung over the kitchen counter with her jacket, briefly hoping she was decent, and not in a state of total undress.
While he wouldn't mind the view, this was neither the time or place.
And it would make his sudden appearance a bit more unwelcome than he already was.
Oliver didn't know how the next moment would go, but could only brace himself as he heard her moving about, feeling himself standing stiffly in the room as the light casting a shadow of her body moved, becoming clearer, placing her in his sight finally.
Oliver felt his breath catch at seeing her so close again, his heart pounding, body unmoving.
She was brushing her teeth, aimlessly walking out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen when she suddenly saw him.
Later, he could acknowledge the comical situation, but now he could only stare wordlessly.
Felicity's eyes widened, a shocked cry leaving her occupied mouth. The toothbrush ripping from her mouth in a flurry of foam flying, the plastic apparatus held out towards him like a defense weapon, mouth wanting to fall open but clamping shut awkwardly to prevent toothpaste from frothing out.
"Hmmm!" She yelled incoherently at him, the sound muffled by her full mouth, body facing fully towards him.
Neither moved.
Oliver watched her eyes dart to the kitchen, and just as he suspected, in four quick strides she was standing in front of the sink, eyes never leaving his form. Felicity quickly spat the foam in her mouth out, reaching up with her other hand to swipe at her face and zoning her entire attention back at him.
"What are you doing in my apartment?!" She demanded, her words enunciated with a wave of her hand holding out that stupid toothbrush in front of her, wielding it like a weapon it certain was not.
"Felicity Smoak." Oliver spoke, his voice warped by the voice modulator at his throat.
He could see the defenses building around her, her shoulders squaring, mouth thinning.
"What do you want with me?" She demanded again, her voice hard, the edge of anger and a dash of fear in the tone.
"I have a couple questions for you." Oliver told her, watching her throat work as she swallowed heavily, her eyes darting to the door and back.
"I don't have any answers to give you." She defended hotly, unwilling to submit to whatever interrogation she surely imagined he'd put her under.
"You have more than you know." He ominously retorted, his own anger of unanswered questions and open ended lies coming to the forefront.
"I already gave all the information I had away," Felicity told him, her hand wagging towards the door, "get out of my apartment!"
Her dismissiveness was to be expected, but Oliver was ready.
He didn't move, watching as a fire lit in her own eyes, undoubtably sick of every terrifying encounter she had with him.
Felicity waved that damn toothbrush at him again, and Oliver was hard pressed to yank it from her fingers. See what answers she would concoct without the safety of her misguided weapon of choice.
"Why are you stalking me?!" She yelled at his silence, and Oliver didn't like the way the accusation was thrown in his face, the need to defend himself a quick compulsion.
"Can you stalk the dead?"
She took a shocked step back, panic edging in her small frame.
"I'm not dead. Yet," she spat back, and Oliver didn't know how he wanted to reply, he wasn't trying to terrify her more.
Felicity continued on, her personality uncomfortable in silence, a trait he knew too well. That mouth of hers was a freight train of words, even when she didn't want it to be. "I had to disappear, apparently even the Green Arrow was after my head." She arched a frantic brow, trying—and failing—to gauge his intentions in her apartment. "Correction, is still after my head."
"I'm not here to kill you." His voice was flat, even through the modulator.
Felicity huffed indignantly at him, the disbelief clear.
"You're in my apartment! All leathered and ready to finish what everyone else thinks is done. What difference does it make anyways? Why come to finish the job? It's been years, I never killed anyone, I was practically doing the same thing you do. It feels a lot like the pot calling the kettle black," she paused, arching a mocking brow at him, "or green rather."
Oliver couldn't believe she would argue with someone so dangerous in a situation like this, but Felicity had always been a bit of a spitfire.
That was something she never hid from him in any form.
It was endearing. Warmed his heart in an odd way. Seeing the sliver of what he used to know coming from a situation of unknowns.
