Well I was originally thinking that was a moving one-shot, but in the same way the tone of the first part seemed to describe Oliver's darkness and guilt well, I wanted to provide the counterpoint - Felicity's light, brightness, and overall life. So here is a quick wrap-up to it. Reviews make my day!

There's so many words that we can say

Spoken upon long-distance melody

This is my hello

This is my goodness

She was warm.

That was the first feeling she recognized as she felt herself beginning to wake. Warmth wrapped all around her, breaking through the heavy fog of deep sleep she was stirring from.

Sound entered her stream of consciousness next, notably the familiar and comforting hum of the lair. She was ensconced in blankets and a very familiar smelling leather jacket on the couch in the corner.

Comfort. This was the definition, she would bet on it. Her limbs still heavy with sleep, she tried to recall the last time she felt this rested, but honestly she couldn't. The pace of her life as a corporate executive assistant to one Oliver Queen and IT support for Starling City's newly-masked hero did not lend itself towards regular sleep, or even the deep, feel-it-in-your-bones rest she was stirring from.

Senses sharpening, she noted the soft sounds of activity nearby. Probably Oliver.

She didn't have to open her eyes to see his annoyingly handsome face splash across her mind's eye. She could still the warmth of his hand as it cupped her cheek, communicating the concern she saw in his eyes but he never voiced. A man of many masks and walls, he had left himself wide open for observation as he had handed her medicine and water. His gaze on her had been troubled and tender all at once, with the undercurrent of permanent guilt that shrouded all of his expressions. Despite her weariness, she couldn't bear to just watch it flit across his strong features, and had tried her hardest to infuse her own expression with all the loyalty and genuine care she had for him. She must've fallen asleep at that point, because her last visual memory was a pair of soulful blue eyes.

With a soft sigh, she began to force her own eyes open. The lair was rather dark and it took her longer than normal to get used to the darkness. Turning her head lightly on its pillow, she could see the faint glow from her monitors creating an outline of light around the object of her musings. He wasn't touching anything, just staring at the monitor with a blank expression anyone else would assume was boredom or disinterest. Anyone who didn't know the man beneath the mask.

She took the rare opportunity to observe him in stillness, in quiet. Two things that would never be associated with Oliver Queen. The mask currently held in place was one she was quite familiar with, pieced together with jagged tiles of guilt, self-blame, and the weight of his crusade. Of their mission. Glued in place by his stubborn insistence for martyrdom. His eyes were dulled by equal parts responsibility and vulnerability. Of course, the vulnerability itself came off as arrogance, a forced irresponsibility, and sometimes even levity.

Her sigh must've been louder than she thought as she watched Oliver's eyes dart to her, his whole body on alert for a moment. Within seconds, he was moving towards her, his brow furrowed in equal parts concern and relief. She smiled sleepily as he sat on the side of the couch, his hip brushing hers.

"Felicity." She was surprised by the hoarseness of his voice, and even more surprised when his hand shot up to caress her forehead before sliding down to cup her cheek. "Your fever broke." The tension in his shoulders loosened just a bit and she saw the concern ease slightly in his eyes.

"Fever? I was just tired." She honestly had no recollection of anything beyond falling asleep here. "How long did I sleep?"

His eyes darkened for just a moment and she saw the concern jump back to the front of the startling blue gaze. "You've been out for a little more than a day, about 26 hours." Her jaw dropped just a bit at that, watching his face still for a moment in response. "You were beyond exhausted. Felicity, you fainted. I took your temperature after you went to sleep and it was over a hundred." The muscle in his jaw twitched for a moment as he looked away from her.

She grabbed his hand quickly, tugging on it to draw his eyes back to hers. In them, she saw the emotions he had unwittingly reveal the day before. The guilt there was louder than any other noise in the room, probably louder than the music pumping upstairs in the club.

She knew him, and knew the blame he was about to take on himself. He would likely try to convince her that it was his fault she was sick. That she was tired. And that he was responsible for it all. That was his MO after all.

Moving herself into a sitting position was a great plan with awful execution. Sleeping for a full day had made her muscles as soft as marshmallows and she was infinitely grateful for the strong-as-steel arms that reached out to support her as she leaned against the back of the couch. She was not as imposing a figure as she would have liked to be in that moment, but her words would have to communicate all the conviction her posture couldn't. She took his hands in hers, squeezing them tightly before capturing his gaze in hers. She noticed his nostrils flare a bit at the look in her eyes, one he likely wasn't expecting.

"Before you even open your mouth to tell me how this was all your fault and that you're pushing me too hard and that this is bad for me and that you're bad for me and any more nonsense along those lines…you need to listen to me." She disregarded all levity and went for the strong tone, her borderline loud voice. She had to get his attention some way, and based on the firm straight line his lips were making, she had it.

"I was overtired. Not dead. Not poisoned. Overtired. That's what happens when I don't get enough sleep and I don't take care of myself. The key word, or letter really, because it's not a word, although we basically use it as one… anyway the important thing in that statement is "I." My choice, my life, my decision."

Oliver seemed to weigh this for a moment before opening his mouth to argue. She beat him to the punch, lifting her fingers to cover his lips softly, trying to hide the thrill she felt at the charge that rushed through at the contact.

"No. You're not going to do this. I chose this Oliver, the late nights and all. I chose you."

Strong fingers wrapped around her wrist and she would later wonder if she had just imagined the ghost of a kiss she felt on her fingertips as he laced them with his, holding their joined hands in his lap.

"I have been pushing you too hard. Hell, I've been pushing myself too hard. We're all exhausted," he admitted, looking down to investigate the back of her hand as if it held the secrets of the world. "I've been so focused on the mirakuru and the man in the skull mask that I lost sight of everything else. I hadn't even noticed how tired you were, how exhausted Dig was. I could only see the mission."

She squeezed his fingers, drawing his gaze back to her. His face registered his shock at the warm, yet tired smile on her face, "It's one of the perils of being a hero, Oliver. You focus on what's most important. Sometimes to the point that it's all you see. But it doesn't make the resulting fallout your fault. It's just part of life."

He shook his head just a bit, "That's the thing. There are other things that are more important than this mission, than me." The words were left hanging in the air, causing a little tendril of something to curl in her chest as she considered their meaning. His thumb began moving in tender figure-eights on the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry I pushed too hard. I'm sorry I lost sight of what's important in all this," his soft voice penetrated her thoughts, his eyes still focused on her hand in his.

She smiled at the sincerity and gentleness he was showing, and knew that just this once, she needed to accept the apology he was giving her and save the argument for another day, another fight.

"Well, this may be letting you off easy but I'll let you make it up to me," her cheeky tone drew his eyes to hers and she saw the corner of his mouth quirk at the mischievous look on her face. A single eyebrow lifted in question.

She grinned, "I've missed out on three potential meals due to my extended tenure as Snow White and I'm pretty sure I would eat John's biceps right now if cannibalism wasn't so…wrong. I would be willing to let you off the hook in exchange for food and glorious coffee."

He observed her for a moment, amusement dancing in his eyes layered with deep gratefulness. She was forgiving him, but doing so in a way that took his mind off of the gravity of their mission for a moment. She felt a thrill of joy as he gave her that small, sincere smile that she loved, the one she thought secretly that he reserved just for moments like this with her and her alone.

"You drive a hard bargain Miss Smoak, but I think that can be arranged," he said with another squeeze to her hand. She held his gaze for a moment, once again resting on their nonverbal connection to heap the forgiveness and grace onto his soul that he so desperately wanted.

For now, it was enough.