God, Oliver looked hot in a suit.

Sure, it wasn't like Felicity didn't see Oliver in several aesthetically pleasing states of dress (or undress, for that matter) on a regular basis. But as much as she loved the way those leather pants hugged his body – in all the right places, too – there was something about the sharpness of a suit, the crispness of a shirt and tie, that Felicity had missed over the last few months.

But there was more to it than that. Of course there was. He was opening up to her, about his time away, about how it had changed him, in a way he'd only done on a few occasions in the past. And before, Felicity had always sensed he was holding something back each time.

This time, though, it was different. That much she knew.

"But then I walked into your office," Oliver went on, and Felicity could see his expression changing in an instant. Where, just seconds before, he was solemn (he was no longer nervous, true, but in a way, seeing the pain in Oliver's eyes, the vulnerability that he practically never let see the light of day, let alone to her, was worse), now his lips bore the beginnings of a smile. There was something so reminiscent about the way he looked at her, nostalgic, almost. Immediately, in her mind's eye was their first meeting, when he had presented her with that bullet-ridden laptop with a smile and a flourish that had made it impossible for her to refuse. "You were the first person I could see as a… a person."He huffed out a little sigh, shaking his head and glancing up (was it in wonder? Exasperation, maybe?) before continuing, "There was just something about you."

Shifting from side to side, Felicity's hand went unconsciously to her hair, and she looked away in embarrassment. "Oh, yeah, I was chewing on a pen."

"It was red," he told her. And Felicity couldn't stop herself from smiling too. If any part of her had doubted Oliver's feelings in the last twenty-four hours, or if in the back of her mind she had wondered if they were really, truly reciprocated, the fact that he could recall that day with as much clarity as her proved otherwise.

She opened her mouth, wanting to speak, to say something at least. But it was impossible, because what could she even say to that?

Thankfully, for once, Oliver seemed content with being the chattier one. Still, he was hesitant, his words coming out slowly, carefully, as if he had thought about them for a long time. "Do you remember when I told you that because of what we do, I didn't think that… I could be with someone that I… that I could really care about?"

It was only then that Felicity realised she was holding her breath, that Oliver was looking her full in the eyes now, earnest, hopeful. Quickly, she nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

Of course she remembered. She had thought about those very words so often, more so than she wanted to admit.

Felicity watched him, expectant, but also hardly daring to believe that he was going to say what she thought he would.

"So maybe I was wrong," Oliver said.

And at last, Felicity allowed herself to let go of what had always held her back, just a little, from accepting that he did have feelings for her. This time, she did nothing to stop the smile from spreading on her lips, or even the incredulous half-laugh that escaped her mouth.

"Oliver, are you…" Felicity paused, because at that moment, Oliver looked briefly over his shoulder, squinting for a moment into the night sky. But then his gaze returned to Felicity, and she took a deep breath, trying again. "Are you saying that… that everything you said at the mansion was – true?"

And when Oliver's hand covered hers on the table, Felicity found herself closing her eyes at his touch. "I'm sorry for that," he said softly.

She tried to laugh (that wasn't the answer she was expecting, to say the very least, and she was trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her heart). But all that came out of her mouth was a choked sound from her throat. She tugged her hand away instead, avoiding the slightly crestfallen look in Oliver's eyes. "Sorry for what, exactly?"

He sighed. "For a lot of things," he said, "but especially for putting you in danger."

But Felicity shook her head. "You apologised for that already."

"Not just that. I… should have told you. Asked you, at least, if you wanted to go through with it, but –"

"– you wanted a convincing performance?" she suggested lightly.

"That's the thing," he said, and that slightly faraway look in his eyes was back. And this time, Felicity was the one to cover his hand with hers on the table. "It wasn't a performance."

She couldn't help feeling frustration as well as hopefulness when he said that, because he was still skirting around the subject. "What does that mean?"

At first, Oliver didn't answer, and Felicity watched as his mouth opened and closed, as if unsure what to say. Then, to what looked like Oliver's relief, the waiter who had given them their drinks approached their table again.

"Ready to order?" he asked.