He didn't like to think she would do something so foolish to the wrong criminal thought.
"I'm not here to kill you." Oliver repeated, trying to take the edge out of his voice.
Felicity waved that stupid toothbrush at him again.
"You're not taking me back there."
He knew what she meant by that, and was shocked by how angry it suddenly made him.
"Are you scared?" He couldn't help the sneer, his voice a mocking taunt. Angry that she would just write him off like that, angry that she could just move on with her life, angry that she would never want to come back to Starling, to face him, to talk to him.
Oliver didn't know how this conversation was going to go coming in here, and this wasn't what he was anticipating.
"Of course I am!" Felicity yelled in the face of his mockery, "How could I go back after everything I've done? Would you?!"
The anger finally took over.
"I don't run from my problems!"
At one point in his life Oliver might have, but not now, not ever again. He chose to face them head on, to air them, to learn from them.
Felicity took a step back as if he'd physically slapped her, brows pulling down in her own anger.
"I'm not running away from my problems! I've been fixing them from the moment I left." She hotly defended.
"How can a dead girl fix anything."
Oliver knew he was being harsh, the statement like gravel on an open wound, but the pleasantries of this conversation had long since passed.
Felicity was silent for a long moment, mouth opening and closing, the words not coming forward.
Her frame suddenly loosened, arm dropping to her side, eyes falling from their fixed position of his frame to the couch wedge against the stained wall of her apartment.
"It's personal."
Oliver couldn't help the reactive arch to his brow, she couldn't see his face anyways. His own armor firmly in place, hidden behind the wall of shadows and anger.
He seized on the shift in topic, knowing this might be his only chance to hear an unfiltered truth from the flighty woman he'd agonized over for the past four years.
"What happened? You break some poor fools heart?" He taunted, wanting to see the fire back in her body, not this sad defeat she carried around now.
Felicity scoffed, waving her hand dismissively towards the front door.
"Why do you care so much anyways? What, are you following me? Just go back to Starling and leave me alone. There's nothing left for me there. There's no need for you to be here."
Oliver was done playing this charade with her, his anger mounting with her flippant disregard of his questions. And why would she answer him? He was the Green Arrow.
She needed to have this talk with Oliver Queen.
With that thought Oliver steeled his resolve, his body humming with what he was about to do, the doubt pushed to the back of his mind. He reached up, pulling the hood from his head harshly and flipping his voice modulator off, the mask falling from his face, taking swift strides forward until he was only a small distance away, exposing himself fully before her. Ripping the last of his own defenses down.
"I will never leave you alone Felicity! Not until you actually listen to me for one damn moment!"
The loud bark of his unfiltered voice shook the walls of her small space, the baby blue eyes widening further than he'd ever seen, mouth falling open in shocked disbelief.
He could see the cords of her throat working, pulse rapid under the skin, body frozen and eyes locked to his angry expression.
"O—Oliver?"
She choked his name out, the fight from earlier gone completely, her tone breathy and barley a whisper.
For once it felt good to be the one not shocked in the face of truth, to be the one ripping the carpet out from under someone.
"Do you know what it was like Felicity? To think you were dead? To know how many secrets were still between us?" He couldn't help the steady rise of his voice, his heart pounding loudly in his own ears, anger giving him the courage he needed to see this through.
Because the lies between them would be through after this.
Felicity could only stare up at him, unblinking saucers showing the disbelief, agony, and sadness clearly, mouth agape.
Oliver wasn't done yet though.
"Do you know what it's like to think I could never tell you the truth? To never right my own wrongs? To never be given the chance?"
A sheen of tears were beginning to form on those beautiful blues, and as much as Oliver wanted to tone his anger down he couldn't—not yet. Not until he could get her to just listen to him for once.
"You ran away before I could even tell you. Just left, even after I tracked you down in the first place. You wouldn't let me get a word in, so set! So ready to write me off! You thought I was so perfect, put me on a pedestal. The you kicked the chair out from underneath me!"
