"I should preface this by telling you I'm not wearing a bra," Felicity tells him when Oliver's hands curl around the edge of her shirt. "If that-"

Oliver's deep chuckle interrupts her before she can offer him yet another out.

"I know," he says, lips quirked up.

"Oh, right, I forgot. My bra," now she recalls pointing it out to him with her pile of clothing before she lay down for her nap.

If possible, he looks even more amused.

"Even if I hadn't seen your clothes, I would have known you weren't wearing a bra," he says, smirking slightly. There's pure male appreciation in his eyes when he looks into her eyes, despite his eyes not once dropping lower, and she blushes darkly when his meaning sinks in.

Felicity doesn't know whether it was just holding her up and noticing the lack of strap, but she thinks it's far more likely he's referring to either when they were pressed together against one another in bed or – even worse – when he'd been doing his level best, however unintentionally, to arouse her – and succeeding, spectacularly so. Yep, she decides, she probably doesn't actually want to know.

"Alright," she gives in with a sigh, "continue then."

Oliver's eyes never leave hers, standing close enough so her face is the only thing in his field of vision rather than giving him a broader view, as he slowly pulls his shirt off of her. Her not-husband appears to be desperate to make sure she knows he's not sneaking glances, disrespecting her or taking advantage in any way; it's incredibly sweet and her lips curl up into a warm smile at the reminder of just how good a man Oliver really is. At any age.

He's careful not to touch – or even brush up against – her, to move at a snail's pace, revealing inch after inch of skin to avoid injuring or hurting her further. He only makes her lift her arms as much as she has to, to physically pull his shirt out over her head and then lets her arms drop down and the shirt slide down with them.

He pulls it off of her and throws it down in what she supposes (and hopes) is his laundry corner for one of the staff to pick up. Out of the two of them, however, Felicity is by far the messier one and Oliver's the one more likely to be cleaning up around and after her than she is with him, so she figures her assumption stands a good chance of being the correct one.

If this were any other day, she'd cross her arms over her chest to try and at least pretend to cover herself up, but even just the effort hurts; anything but her arms hanging down motionlessly seems to pull somewhere – either her shoulder or her torso.

"Do you…" Oliver clears his throat, eyes flitting between the ceiling and her eyes, ears slowly tinted red and cheeks blushing. He's making every effort at avoiding eye contact or even looking at her too long, breaking eye contact for the first time since he finished taking the shirt off.

"Do you need further help?" He finally asks, shifting slightly, shuffling on his feet in an uncharacteristic sign of nervousness, fingers rubbing across where he normally holds the arrow in his usual self-soothing habit.

Felicity is honestly tempted to say yes, just to watch Oliver squirm (and on his knees in front of her), but her underwear is nowhere as tight as her jeans were and she doesn't actually want to make him uncomfortable around her. Or worry that he'd never be able to make eye contact with her again.

"I'll be fine," she promises instead.

"I can help, if you need me to," he offers again, just in case she rejected his offer to spare him his own discomfort.

She knows he kills people and the Green Arrow is frightening foe to face – especially if anyone goes after his family. That does not, however, mean, that he's not completely soft and adorable around her, Mia and Thea.

"No," she rejects easily. "Don't worry about it."

"Okay," he nods, and the relief is sharply written across his face.

"Do you need anything else before I go?"

"Nope. You're free," she tells him and watches his shoulders slump at the final confirmation.

It would be offensive if it wasn't so funny. Plus, it was kind of difficult to doubt his attraction to her when this was the same man who'd stuck with her, by her side, supportive and no less interested in her than before the accident that put her in the wheelchair. He'd never not been attracted to her.

Which makes it twice as funny when he closes his eyes, hand on the wall as he takes a step backward and away before he turns around, eyes still shut.

Felicity watches him, amused, because she knows he doesn't realise yet how he's positioned himself or what's in front of him in his hurry to close his eyes and avoid giving her any impression of indecency. Well, he doesn't realise until his eyes open and meet hers in the mirror. His gaze lowers automatically before he snaps them quickly shut again, blush darkening.

"Sorry, I forgot," he apologises in a rush but Felicity just grins.

"I could've warned you," she admits, still smiling. "But this way was funnier."