"Not yet," Felicity said. Despite the very conversation they were having, she laughed to herself – he had asked her out to dinner, but neither of them had so much as glanced at their menus. The waiter nodded politely and made to leave, but again, Oliver stopped him.

"I heard the bruschetta's supposed to be good here," Oliver said, picking up his menu. "I can't remember the last time I had Italian… but I can remember I liked bruschetta. And… uh, those stuffed olives sound nice too. If you want. You like olives, right?"

"God, now I know how you feel having to put up with me babbling when I'm nervous," Felicity muttered, more to herself than to Oliver, but it was obvious he heard. Still, he didn't say anything, instead shooting her an apologetic half-smile before giving his order to the waiter.

Felicity returned her attention to her menu. "And… I'll have the ravioli, please."

"Certainly, ma'am," the waiter said, and he took away their menus.

"Sorry," Oliver muttered when they were alone once more. "I just…" He trailed off.

"…you just think we're doing this in the wrong order?"

Oliver looked relieved. "Something like that. And though, most of the time, I feel like you know me better than almost anyone, there is also… a lot of me that you don't know. That no one knows. And I was in such a dark place for the years I was away… and even when I came back. Sometimes, I feel like I'll go back there if I tell you."

"That makes two of us." The words were out of Felicity's mouth before she could stop them.

He raised his eyebrows. "How do you mean?"

"I mean… there are a lot of things you don't know about me too."

"Please," he said, and the smile was back in his eyes as he took a sip of his drink, "name one."

Briefly, Felicity smiled, but it faded as she stared at a spot just above Oliver's shoulder. "For a long time… I was in a bad place. For most of my life, it feels like. And – I've lost people too."

"Do you mean your father?" he asked softly. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because Oliver then added, "The only time I have ever seen you upset, truly upset, was when you talked about him."

"Yeah, I mean – that's not to say he's the only person I've lost, because he definitely isn't, but when he left… it did change me. Obviously it's different because, well, he's not dead. That I'm fairly sure of." She closed her eyes, but they opened once she felt his hand on her bare arm. Automatically, Felicity leaned into his touch; it was comforting, for some reason, to feel his warm, slightly calloused palm on her skin.

"Hey," he said, "you don't have to tell me. Not if you don't want to."

"I know I don't," Felicity said, grateful for his words but wanting to press on anyway. "I… never told you why I got into – hacking. I mean, I told you what I tell everyone –"

"That computers are just easier to be around than people," Oliver said, nodding.

She allowed herself a moment to once again to smile to herself, appreciate the fact that Oliver most definitely had memory every bit as sharp as his arrows. "The truth is, that was only half of it. Because after my dad left – let's just say I took it really badly."

"Well, you were just a kid, right?"

"That didn't matter. I took it so badly that I spent most of what was left of my childhood teaching myself how to hack into… well, anything."

"So you could find him?" he guessed.

"Yeah," Felicity said faintly. "It helped, you know, that before he left, he taught me everything I know about computers. I guess you could say I was a bit of a daddy's girl," she added, and this time, she managed a smile. "And all that time I was looking for him, or teaching myself new ways to find him, I had a purpose. And for some reason, that made it easier."

"I get that."

"Anyway. When I was about thirteen, I finally found him."

She paused now, trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat.

"And?" Oliver prompted gently.

"Turned out he hadn't just left my mother," she said at last. "He had left her – us – for someone else. They even had a couple of kids together. And for a long time, I thought about contacting him. But every time me and my mom talked about him, I always got the feeling that she felt she wasn't good enough for him, and that was why he left. So when I found out that he had other kids… well, it made me think I wasn't good enough. To be his daughter."

"Felicity –"

"It's okay," she interrupted. "Really. That was when I was barely a teenager, and with serious daddy issues, too. It was a long time ago. I know I'm worth more than that."

"A lot more," Oliver murmured.

Squeezing his hand gratefully, Felicity hesitated, trying to pick her words carefully. "For the longest time, everything I did – academically and otherwise – was because I wanted him to be proud of me. I pushed myself, way too hard, and I pushed too many people away in the process." She paused again, taking a deep breath. "Until I met you. I'm… I've never said this, but I'm glad I joined you when I did. God knows what my life would be like if I hadn't."

