So, here is the story I promised. Two of my reviewers suggested this - a story wherein both Oliver and Felicity's memories timetravel back to the same past. I just wanted fluff and adorableness, so here we are. Hope you enjoy - please comment and review. We'll get to other POVs as we go along. It will likely continue just being snippets and moments, but I will continue this dinner, first.
Oliver comes to, blinking rapidly.
"It's a gift," a voice in front of him says. The voice is familiar. It's putting him on edge. A bad kind of familiar, then. "From my fiancé," the voice continues.
Oliver's still trying to gain control of his body, his sight, orient himself.
"Fiancé? You're engaged?"
Oliver has no idea who he is talking to, but if they're anything like the way he is with Felicity, it should be a good enough opening to get them talking.
Now, question is, where the hell is he? He'd just been with Felicity in- oh.
New world. Memories sent back. Question is not just where he is but also when.
"I'm not. Anymore. He died."
"I'm sorry," he tells the female voice with real regret, remembering only too clearly how often he'd held an injured or bleeding Felicity in his arms, the day when there'd been a fan spinning and he'd had her entire weight resting on just his hand and she'd told him to let her go (as if there was a universe where he would ever let her go). Remembering blood on his hands – her blood. Too warm. Too much red. Too shallow a pulse. Unresponsive. The sheer and utter terror he feels in those moments had been unparalleled until his daughter and William had been in danger.
"Me, too," she tells him.
He's only just registering he's sat in a chair, in a restaurant – with his back to the window. Why the hell did he accept such a vulnerable position? There's a prickling feeling running down his neck and he straightens automatically before focusing on his dinner partner.
"That was my crucible."
Oh, Oliver registers, the words ringing an all-too-familiar and frightening bell. That's why the voice sounded so familiar and triggered all his instincts and put him on edge. It's Helena.
"Look," he cuts her off, abruptly, watching as she visibly shields herself. "I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression," he tells her. "I'm taken. I just wanted to talk with your father. About business. I think it'd be better if I left now."
"You're right," her voice is cold, hard, and Oliver for the life of him can't remember what their conversation prior to this point was – it's been too long. But he remembers opening up to her and that he had thought she did, too. Until the vulnerability was gone entirely.
"I'll take care of the bill," he informs her as he steps away, ignoring her protestations – and the ones of the restaurant owner who tries to make sure Oliver is not leaving because of bad food (or service). Handling Salvatori and the conversation with Dig is even more confusing but they're dealt with and he's called a very confused Lance in, explaining both Salvatori and Helena, determining he's happy for the Detective to deal with it as he sees fit. It's especially confusing as he's still here as Oliver, rather than the Arrow and his answers are more vague than not, largely due to his own confusion with the situation.
And then, finally, finally, Oliver can make his way to her.
To Felicity.
He still knows the way to her apartment by heart – it's been a long time, but he'd spent hours tracking her home after late nights, or checking in on her from across the next building.
His wife.
Please let this one be his wife.
He tries very hard to remember, to recall – to try and pin down what he can say, what words he should say, what words would make her not think he was insane while simultaneously letting him check if it's his wife.
For once, he's overthinking it.
The moment the door opens and her wide eyes land on it – the emotions swimming in them, the gradually growing smile on her lips, everything – he just knows.
"God, Felicity," Oliver breathes out and she laughs, half-caught in disbelief.
"Oliver," she says in that same soft, warm tone he's come to love and the next moment she's launched herself into his arms, trusting that he would catch her.
He always does. Always has. Always will.
She's his wife, after all.
"I've missed you," they both breathe out between tears and kisses, hugs and uncoordinated movements which have them hitting walls and furniture in turns, although Oliver makes sure to shield his wife with his body from the impacts where he can.
"I love you – so much," he tells her and she gives him a tearful laugh. "God, me, too. I love you. I've missed you. Oliver."