Felicity raised her hands to her mouth at the harsh accusations, covering it quickly, the pooling tears dropping with a quick blink, dripping down her cheeks.
The raw emotions bared before him made the raging fire cool marginally, had Oliver turning from her distraught face, brining his own gloved hands across his face. Re-focusing his mind from the angry torrent he was throwing at her.
A small part relished in the thought of shaking her world up as much as she had his, but it was a petty thought, and he wasn't here to make her feel worse.
He wanted to make things better.
He took a steady breath, cooling his emotions down, organizing his thoughts carefully, setting his mind on the mission.
"There's always another way. I told you that we could figure it out, but you were so stubborn." Oliver admonished softer after a tense moment, turning back towards her and watching as she tried to suppress a gasping inhale.
He couldn't watch her struggle with those emotions so harshly, was shocked by his compulsion to comfort her, even after all this time. Wanting desperately to smooth the hurt between them.
Wanting desperately to break the barriers between them down.
Oliver reached a gloved hand out, clasping the side of her head softly before trailing his thumb along the trail of wet tears streaking down her cheek.
More quickly fell down their path, and Oliver shook his head gently.
"There's always another way."
Felicity's breath heaved harshly, her body shuddering.
"There's still another way. We can always find another way."
Felicity released her hands from around her mouth, one reaching up to grasp at his wrist, the other hovering in the space between them.
Oliver grabbed her wrist, pulling it forward and placing her hand across his heart, letting her feel the quickened pulse, letting her feel how it still raced for her. Letting the very last barrier down, and putting everything he had left before her. Terrified she would turn him away still, terrified she would still be unwilling to give them a chance.
"Oliver," she whispered into the space, her glassy eyes staring deeply into his own.
He felt her slip her hand from his clasped against his chest, fingers slowly raising to skim the edge of his jaw, the touch only a feathers graze, but the first skin to skin contact in so long having Oliver closing his own eyes. Relishing in the feeling, his heart beating wildly in his chest, longing desperately to have her back in his life.
To have this again.
To be with her again.
"You're the Green Arrow," she whispered quietly, her voice trembling with things she never knew, answers Helix never had.
Oliver opened his eyes to peer back into her own again, letting the raw emotions seep into his voice, "please don't push me away again Felicity." He pleaded, his own voice a soft whisper between them.
She closed her eyes with a hiccuping sob, and before Oliver knew what Felicity was doing she was suddenly moving, lithe arms wrapping around his neck, banding tight, face buried in his chest.
Oliver felt the breath in his chest hitch, his own arms moving to clasp tightly around her body, head lowering to be in her orbit.
This was what he wanted.
For so long this is what he was missing.
This is what always felt like home, and for the first time it felt like all the weight was lifted from his shoulders.
All the lies between them gone.
Just Oliver and Felicity.
"Please don't push me away again Felicity," Oliver pleaded into her shoulder, needing to hear her say it, needing to know she wouldn't run away from him again.
He felt her shake her head against him, arms tightening around his neck.
"Im so sorry," she apologized, her chest heaving with her tears, and Oliver rubbed his hand in soothing circles on her back, shushing her with a natural sway he couldn't control.
Felicity made him a sap. Made him want to bundle all that pain away. Made him want to do better, be better.
"Please don't apologize to me," Oliver muttered, his own lies also a factor in what landed them in this mess.
Felicity shook her head again.
"I was such a fool," she wept softly. "All this time, and I was such a fool. I never stoped thinking about you," Felicity admitted, her voice muffled by his suit and tears, his own heart constricting at the admission. "I never once stopped thinking about you."
Oliver could feel his own eyes watering, could feel his own pain surfacing. He closed them quickly, tucking her deeper against him.
"I didn't either." He muttered against her hair, his throat closing with the secret he'd carried for four years.
"Im so sorry." She apologized again, a sob choking her off.