"It would probably be less chaotic," he said dryly. "Although I doubt our city would even be in one piece if it weren't for you."

"True," Felicity said, smiling, "but… that's not what I meant. Not exactly. I was talking more about how my life would have been just as predictable." She looked away from him. "And just as lonely. If not lonelier."

"I know a thing or two about that," Oliver admitted quietly. "On the island, it wasn't like I didn't have company, or friends. I had Yao Fei, and Shado, and Slade, even. And Sara, for a while. But even if I had been surrounded by a hundred people, that didn't change the fact that…"

"…that in your head, you were still alone?" Felicity's voice was softer now, unexpectedly so.

"Exactly. And… you once told me it was better to be alone."

"In my defence, I had just seen someone die in front of me for the first time. As in, it was the first time I could have prevented him dying and couldn't."

"So you don't really think that?" He didn't look surprised. Not really. More bemusement than anything.

"I think it's easier being alone," she said, once she'd found her voice again. "Not better. Easier. Less complicated, less difficult, less… emotionally draining."

And when their eyes met this time, it was obvious he knew what she meant.

"When I took you to the mansion," Oliver said slowly, "I knew I was putting a lot on the line. The fate of Starling City, your life, Laurel's… but there was something else. I wondered if you would ever forgive me."

"Oliver," Felicity began, but the words got stuck in her throat.

"Not just for putting you in harm's way. I was worried… terrified, actually, that I had screwed up any chance of being with you. Properly. Because the first time I told you how I felt, how I really felt, was for the benefit of someone else."

"On the island," she said, and to her annoyance, her words came out as a croak. She coughed, clearing her throat and trying again. "On the island… I gave you the chance to take it back. If you wanted."

There was a long, pregnant pause.

"I remember," Oliver said at last.

"I was glad you didn't," Felicity blurted out before she could stop herself. But she could feel Oliver's hand turn over and squeeze hers at her words.

"Me too," he said. "Actually, I couldn't take it back if I tried. Because it was true. Every word of it." Felicity didn't say anything – she couldn't, even if her life depended on it – so she brought her other hand onto the table instead, making the cutlery clatter in the process. But she didn't care.

Oliver did the same, and his hands were warm, rough, beneath hers, his thumb rubbing a circle on her palm. He was still gazing right at her, and she shifted a little closer on her chair so she could feel their knees bump together under the table, and that alone accelerated her already rapid heartbeat. "And the truth is, for so long, I've convinced myself that I can't be happy. But I was wrong. Because I realised something, these last few weeks. I realised that I could do both. I could protect the city I love, and I could be with the woman I love, too." He lifted her hand, then, and to her shock, he pressed a kiss on her knuckles, before looking up at her. "I love you, Felicity."

Felicity blinked, and she wondered if she had heard right – had Oliver Queen just professed his love to her, on their first ever date, no less? And then, barely realising what she was doing, Felicity was halfway to her feet, leaning towards him, but Oliver was quicker, reaching across the table and cupping her cheek. For what felt like the longest time, Oliver just looked at her, his nose brushing hers, his eyes a burning, bright blue, as if he were savouring the moment. But then Felicity couldn't take it any longer; she reached up, her finger under Oliver's chin, and she closed the distance between their lips and kissed him full on the lips.

At last, at long, long last, he was kissing her, or she was kissing him – she wasn't sure. And it was awkward, more so than she imagined (and she had definitely imagined it before, far more times than she wanted to admit). And yet, even in their less-than-comfortable position – Felicity half-standing and Oliver leaning right across the table for better access to her lips – the feeling of his stubble grazing her skin and her fingertips where she was cupping his face was even more pleasurable than she had thought it would be. She was sure people were staring; after all, it was hardly a common sight to see people having their first kiss at the table on their first date with an "I love you" thrown in for good measure, but Felicity didn't care. Not really.

In fact, she was so lost in the way he was coaxing her lips open, now (wow, was he good at kissing), that she only just about registered her elbow knocking over her glass of water. She pulled back, stretching her hand out to try and catch the glass before it fell to the floor, but the moment she attempted to open her eyes, her world began to spin.