It takes them a few hours – hours spent on the couch, laughing, crying, sharing. Talking about bonding with his grown-up time-travelling children. Her telling him about Mia. Her first steps, first words. The ways she raised her – the regret. William. Being Overwatch. Teaching Mia. Getting Nyssa involved. Her own training at Nyssa's hands to make sure she could defend them enough to make a run for it (so that Diaz would never happen again with William in danger and only making it because of the ARGUS agents stationed nearby).
She tells him about the loneliness, the grief, the pain, the struggles. She also shares the laughter and happy moments. Her pride.
They both console each other and bond. Neither of them even considered real life until morning dawns and Felicity's bedside alarm clock rips them out of their idyllic moment where it had just been the two of them.
"Frack," Felicity curses and Oliver leans in to kiss her at the familiar not-curse escaping her lips.
"You're adorable," he tells her and she swats at him as she jumps out of his arms and turns off the alarm.
"Where do I work?" She asks him and Oliver bursts into bright laughter, eyes soft as he regards his wife and pulls her into his arms.
"I'm serious, Oliver. How are we meant to know when we even are? Do we know each other? Am I working for you? In IT? Palmer? Am I CEO? PA? Tech consultant? IT grunt?"
He laughs at her continuing rant, pressing soft butterfly kisses to her face until he feels the tension seep out of her and his wife is relaxing back into him, muscles pliant under his arms.
"We know each other," he tells her in a soft voice after pressing a gentle, tender kiss to her lips.
"How-"
"I was on a date with Helena earlier – just before I came here."
"Eww…. Why?"
Oliver laughs, bright and clear.
"I can't tell if I should be offended you're not jealous or amused by your response."
She shrugs.
"You're my husband."
Oliver's smile turns into something softer, gentler.
"Always," he promises, pressing a tender kiss to the back of her hand. "As long as you'll have me."
Her smile widens, tears glistening in her eyes.
"How does forever sound?" She asks him, tone half-joking but the tremble of her lips is a clear give-away.
"Not long enough," he tells her, voice choked, as he pulls her in, hands cradling her cheeks as he angles his head for a deep kiss. Felicity's desperation is as bad as his, her hands curling into his hair, pulling him down and deepening the kiss, her tongue flitting out and into his mouth, her other hand clenching in his suit jacket. He nibbles on her bottom lip, the same spot which always causes that beautiful, feminine groan she always gives him, before they both decide simultaneously that it's not enough.
Oliver's just managed to get his hands underneath her shirt while she's already got most of his buttons undone, when the second alarm going off in her bedroom stalls them.
"I… forgot about that," Felicity tells him, looking sheepish and adorable enough he simply has to capture her lips again for another kiss.
"Don't worry about it," he tells her. "Just go to work. We can talk more tonight – over dinner?"
Her entire face lights up.
"Are you offering to cook for me?"
Oliver hates nothing more than to disappoint his wife but…
"Your kitchen has nothing in it for me to cook with. I can't really cook at home without Raisa there every step of the way. Until we get our own home – again – I'm afraid we'll have to make do with outside sources. Or redo your kitchen."
Yeah, Felicity had her oven half-unplugged and usually covered in other things. Even then it had only two plates to cook with and barely any space for even just a chopping board anywhere in the kitchen. She grimaces in recognition and he nods.
"You're moving a little fast, don't you think?" She teases and Oliver frowns, stroking over where her wedding ring used to be.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if you were dating Helena it's before my time on Team Arrow – officially anyway. Which means we've barely met each other as far as the rest of the world is concerned. And now you want to move in with me?"
"Felicity," Oliver interjects, looking amused and stern at once. "I. Don't. Care." He shrugs. "Let them think whatever they want. I love you, Felicity. I don't want to spend a moment apart from you that I don't have to. I want to marry you – again. Always. Every time. I want to live with you. I want to come home to you – with you. I want you in every facet of my life."
Felicity leans in again, their eyes only on each other as they sink into another tender kiss.
"I love you," she tells him between kisses, before pressing them all over his face. Once again the third – and final – alarm rips them out of their own little world.
