The first time he suspects that the needle punctured his suit, it's after he's hit Roy.

He considers throwing a second punch when Diggle steps in front of him, laying both palms flat on his chest, pushing him back. "Okay, Oliver, take a breath."

"What was she even doing there?" Oliver yells. "Simple instructions Roy, she doesn't go out on the field unless I say so."

"Unless you say so?" Felicity asks, her voice an octave higher than usual. She quirks an eyebrow questioningly at him while holding an ice pack out to Roy. "If you want to hit anyone, you should be hitting me. It was my decision, and when you get off your high horse, you might want to try a different approach to this, like, I don't know, 'hey Roy and Felicity, thanks for saving my life'."

Oliver ignores her and glares at his sidekick. The younger man sighs, wincing as the cold surface of the ice pack meets his swollen jaw. "Have you tried saying no to her? She threatened to hack my bank account. What was I supposed to do?"

Felicity pushes out her lower lip, and nods proudly. "It's true." She pretends to buff her nails. "I was very threatening. Besides, you act like there's someone else on this team who could have figured out the code to that keypad. Newsflash, there isn't." She sits down on her chair and swivels around. "No offense guys," she says in a singsong. "I just meant that I'm the smartest one here." She cups her hands over her mouth and grimaces. "Ugh, I hate this drug."

Oliver takes a deep breath, pulling the zipper of his suit midway down his chest. He ignores the hot flash he's experiencing as he yanks the leather sleeve off one shoulder, twisting his neck to check the puncture mark that he knows is there.

"Here, let me see," Sara offers, approaching with a blue tourniquet and syringe. She places her foot on the bottom bar of a nearby stool and kicks it towards Oliver. "Sit down."

"Felicity first." He throws her a look that tells her it's non-negotiable.

Felicity chuckles nervously. "Me?" she squeals, covering the arm where she was hit. "I'm fine. Why don't we just establish I have no willpower, and then it becomes completely unnecessary to check whether I have the drug in my system. I mean, have you see me eat a pint of ice cream?" She points a thumb to her chest. "No. Will. Power. A blood test is completely unne—ughhh," she groans as Sara grabs her arm and wraps the tourniquet around it.

"Distract her," Sara instructs Oliver, who appears by Felicity's side. He reaches out and intertwines his fingers with hers, his other hand landing gently on her left cheek, turning her head towards him. He tells himself it must be the drug coursing through his system, because he leans in until their noses are almost touching.

"Just focus on me," he whispers, his thumb tracing her jawline. She gazes into his eyes, and Oliver gets lost in this moment—his chest swells with the knowledge that, for a change, he's giving her the comfort she needs, something she provides in spades for him. He barely feels the rubber strip that's tied around his arm, or the needle that Sara jabs in to draw his blood after she finishes with Felicity.

"Okay, I'll run the blood and let you know what I find," she informs them. "You guys should head home. I'll call when I know something."

Oliver's grip on Felicity's hand tightens, and he jerks his head towards the foundry door. "Come on," he says with a smile. "I'll take you home."

When Felicity asks him for help unzipping her dress, the last thing he expects is for her to step out of it in front of him, right in the middle of her living room. His eyes fall to the dark, blue fabric lying in a heap on the floor, trying to avoid looking at her, until he remembers he has no willpower. If there is any time when he can get away with ogling her the way he's always wanted to, it's now, and he figures he might as well take advantage. A wave of relief washes over him as he lifts his gaze to her nearly naked form, clothed only in black, lace underwear, because it's a weight off his shoulders to go with the flow instead of fighting against it. He tracks her as she makes her way to her kitchen, throwing the refrigerator door open.

"Is it just me or is it really hot in here?" she asks, grabbing a dishtowel and wiping her neck. "I'm really sweaty."

Hot is an understatement, he thinks to himself, as he closes the distance between them. "It's not cold," he admits, stopping right in front of her, leaning himself against the bar island. Felicity whips around, handing him a bottle of water. "This might help," she suggests, opening a second bottle and chugging the water noisily. She tosses the empty bottle towards the trashcan, laughing when it misses by nearly two feet. "Ooops." She looks up at him and shrugs. "I can't aim as well as you," she says with an exaggerated pout, eyes peering up at him innocently.

She's beautiful and perfect and everything that's right in his life.

He reaches out and places a hand on her cheek, exhaling when she leans into his touch. "We all have our talents," he murmurs, bridging the final distance between their bodies with one step. Pressing himself up against her, he wraps one arm around her waist to keep her exactly where he wants her, not that she seems determined to get away. She responds with a finger coming up to trace the v-neck collar of his shirt, and then he feels her skin tracing his collarbone. He weaves his fingers into hers, lifting her hand up to his lips, brushing gentle kisses on each fingertip. She watches him silently, curiously.

She smiles at him as she pulls her hand away to rub the stubble on his cheek, and Oliver knows he's done for. He doesn't stop to think about how powerful this drug is, or that maybe he's stronger than what's taking control of his system at this moment. He entertains only one thought as his tongue gains entry into her mouth, as her hands make quick work of the buttons on his jeans and he hurriedly undoes the clasp of her bra: he loves her, and tonight, he gets to show her just how much.

He doesn't bother to look at the caller ID on his phone when he answers it the next morning. "Mmmm-ello?"

"Ollie, hey did I wake you?"

He squints as he sits up, clearing his throat. "Hey, Sara. Nope. It's fine. I'm up."

"So, good news. Whatever you got hit with wasn't the willpower drug."

Oliver swallows, shifting in place. "What do you mean? I got hit with the dart. Felicity did too."

"Well, they must have accidentally put in the placebo, or something…because there was nothing in your system."

He flashes back to the night before, explicit images that have him hard all over again. "Great, so there's nothing in our system," he acknowledges, taking a deep breath.

He looks over at Felicity, hair tousled and tangled, still sleeping next to him. He knows as he watches the rise and fall of her chest that he has no regrets, and he smiles as he considers that this is it—the two of them together. There's no excuse this time. No reason to backtrack. They can finally move forward. "That's fantastic," he adds with a laugh. "Felicity will be thrilled."

"Well, I said there was nothing in your system," Sara clarifies. "I was just about to call Felicity after I get off the phone with you. She definitely had the drug in her system. A lot of it. She seem okay when you took her home last night?"

Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes. "Yeah. Fine," he lies as he turns his attention to the blonde stirring next to him. "Listen, I'll tell Felicity. Thanks Sara. I gotta go."

Felicity rolls over, rubbing her eyes. "Oliver?" she asks when he comes into focus. "What are you doing here?"

It's a vice-grip on his heart, that question.

"Felicity," he says, as she looks up at him. "We need to talk about last night."