Round and round and round her surroundings went, rotating, blurring, and all the while moving faster and faster until Felicity realised she was no longer in her chair. She had to be lying down; she tried opening her eyes again, but the sudden pain she could feel in her head made it impossible for her to do so.

It was then, too, that she became aware of the smoky smell around her that could only possibly be C4. She could feel a sharp coldness of metal, too, beneath her elbows and on the exposed skin of her legs. Above her, she could hear faint voices, but they were muffled, too muffled for her to identify anyone.

Oliver. Where was he? Where was she? Felicity squeezed her eyes shut, so tightly that it was hard for her to breathe, and then, with all the strength she could muster –

"Oliver!" she cried. At last, she jerked awake, and the dull throbbing pain in the side of her head intensified.

"Hey, hey, hey," Oliver said. Immediately, she felt a wave of relief wash over her, even if his face was covered in soot, because as Felicity grabbed onto the front of his shirt, she could feel the thump-thump of his heartbeat beneath the backs of her fingers. "You're safe. I'm here."

"Oh my God," Felicity breathed. She was in the foundry – on the ill-fated metal table of doom, to be exact. "What… what happened?"

"The restaurant you two were in…" Another voice. It was only now that she realised she and Oliver weren't alone. The voice belonged to John. And Roy was there too. "Someone blew it up."

"One of Steelgrave's crew, we're thinking," Roy added.

"What? Steelgrave – but I thought you took them down," Felicity said, and her words came out quickly, too quickly, to the point that she became breathless. She paused for a moment, allowing herself time to take a few breaths. "Oliver… are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"You're not hurt?" she asked, and she couldn't stop herself from cupping his cheek. He shook his head reassuringly. Felicity tried to heave herself up, but Oliver's hand closed around her wrist.

"Stay there," Oliver murmured. Felicity was about to insist impatiently that she was fine, but then she saw the pleading look in his eyes and lay back again. His grip on her arm relaxed, and after blinking several times, Felicity's vision finally came back into focus. "Does it hurt anywhere?"

"I'm fine," she said. Indeed, as reality crashed down around her, she found herself feeling a lot less disoriented.

Because she knew, now, that Oliver telling her he did love her, sans hidden cameras, was simply too good to be true. It was coming back to her: the explosion, the fact that their date had been cut short not even halfway through. And most of all, Felicity was painfully aware of the harsh reality: that her imagination had conjured up the rest of their date, a fantasy that really could only have come true in her wildest dreams.

"Are you sure?" John asked.

"My head hurts a bit," Felicity said.

"Roy, get her some ice," Oliver ordered, and what felt like seconds later, Roy handed her an ice pack.

"Thanks," she said gratefully. This time, she managed to sit up, and the pain in her head reduced as she pressed the ice pack on her head. She looked up at Oliver. "How did… whoever bombed the restaurant know you were there?"

Felicity narrowed her eyes a little as Roy shifted uncomfortably on his feet and John closed his eyes in exasperation. Then her gaze settled on Oliver, on the way he pressed his lips together and tightened his fists.

Eventually, John said, "The guy Oliver caught today… uh, he put a tracer on him. His suit, to be precise." Felicity opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Oliver found his voice.

"John, you should get back to Lyla. We've got this."

"Oliver –"

"The mother of your child needs you more than us right now," Oliver interrupted. "Go. We'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" John asked, and he was looking at Felicity now.

"We'll be fine," Felicity said, echoing Oliver's words. "Don't worry about it."

Next, Oliver turned to Roy. "Are you okay patrolling for a bit? The streets might be a bit more… chaotic with the bombing."

Roy nodded. "Sure."

There was silence as Roy suited up, the only noise being the sounds of zipping and clipping of holsters and finally, the snap of his quiver being strapped on. Felicity removed her ice pack, placing it on the table, before making to get down.

Oliver was at her side in an instant. "Easy," he said softly, his arm automatically winding around her waist to help her off the table.