"God, if I wasn't such a heavy sleeper, I'd definitely have missed work by now."
Oliver snorts, rubbing his nose against her neck and watching her shiver.
"I never got to kiss this you," he tells her softly and Felicity tilts her head curiously.
"Back when you were still in IT. Your hair was not straightened yet. More curly. You wore panda shoes to work."
Felicity laughs. "Of course you'd remember the Panda shoes."
"I remember other shoes as well," he tells her with a wink and his voice goes a little deeper, a bit throatier as he swallows hard. "I remember them very well in fact."
His wife laughs, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"Well, at least you'll have something to think about while I'm at work."
"Does that make you the sugar momma in this scenario?" Oliver queries with a teasing grin. "I mean, you are the one leaving for work, but technically I'm still a billionaire right now."
She giggles, shoulders shaking and eyes bright as she looks at him.
"That's what you want to discuss? Whether you're my sugar daddy?" She shakes her head, lips still curled into a soft smile.
"No – what I want, we don't have enough time for."
The way his eyes slowly drag up her body leave nothing to the imagination about what, exactly, her husband has been thinking about.
"Yeah?" She asks, abruptly breathless and struggling to remember why, exactly, she can't take him up on his offer.
"Always," he reassures her easily and Felicity closes her eyes, slamming her hands over them.
"Felicity?" her husband asks, not bothering to hide his concern.
"Nope – nope. I can't see you. I can't hear you," she tells him, shaking her head.
"What?" He asks, her childishness surprising a burst of laughter out of him even as he stares at her, confused. Oliver tightens his hold on her waist, not letting her quite escape his grip entirely.
"If I open my eyes, and see the way you look at me… If I listen to what you're saying, there's no way I'll make it to work today. Perfect record, Oliver," she whines. "I will not be distracted this easily."
"Oh you won't, will you… Mrs Queen?"
He can feel the shudder running through her body even if she bites her lips to not let out a sound.
"Well, we can't have that, can we?" He says abruptly, allowing his hands to drop from her waist.
Her eyes snap open wide, hands dropping, her voice high as she asks, "what?"
He grins boyishly at her, corners of his lips curled up, eyes glittering with mischief.
"Well, I wouldn't want to ruin your perfect record," he tells her mock-seriously and watches Felicity grumble and stomp away to the bathroom.
"I hate your stupid, handsome face," she tells him and his lips only curl up higher, dimples showing, at her overt frustration.
"Sure you do," he mocks and she throws one of the bottle of lotions at him – as if he'd ever have trouble catching it. What he doesn't expect – and neither does Felicity – is for half the bottle to pop and squirt lotion all over him. He barely manages to close his eyes in time.
There's a moment of stillness where neither of them move but then he hears his wife burst into bright peals of laughter, unable to stop until he hears her sink to the floor, still laughing. Oliver isn't far off joining his wife, except the lotion is still all over his face, hands and mouth and he has no inclination to taste it.
"Sorry," she tells him, snorting and giggling as she stumbles closer, pressing a towel into his hand.
"Thanks," he tells her dryly once he can safely open his mouth again. His wife's lips are still twitching and she barely manages a glance at him before she scurries back into the bathroom – not that the door closing behind her does anything to dim the sound of her laughter.
Oliver chuckles lightly – even if it is at his expense, he can't help but find Felicity's blatant enjoyment of his mishaps amusing. His wife is ready to go within moments, wearing a collared blouse which, unfortunately, obscures the sight of the hickey he'd managed to give her a few hours ago when they'd still been sharing stories on the couch.
"Caveman," she accuses, when she finds his hand stroking over the area, but she sounds amused.
He shrugs. "Maybe it'd be different if you were wearing my ring," he suggests innocently and she laughs in his face.
"Please. You'd just take twice as much pride in it."
"We'll never know until we try," he suggests, winking at her and watching, gratified, as his wife blushes under his gaze.
"I want a better proposal than that," she tells him outright, patting his chest.