"Me too." He whispered, raising his head to burry his nose in her hair, to take her in like he had never allowed himself of dreaming. "We can figure this out," he promised, feeling his confidence swell with the nod against his chest, feeling like they were finally on the right path.
"We will figure this out." He promised.
The road ahead of them was unexplored. Oliver knew it wouldn't be an easy one, the logistics one he didn't even know how to go about.
None of that mattered though.
With Felicity in his arms, with Felicity in his life, Oliver knew that anything was possible.
They could make it work, the details something that would come later.
For now though, in the dimly lit apartment, with nothing but truths between them and a cleared slate in front of them, the world was at their fingertips.
For the first time in such a long time Oliver could feel something he hadn't in a long while.
A sense of home.
Happiness.
Love.
And that was probably the strongest of all. The guiding force in his manic denial of her death, the passion of this mission. The deepest longing in his heart.
The ember of hope he'd fostered close to his heart for years, unwilling to let it extinguish.
"I love you," Oliver confessed, unable to keep that secret from her any longer, watching as she pulled away from him, reaching a hand towards his face, palm warm against his cheek, eyes staring deeply into his own, a small sad smile blooming on her face. "I love you, Felicity."
Felicity studied his face, eyes roaming from his mouth to his nose, gliding to his lips.
"I was such a fool," she whispered, "in my love for you I almost destroyed us."
Oliver felt his heart stutter in his chest, hearing the words slipping from her own mouth.
She smiled happily at him, voice a soft whisper between them. "I love you too Oliver. I always have."
Oliver smiled at her, leaning towards her, no longer fighting the desire that was bubbling in him since he'd seen her again from that dark ally.
Their lips met in the sweetest of reunions, a piece of happiness clicking into his soul.
Oliver would change nothing of the past to have this moment right here with her.
Felicity pushed him away, her face aghast, mock anger on her mouth. She gently punched him in the shoulder, "I cant believe you almost shot me with an arrow!"
It was the last thing Oliver was expecting to fall from her lips, and he couldn't help the amused smile cracking his lips, a small chuckle slipping out.
"You were never in any real danger." He assured, pulling her back towards him.
Felicity giggled, the mood lightened, feeling suddenly playful, the sound a tinkling bell of happiness he would aim to hear every day. "You totally almost shot me with an arrow!" She protested with a laugh, her mirth an infectious mood.
Oliver arched a brow, bending down and scooping her up bellow the legs, her shocked laughter filling the air. "I would never shoot you with that arrow." He teased, relishing in the way she wrapped her legs around his waist, arms twining around his shoulders.
She leaned forward catching his lips with her own, the passion that always ran between them sparking to life.
When they separated she was breathy, a happy shine to her eyes, a beautiful smile on her lips.
"Well, I can think of one arrow I wouldn't mind." She teased and Oliver growled playfully, bouncing her once in her arms and hearing her elating laugh.
"Ms. Smoak, are you trying to seduce the Green Arrow?" He mocked.
"Depends," Felicity breathlessly giggled, leaning forward until her lips were a hair from his, "is it working?"
"Oh, its working just fine." Oliver teased back, sealing the space between them and walking them across the room.
"This must must be a dream," Felicity mumbled against his mouth, fingers reaching up to run through his hair. "I'm dreaming again."
Oliver arched a brow, smirking at the dazed look in her eyes. "Do you dream about me Felicity?" He teased, alarmed when her face turned sad, her eyes tracing along his face.
"Not like this," she confessed, grazing fingers along the bone of his brow to the arch of his nose, "never like this."
Oliver leaned forward, kissing her soundly again, willing himself to pull the bad thoughts from her head. He never imagined how easy it would be to fall back into this happiness, knew there were new darknesses to shine a light on, but was ready to face them with her.
"Then let's give you something new to dream about."
Oliver didn't know what the future had in store for them, but he was ready.
Whatever obstacles came between them he would be ready.
And for once, he was confident that they would defeat them.
Just Felicity and Oliver.
Together.