"Felicity," Oliver groans, clearly exasperated, but he's smiling too and she managed to snap the tension in him just like that now that he knows she's not upset or offended by his quick, semi-accidental once-over.

"Hey, at least we're even now."

"Even?" Oliver queries, brows furrowed as he slowly makes his way to the door, eyes still closed for fear of seeing something else he isn't supposed to.

"Just think of the number of times I've watched you on the Salmon Ladder if you're still worried you saw something you shouldn't have, or exercising half-naked in front of me," Felicity teases, not letting him know how much she's struggling with the pain – and taking off her underwear behind him. Honestly, she's half-tempted to leave it on but she figures it would cling even harder once it was wet. Soaked. Yeah, there's really no good way to phrase that without any double entendre.

"Felicity," Oliver's tone is reprimanding, but there's far too much laughter threaded through it for it to carry any weight, especially accompanied by the half-choked laugh she'd surprised out of him with her comment.

"I honestly don't get why you think I should be upset. You seem to enjoy my admiration; why shouldn't I be the same?"

Yeah, not something past-her would've said or thought, but possibly something reckless-her might've, but still unlikely. But still, there's safety in knowing Oliver in all his glory – both at his worst and most self-destructive and his best – in addition to years of being injured or hurt and taken care of by him and then being naked around him – a lot – once they were together… yeah. Body shame just isn't there with him.

"Just- Just yell if you need anything," he finally says, exasperated, as he leaves. He freezes for a moment when her underwear drops to the ground, hand clenching around the doorknob, before he forcibly relaxes himself and walks out without saying anything further.

Yeah, she definitely loves this more relaxed version of her husband – not that there was ever really any doubt – but she has only just learned that she adores teasing him. Knowing that this Oliver cares for her, that he's attracted to her, even if he hasn't said as much, makes it easier. And years of being pursued by Oliver extinguished the last remaining doubts about how different she was from his type before her.

With a heavy sigh, Felicity ran the water in the shower until it was warm, but not hot, and stepped underneath.

"Oliver," she tells the door and her voice seems unconcerned enough he's not immediately trying to enter or knock, "I was wrong. I'm never leaving this shower."

There's a relieved laugh on the other side of the door, his voice still clearly audible and she realises why when she sees the smallest gap between the door and frame – not enough to peek through but enough to ensure noise travels through easily in order for Oliver could hear if she needed a rescue.

"Nope. You can even have the bed, the bath, everywhere else. But this shower's mine. I do believe you said you'd share."

She can't get everywhere with the shower gel, but at least she can get a bit cleaner and her shoulder is really the area that's paramount for cleaning. Plus, it's nice to smell like Oliver again. God, she'd missed so many little things once he was gone and for some reason the shower gel had never quite smelled like him anymore.

"Yes- share. Not give away entirely," Oliver rebuts, still sounding amused.

"Well, I'm open to sharing this shower as long as I never have to leave it."

Oliver makes a half-groan, half-chuckle, his head clearly hitting the doorframe as he leans back against it.

"Felicity," he scolds her half-heartedly.

"Oliver," she drawls back in the same tone.

"You can't just say these things."

That makes her more attentive because she can't tell if he's still kidding around or if he's genuinely upset without seeing his face.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"I just- I can't tell where the line is anymore," he says quietly through the door. The confession's obviously easier for him when he doesn't have to face her. "I can't tell when you're joking and when you mean it."

Ah. Well… That's awkward.

"Because it always looks like I'm telling the truth, right?" She questions, having immediately pinned down the problem.

"Yes."

Felicity can hear his relieved sigh now that he knows she understood him instantly.

Yeah.

Not quite what she expected having to confess openly to him any time soon.

"That's because I am," she finally admits, voice firm, not allowing herself to waver because there is no doubt in her about it – not about them. Not ever. Or, well, not anymore.

"What do you mean?" Oliver queries hesitantly.

"Are you sure you want to know? We can just leave it here. And you can just keep playing along."

"Tell me," is his instant - and not unexpected - response.

"With the amount of innuendos I've dropped around you, the times you've caught me checking you out – especially when you're on the Salmon Ladder or exercising around me, well, it shouldn't really come as a surprise when I tell you that I'm attracted to you."

"No, of course not. But, Felicity, there's a difference between open admiration and flattery and inviting me to undress you or join you in the shower," Oliver disputes.