"Done," he tells her immediately before she can take it back. Oliver knows his intensity is dialled up to eleven as he leans his forehead against hers, refusing to lose eye contact. "Done," he promises her and she smiles.
"For the record, Oliver?" She asks, her breath skating over his lips. "I'll always say yes."
He closes the gap between them, losing himself in the taste and feel of her in his arms before forcing himself to let her go.
She needs to go.
"Work," he reminds her and she whines, eyes still closed, her hand still curled into his shirt. Oliver smiles to himself, pressing a gentle close-mouthed kiss against her lips, loving the way she goes soft and pliant in his arms at his touch.
"I love you." Felicity blinks back to reality slowly, reciprocating his gentle touch.
"I love you, too."
Then she makes her way to the door, pointing to where her keys are.
"Pick me up at five?"
"Of course," he reassures her. There's no way he'll be late waiting for her.
The day passes quickly. Although the funniest part was definitely briefing Dig – the man who had, rather correctly, sussed out why past-Oliver was on a date with Helena, was remarkably baffled by Oliver's complete 180 in regards to… everything. At this point vigilantism was his entire career. He antagonised and misled the Police.
Instead, Oliver had, as Oliver, rather than the Arrow, arrested Salvatori and Helena and instead of dealing with any of them himself, had called in Lance – aka the Police. And looked confused when Dig asked if Oliver wanted to follow up with Lance on the case, rather than intent and on the job.
And then – instead of training or researching another name on the list, Oliver had Dig take him out to town and the poor man had goggled when Oliver walked into three different shops with haute couture dresses trying to find the 'right one'. And matching shoes. And then he'd gone to a jeweller and had a ring commissioned along with a healthy amount of 'hush' money so the news didn't get leaked to the press.
Yeah.
Dig had been eyeing him all day, but didn't try to confront him until they were parked and waiting in front of Queen Consolidated at 4.40 pm.
"Look, man, what happened to you?"
Oliver shrugged.
"I went on a date yesterday and then I realised she's not the one I want to be on a date with. It's Felicity. It's always been Felicity."
"Felicity?" Dig queries, brows furrowed, drawing out the name as if it would make the association any clearer. Then his eyes widen. "Hold on – the girl you go to for IT help?"
Oliver stiffens at the slight, however unintended, to his wife.
But it's Dig, so he shrugs it off.
Mostly.
"She's a genius," he tells his friend slash bodyguard. "She's absolutely brilliant. And gorgeous. But yes. She's working in IT. She'll run her own company soon."
Or his company, Oliver wonders. How easy would it be to pass leadership on to her? Felicity would -had – made an excellent CEO.
"And you want to date her?"
Oliver grins, bright and unrestrained and sees Dig stare at him. It doesn't take much to realise his bodyguard's never seen him this open – or this happy.
"I am going to marry her," he tells him and he knows his friend doesn't understand – not the change, given how rapid it must have appeared to him, or his certainty. Oliver's thinking about how to explain when he spots her in the corner of his eyes and he doesn't hesitate to jump out of the car, straightening his suit and shirt underneath quickly, before stepping towards her.
She's ten minutes early – but he was even earlier.
"Punctual," she comments with a warm grin, patting down his collar, her hand trailing his tie down until her hands are pressed against his abs. He finds himself flexing slightly at the heat of her touch. "Very impressive, Mr. Queen."
"I don't want you waiting for me ever again," he tells her softly, a wealth of meaning hidden in the words for their ears alone and she lights up under the intensity of his confession.
"Good," she tells him. "I don't ever want to be apart from you again."
"May I take you to dinner, Miss Smoak?" He has her face cradled in his hands and watches as her eyes flutter slightly when his breath hits her ear. Only Felicity has ever managed to look somehow both adorable and arousing at once.