"Thanks," she said quietly, allowing him to steer her towards her chair in front of the monitors. She watched as he then took a couple of steps back, until he was leaning against one of the tables.

"You okay?" Oliver asked after a moment.

"Yeah," Felicity lied.

"Neither am I," he said swiftly, and she laughed lightly.

"It's just my luck, really. Bad things seem to happen when guys ask me out on dates."

The moment the words were out of her mouth, though, she regretted them. Oliver looked away from her, biting his lip, and it took all of Felicity's willpower not to march right up to him and kiss him – soot-faced and all – just to stop the next words he said. "I'm sorry."

"This wasn't your fault."

"I was the one who let that guy plant a tracer on me," he said, his voice hollow.

"Oliver, it wasn't your fault," she insisted. "I get that guilt-tripping yourself is something you automatically do whenever something goes wrong, but this isn't on you." He didn't look convinced. "Anyway," Felicity went on, "we were lucky. We're both okay. That's all that matters."

"I contacted Lance," Oliver said abruptly. "Told him the new leader of Steelgrave's crew is obviously responsible. He's looking into it now."

She was somewhat reassured by this – the fact that he was letting Lance handle it, at least until he got his bearings back. "Good. Let him do that, then, and take me home, please." It was only when she saw Oliver's mouth begin to twitch into something close to a smile that she realised what she said. "Not like that – I didn't mean take me home. I just – probably look as much of a mess as you do. And, you know, we should really get out of these clothes." This time, he chuckled, and Felicity joined in, glad that at least her lack of verbal filter had one upside. "You know what I mean."

"All right." He held his hand out to her, and she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. But as soon as Felicity was upright, he released her hand and took a step back, before heading towards the foundry's side entrance. Trying not to feel too crestfallen, Felicity followed.

Before long, the van stopped outside Felicity's apartment. (To Felicity's relief, Oliver didn't even suggest taking his Ducati – probably because she'd had enough fear for one evening.) The ride had been quiet, mostly, and she was relieved that their journey was fairly short. Once Oliver had turned off the engine, he was out of the van and on Felicity's side in a flash, all before she had even managed to disentangle her arm from the seatbelt.

"You okay?" he asked as he opened her door.

Holding onto his shoulder for support, Felicity climbed out. "Yeah," she said. The fresh air had helped; she wasn't nearly as winded as she had been when she had first woken up, and the pain in her head had lessened considerably. In silence, Felicity led the way to her apartment, and neither of them spoke until they reached her door.

"So," she said in a small voice, "this is me, I guess."

Oliver didn't say anything, so Felicity took that time to unlock her door. Straightaway, she went to her alarm, quickly tapping in the code, and it was when she straightened and turned around that she realised he was still on the other side of the threshold.

"Come inside," Felicity said. But he shook his head, and she tried to keep how upset she suddenly was when he did that. Ever since they had left the foundry, she had felt a tension between them that she had never felt before.

"I should probably go back to the foundry. In case Lance calls the Arrow with a lead."

"It's going to take him a while to locate the new leader of a street gang, don't you think?" she reasoned.

He looked away from her then. "I just had to make sure you got home safe," he said. "And now you are. So –"

"Hey," Felicity interrupted, and she couldn't stop herself from grabbing his arm. Truth be told, part of her was wondering how she was even able to hold it together considering how shaky she was feeling inside. "Are you sure you're okay, Oliver?"

"I'm fine." She was silent, and it must have been obvious that she wasn't convinced, because then he said, "Really. Listen… just get some rest, okay?"

The lump in her throat was back and more painful than ever. "Okay."

Finally, Oliver looked her in the eyes, and this time, his smile was genuine – even if he was clearly exhausted and his face was still covered in soot and sweat. "Goodnight."

And for some reason, Felicity couldn't stop herself from reaching up to hug him. At first, she could feel Oliver stiffen, but then he relaxed – just like in the restaurant, and for a long moment, Felicity buried her face into his chest, her nose lightly brushing against his bare skin at the opening of his shirt.

All too soon, though, the spell was over. Oliver pulled away, refusing to meet her eyes.

She watched his retreating back as he walked down the hall.

"Goodnight," she said softly.