"I don't know much about you or your past, but I think I've got a fairly good understanding of who you are as a person. And you don't strike me as the one-night-stand kind of girl," he concludes as if that would be news to her.

"I'm not," she concedes easily; because she isn't.

"For me there needs to be a real connection and I don't get to the naked-in-bed-stage with a guy unless there are feelings involved. Or," she corrects herself with a frown, "I suppose, a naked-anywhere-stage. It doesn't necessarily need to involve a bed."

It hadn't, very often, with her and Oliver. Not in the lair slash Arrow Cave, not even in their flat or in the hotel rooms. Not when there were equally convenient tables. Or walls. Couches. Floors.

"Felicity," he tries reprimanding her again, his voice notably deeper than it was just a moment ago, and she yanks herself out of her fantasies (or memories more like), clearing her throat to get rid of the raspier tone, wondering how much she'd said out loud but definitely with no intention of actually asking.

"Sorry," she tells him, entirely unapologetically.

"Hold on," Oliver gasps in surprise, having just caught onto what she is implying. "Are you saying…?" He pauses and so does she, because what should she say to that. "What are you saying?"

"Oliver, you're not in the right headspace for me to say anything to you," she argues. Her shower is rapidly becoming less relaxing by the minute.

"No, tell me," Oliver orders.

"You're in a relationship," she tries once more.

"Felicity – what are you saying?"

"Oliver," she hesitates but finally shuts off the water and steps out cautiously, drying herself very carefully for fear of aggravating any of her injuries.

"I'm saying," she starts slowly, "that if you were single, and if I was uninjured, and if you were open to a relationship, long-term, then I would be, too. But for now? I just like joking and teasing you. I like being the one who makes you laugh. I like seeing you more relaxed and light-hearted; being happier. You and me? We're good. Nothing has to change. Nothing will change. Not unless you want it to. I'll always take my lead from you. Do you understand, Oliver?"

There's a long pause but finally Oliver whispers, "I understand."

Felicity isn't sure if he actually does; if this Oliver caught even the barest glimpse of the true depth of her devotion and love, she's half-certain this younger him would run. He'd run so fast and far, she wouldn't be surprised if she found herself excluded from Team Arrow and back in the role of occasional IT-consultant, or, possibly even excluded entirely.

"Good," she says instead of offering further clarification, finally making her way out, clad only in a towel, but at least mostly dry.

Oliver's eyeing her cautiously as if he half-expects her to jump – or maul – him, injuries or not. But yeah – he's not understood a thing; that much she can tell at a glance. Felicity barely manages not to say a thing; he's misunderstood but that's not necessarily a bad thing at this stage. She only wonders what the hell he got from all her talking if not an 'I love you'.

"Now how do you want to do this?" Felicity asks curiously, glad to shut the lid on the earlier topic – finally.

"Do what?"

"Checking my injuries," she repeats and realisation dawns as he looks at the towel, wide-eyed. Oliver appears tongue-tied for a moment before he finally gathers himself.

"I'll – I'll get some of my boxers for you, if that's okay, and then," he swallows hard, "we can just," his eyes flit between the towel, and her eyes, before looking away again. "We can just roll the towel up."

"Whatever makes you most comfortable," Felicity tells him soothingly but Oliver makes a strangled noise at the back of his throat at that comment, before rapidly turning away to find the aforementioned undergarment for her.

Author's Notes:

Hi! Tribunal tomorrow *sweat*

Just a short update as thanks - please review and comment but next update will wait a bit as nothing's pre-written! Thanks guys! Hey, did you guys know that 'dork' actually means penis-shaped / phallic? Yikes. I hate it when I learn these things and the colloquial meaning suddenly gets overridden in my head now that I know what it means *Sigh*

My favourite moment in here was right at the start, with Oliver looking over Felicity and going yeah, I could tell there wasn't a bra, trust me *wink* and his awkwardness about helping her further. I adored how Felicity says at the end, yep, whatever makes you more comfortable, kind of implying it's not for her and she doesn't mind being naked while he looks her over (her injuries) and Oliver's like you can't just say these things!

Anyway, hope you like this chapter too. And yep, Oliver hasn't actually caught on at all. Please comment and review!