"Why, I would love to go to dinner with you, Mr. Queen, thanks for asking," the curve of her lips is positively wicked when she winks at him and Oliver just barely remembers they're in public, huffing out a laugh at her teasing him so easily. His hand slides down to her lower back as he guides her to the car, waving Dig off, so he can hold the door open for her and guide her in. He waits until he's sure she's safely inside before closing the door and sliding into his own seat beside her.
"I figured you might like a new dress," he tells her, gesturing to the shopping bag just opposite her.
"Oliver," she tells him tone reprimanding, "I don't need-… is that haute couture?" Her voice is soft, breathy, as she reaches in and he barely manages to hide his smirk.
"Yours," he promises her.
"Let me get this straight, instead of doing anything important today, you went dress shopping for me," she asks him wryly.
"It was important to me," he tells her with a shrug. "I want to take you to Caselli's."
Her eyes widen. "Caselli's?"
She's fussed once about never getting to go before they closed – the damage during the undertaking and subsequent looting meant the owner had decided he preferred re-opening in a different city.
"Alright, give me five minutes," Felicity looks determined, already pulling her shirt from her skirt before Oliver's hands cover hers, stopping her mid-motion.
"We have time, Felicity. You can go home and get ready. There is no rush – the table is there for us all night."
"They can do that?"
Oliver snorts, pointing at himself. "Queen," he tells her and she nods, understanding dawning easily.
"Fair. Alright then. Homeward bound, Sir Dig," she orders with a smile, leaning forward playfully to wave at the driver.
"And where would that be, Miss?"
Both Oliver and Felicity blink at each other in surprise, having forgotten their friend wouldn't know that yet.
"Sorry – Hi. I'm the secret IT resource in Oliver's Green Arrow team. I'll soon become a fixture in the Arrow-cave, too, and you'll forget what it was ever like without me. Oh – I probably should have led with my name is Felicity Smoak," the blonde blushes lightly at her own rambling.
"Yeah – we don't call it that," Oliver says, half a smile on his lips which easily turns into a full one when she raises a doubting eyebrow at her.
"We do now," she tells him and he laughs.
"I thought you were called 'the Hood'," Dig asks and Felicity's nose wrinkles.
"That's just stupid. 'The Hood'. Nope – he's the Green Arrow."
"Why green?" Dig continues asking.
"Because he's a symbol of hope," she says softly, her eyes on her husband rather than their friend and driver. "Like Spectre," she continues and her eyes darken with remembered sorrow and grief, her finger stroking over his cheekbone gently, watching as he leans into her touch entirely without any self-consciousness, eyes closed.
"I'm still sorry," he tells her in a whisper and she shakes her head.
"You made the right choice," she tells him gently. "The only choice."
They lean into each other and it takes a sniffle from Felicity where she's burrowed into him to remember that Dig is still driving around without destination.
It's later in the evening and dark outside by the time Oliver manages to get himself and Felicity to the restaurant.
"Your table is ready, Mr. Queen," the hostess tells him immediately as they enter and it takes another moment before he can tear his eyes away enough off his wife to notice Laurel and Tommy together just in front of them.
"Tommy?" Oliver asks, surprised.
"Yeah, what about our table?" Laurel asks the hostess and Felicity stares when the hostess curls her lip slightly in disdain.
"It will be ready when it's ready," she tells them, before offering her and Oliver a bright smile again.
"Join us," Oliver offers immediately but Felicity puts her hand up on his chest.
"Excuse me," she starts with a frown at the woman.
The hostess looks between her hand on Oliver's chest, back to her, and then pastes the same welcoming smile back on her lips, clearly discerning that in this, at least, she has the weight of Oliver Queen at her back. As in all things, not that the woman knows that.
"Did you just tell our friends here that their table will be ready 'when it's ready'? What kind of customer service is that?" Felicity looks at her, head tilted, eyes narrowed. She's had too many people deal with her like that, she's not going to stand by and suffer in silence as her friends are treated that way.
"Or is it just incompetence? Are you unable to tell when your tables are ready? If so, what even is the point of booking here? If this is the way you treat the Merlyns of this city, how do you treat the Smoaks and Lances?" It's a rhetoric question as she gestures between them and the other couple.
