iii. runners

"Typical," Felicity hissed.

Outside the tunnel slide there was violent shouting and raining bullets. Inside the tunnel, which was a straight shot down, Oliver had pressed his arms and legs against the sides in such a way that he kept them midway-in, hidden in the eerie yellowness. Felicity laid on top of him, her arms wrapped around his neck, and in spite of the situation, Oliver was partly amused.

The yelling increased outside and Felicity realized it was an argument. Naturally, she thought. Leave it to Oliver Queen to get them stuck in the midst of a gang war.

"Felicity," Oliver whispered, "just hold onto me. I can hold us here for a while."

He was right, of course. Oliver had been holding them up for some time now and his body wasn't even shaking. If she wasn't so set on denying the kiss that so totally happened, she would've let her eyes explore the anatomy that was Starling High's star quarterback.

"We'll leave when it's over."

And they might have, if it wasn't for the familiar voice shouting, "Let go of me!" somewhere in the distance.

Felicity knew that voice. It belonged to a punk kid that delivered newspapers in her neighborhood. She didn't see him every day, but when she did, he looked like hell with new cuts and bruises each time. His lip was pretty much busted year-round.

"That's Roy," she whispered. "We have to help him."

"Really, Felicity? Because last time I checked, we're the ones that need help!" Oliver hissed sternly.

Felicity looked at Oliver. His jawline was amazing. His lips—well, there was a part of her that wanted to kiss him again and again. Felicity cringed inwardly, disappointed in herself. She thought she had stomped that part out a long time ago. Hope really was an ageless monster.

But she knew herself and she knew Oliver. If she gave in, if she accepted this, then she knew she would be waiting for the day he leaves her. Because that's what Oliver does. He's with you and then he's not and she's seen it a million times. Laurel had always been his anchor, what grounded him, what pulled him back. Felicity neither had the faith nor the courage to be that for him.

"I'm going out there," she said.

"No, you're really not."

"You're going to hate me for this," she whispered.

Oliver didn't understand her till her knee came up and met his groin. Oliver may have been able to grit his teeth against the pain, but he couldn't keep his hands and feet from slipping. Gravity pulled them down.

The moment Felicity felt the touch of natural light, she pushed off and clambered to her feet. The shouting outside is loud, but the people were a good distance away. If she and Oliver had wanted to run, they could probably take off. The chances of gangster-youths running after them were slim. But instead, Felicity was scanning the playground and sighted a red hoodie, the boy wearing it was throwing rapid punches, some of them hit, most of them were a wide miss.

Felicity was about to take off when she felt Oliver beside her, his hand gripping her wrist. She could tell that he was angry and so she doesn't look at him. "Which one is he?" Oliver demanded.

"The one in red," Felicity answered, caught off-guard. He released her wrist and turned her by the shoulders so that they stood face-to-face.

"Felicity," he said, "run." He pushed her towards the road and then took off in the other direction, running straight into the chaos.

Felicity was standing there blankly when she realized she had been spotted by a boy holding a gun. She took one glance at Oliver diving into the fighting crowd and throwing Roy over his shoulder before she turned and ran.

She ran not because she was scared, not because she didn't think she could handle herself against a boy with a gun, but because something in her chest told her she could do it. She could trust Oliver.

He was not always someone you could trust with your heart, but he was someone you could trust with your life. Sure, it's a cliché—playboy jackass athlete is actually a fearless, reckless hero—but Felicity believed it.

By the time they reached the hospital, the sun had sunken into the horizon. Oliver wanted to call Roy's parents, but Felicity begged him not to. She told the nurses that she was his older sister and that she would call their parents, and if they could just take care of the stitches and wrap up his arm, she could pay them upfront.

Roy was in bad shape.

"Who is this kid anyway?" Oliver asked while Felicity was filling out Roy's personal information.

Felicity shrugged, writing fast. "Just a kid who delivers newspapers in my neighborhood."

"What?"

"He's just a kid who needs some help, Oliver."

Oliver looked down at the pen gliding across the page. "How do you know his personal information?"

Felicity glanced up after signing the bottom line. She tried to avoid his gaze as she mumbled, "This isn't the first time I've done this."

Oliver sighed and took the clipboard. "Must be some kid," he said, standing up. "Wait here, I'll pay the bill."

"Oliver, no," Felicity protested, rising from her seat, "You don't have to do that." She made a grab for the clipboard, but Oliver raised it high above his head, his arm stretched to the ceiling, the papers completely out-of-reach.

"You won't be able to pay for this on your own, Felicity," he said gently. "Let me help you."

Felicity wished that Oliver could be a little more cold. She wished Oliver could be mean and mock her for trying to save a boy from a dark future. But he was a roller-coaster of blowing money on booze and doing a 180 to pay for a kid's medical bill.

He was wearing her down, confusing her, she didn't know what to do. Laurel and Tommy are still at Oliver's, she has five missed calls, her head was spinning, god, they could've died back there, yeah, nice going Felicity. She couldn't believe she kicked Oliver in the groin.

After putting down a few hundred for a kid who clearly sucked at fighting, Oliver walked back to the waiting room and Felicity was gone. He asked the patients if they had seen her, maybe a nurse had taken her to see Roy, but no one had. While waiting for her to come back, he checked his phone and there were seven missed calls, two voicemails, and one text message.

He opened the text message.

Sorry, Oliver. Everything is out-of-control.

I think we should spend some time apart.

tbc.