"No, thank you. You can keep your table and your so-called service. We will not be dining here now – or ever again, actually," Felicity informs the waitress coldly, before turning back to them.
God, Oliver loves this woman. The way she stands up to others – stands up for friends, family and strangers alike. The way she won't just let people's treatment slide, like so many others do. Like he does. It hadn't even registered, back then, other than odd that Tommy hadn't slipped her a couple of bills – but the act itself had never seemed weird before.
"Mr. Queen?" The hostess inquires, as if he'd ever contradict his wife.
"You heard her," he tells her with a muted shrug. "My- girlfriend," wow, close save, he'd nearly called her his wife – again. "definitely speaks for us in this. The Queen family no longer requires a standing reservation at this restaurant. Tommy, Laurel, care to join us?"
There was a small blush on Laurel's face, but both easily grabbed their jackets and followed them out.
"Alright," Oliver said, a small smirk playing on his lips as he turned to Felicity. "Now were do you want to go?"
The blonde woman tilts her head, brows furrowed, tongue behind her teeth and he cannot take his eyes off her. He knows his friends are watching but this is Felicity. Besides, they probably should get used to his distraction around her sooner rather than later, Oliver thinks with slight amusement, watching as his wife's mind is rapidly considering and discarding options. Then her eyes light up.
"Oooh, what about La Regina? I think they've just opened up recently."
He sighs.
"You take far too much pleasure in going there."
"It's not my fault they called their restaurant 'the Queen'. Besides, I'm not the one who basically begged them for the recipe to the Tiramisu."
"Felicity," Oliver draws out her name, eyebrow raised. "You moaned when you tasted it."
Her smile is playful, eyes bright, as she looks at him with a faux-casual shrug.
"What can I say? It was good."
"I'm sure it was. I certainly don't remember hearing you complain when I made it for you a week later."
She licks her lips, likely remembering just how – and where – they'd ended up eating the Tiramisu. Oliver certainly can't help but remember licking it off her lips and then her body when she'd pretended to accidentally drop a spoonful on herself.
"That was rather good," she tells him, voice hoarse and leaning in just as much as he is. Tommy clearing his throat and leaning nearly between them has Felicity physically jumping, eyes wide and hand clasped to her chest.
"Where did you come from?" She asks him, still surprised and Tommy looks between surprised, before smiling wryly.
"We never left," he tells them and he watches his wife re-orient herself, realising they're both still stuck outside the restaurant.
"Right, yes. Leaving. We were absolutely about to do that. Sorry – Hi. I'm Felicity Smoak, by the way. Nice to meet you both – Tommy, Laurel. This great big lug here," she hits his chest gently, "has told me all about you both. Now, if you'll follow me, it's no more than five minutes to La Regina."
Then Felicity turns to him, holding out a hand expectantly and he stares at it for half a second before intertwining them.
"Aww, that's sweet," she tells him, turning back to him and away from his friends for a moment, extracting her hand from his. "But I actually need your phone."
Oliver almost groans at her focus on his tech but hands it over without complaint.
"Wait, do you need my-" He watches as she's already bypassed the login screen – either by guessing his password or hacking; he's not entirely sure he wants to know. "Never mind," he finishes quietly with a sigh, wrapping an arm around her waist. His wife quietly tucks herself in against him, eyes entirely on the screen in her hands as she taps away.
"What's she doing?" Tommy asks and Oliver shrugs, looking over her shoulder but she's doing something with website coding. That's as far as his recognition goes.
"No idea," he confesses and Laurel's brows furrow as she and Tommy exchange a look.
"Does that seem… safe to you? I mean, I don't know what data you keep on your phone, but-"
Oliver shrugs. "Honestly, whether she had physical access to my phone matters very little in the scheme of things. I have full faith that if she wanted to, Felicity could get in and empty my bank account in under five minutes," he tells them easily, more amused by her prowess and his friends' caution then offended.
"Two," her voice pipes up beside him, correcting him as easily as she always does.
"Under two minutes," he repeats for his friends' sakes.
"And … that doesn't bother you?"
"Honestly? Felicity could probably handle my money better than I ever could. And put it to better use. If she decides she needs it, why not." His gaze drops to the blonde woman walking alongside him, leaning into him and bumping her hips into his every other step. "Besides, she knows that what's mine is hers."
Her eyes snap up to his and she smiles softly. "Ditto," she tells him warmly, smiling back and he strokes along the curve of her hips, watching as his wife finally lets his tech go, shoving it into his trouser pocket before intertwining her hand with his and pulling it over her stomach instead of on her hips, pulling them even tighter together.
He breathes out softly, focusing back on the footpath and guiding them across the street to the newly opened Italian restaurant.
"Table for four," he tells the wide-eyed waiter and the man scurries away to grab menus, begging them to hold for a moment. Oliver expects they're panicking and quickly changing in for fancier glassware and tablecloths, if they have them, before waving them on.
In the meantime, he's guiding his wife through the doorway and letting his friends through. Laurel lets out a deep sigh, taking her jacket back off.
"Well, this looks cozy," Tommy comments as he helps Laurel out of her jacket. It only then occurs to Oliver that Felicity hadn't had a jacket with her dress and, given that he'd intended to take her straight to and form the restaurant, he'd not even thought about it until now.
"Are you cold?" he asks her, concerned and she smiles.
"How could I be? You're like a furnace," she reassures him quickly and he feels himself relaxing again under her warm, loving eyes. As soon as he registered the waiter coming back, he blinked himself out of his Felicity-induced haze, turning his attention to the young man.
"Follow me, please."
Oliver's not surprised they're led to a window seat. It's always good advertising for a restaurant in Starling city if the Queens or Merlyns eat there – never mind both.
Oliver pulls out the chair for his wife, allowing his hand to trail across her shoulders and back once she's tucked in against the table, only sitting down next to her when he sees her stretch out her hand invitingly for him.
"So, how long have you known each other?" Laurel asks, looking between them curiously but with a tightness to her jaw which suggests that it's not as light-hearted a question as it sounds.
Felicity notices – of course she does – head tilted but answering easily.
"We first saw each other after he came back from the island. IT problems."
Oliver makes a disagreeing hum in his throat before he realises it and all three eyes snap to him.
"I saw you before that," he finally confesses, turning back to the blonde beside him.
"Really?" She asks curiously. "When?"
"My mother's office in QC. You were dropping off files." Oliver smiles softly in reminiscence. Remembers how hard it had been, constantly having escape attempts foiled. Being coerced into torture or have the death of Maseo's wife and child on his conscience. Not that it had done any good in the end. "You were talking to yourself." He knows there's no hiding the love on his face when he gazes at her, but he can't help the sheer, utter warmth she suffuses him, even just at the memory of that moment. An instant, but one which had made him smile when he thought he no longer knew how.
"And to the picture of me on her desk."
Her eyes light up in recognition.
"No! You mean when your fingerprint-"
He nods, agreeing and watching as Felicity stops herself from completing her sentence out loud. Less than two years ago in this timeline, she knows.
"You called me cute," he teases her and she pouts.
"Well, you're lucky I didn't mention your serial-killer haircut."
"My what?" He asks, blinking in surprise at the sudden twist.
"Come on, you'll agree with me, won't you? I mean, I've only ever seen it on TV and pictures, but that haircut," Felicity shakes her head mockingly and to Oliver's surprise – and, apparently, her own, judging by her wide eyes – Laurel snorts, clapping a hand in front of her mouth as if that would take the noise back.
Their table bursts into bright laughter and Laurel, red-faced, tells Felicity she agrees entirely. It's lighter then, the atmosphere – even if his friends still pose probing questions, looking at his wife like she's a conundrum and a miracle.
Please comment and review! Thanks for reading! Ideas welcome.