Just a bit of fluff that I had to get out of my head and onto paper. Not beta'd, so apologies for any typos. I just wanted to get this out there, as I haven't written anything on here in quite a while. First foray into writing Arrow fanfiction. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Of course, Arrow does not belong to me. Enjoy!

Felicity Smoak never got sick. Never. Even in grade school, when all the children around her were dropping like flies (well, sitting at home with a box of tissues and stuffy noses), Felicity's little immune system refused to succumb to the passing around of germs. So when she awoke one particularly sunny Saturday morning feeling like she'd been run over by a mack truck, Felicity was definitely unprepared.

Her entire body hurt. The light streaming in her window was normally a welcome method of waking her up, but now she just wanted it to go away. It hurt her eyes, which in turn hurt her head, and she was already so over today.

When she thought her discomfort was purely restricted to her sore muscles, a feeling erupted within her that she hadn't felt since the morning after a particularly raucous (an un-Felicity-like) night out with some of the less irritating members of the IT Department at Queen Consolidated. Bolting to her en-suite, she ignored her aching body and proceeded to reacquaint herself with the Thai food she and Diggle had shared the night before (yeah, she didn't think she'd be craving that anytime soon... or like, ever).

Groaning and not even daring to glance at the horror show that would greet her in her bathroom mirror, Felicity splashed her face with some water and weakly rinsed her mouth out. She was supposed to train with Diggle today. As much as she hated bailing on their session, she was pretty sure the moment she stepped foot in the Foundry, one of either Diggle, Oliver, or Roy would promptly usher her back to her apartment.

She padded back to her bedroom towards her bed. She made a quick detour at her window – those curtains needed to keep those evil rays of sun out – and crawled back into her bed, feeling around for her phone under her pillow as she attempted to get comfortable. Thumbing through her contacts, she quickly found Dig's name and pressed send.

"Felicity!" An all-too-cheerful and definitely not John Diggle voice greeted her after a few rings.

"Oliver?" Oh god, did she really just croak? She croaked.

"What's wrong? You sound..." He trailed off, trying to think of the most polite way to put how she sounded, which was decidedly awful.

"Like death? Like a frog? Yeah, I know," She continued to croak for a few more words, finally reigning in her voice to something halfway normal, "What are you doing answering Dig's phone? Is everything OK? Do I need to come in?" She began to sit up, body protesting with every miniscule movement.

"No, no, no," Oliver rattled off hastily, "Our dear friend Diggle here," there was a hint of amusement in his voice, something very un-Oliver like as he continued, "Volunteered me for babysitting duty while he trains you and Lyla tends to some urgent ARGUS matter. Part of babysitting duty is apparently answering his phone while he changes Sara's diaper."

In the backround Felicity heard Diggle's booming voice, "Hey, man, you got the easy job. Unless you wanna switch..."

"No, no, I'll stay over here and you can do... that," Oliver spoke to Dig and for the first time that morning, Felicity smiled. It was cute to see – well, hear – them like this. Relatively carefree and joking. It was a side of Diggle that she got to see way more frequently than she did of Oliver. It was a moment that reminded her just how much...

"Hey," Oliver's voice brought her out of her thoughts, "What's wrong?"

"I'm not completely sure. I've never gotten sick before. Like, never. But everything hurts and I'm never going to be able to enjoy Pad Thai again, because, believe me, it is not nearly as appetizing coming back up as it is going down, and oh god that was way too graphic, I'm so sorry," She sank back into her pillow. Apparently being sick didn't hinder her mouth's ability to move.

"It's OK," He replied softly, "Bodily functions are becoming less scary after being around baby Sara this morning."

Again, she couldn't help but smile at the normalcy of it all, "That's cute, in an icky baby type of way." She paused and reflected on what she said, "Not that Sara is icky! I just meant, babies make messes, messes are icky, Sara's a baby... I'm going to shut up now because my throat is actually starting to hurt. Yay sickness."

Oliver chuckled at her ramble, "How about you try to get comfortable and I'll let Dig know that you won't be able to make it to train today."

"OK," Felicity nodded on the other side of the receiver, keeping her response short as she added a quick, "Thank you."

"Oh don't thank me yet," She could picture the small smile on Oliver's face as he continued, "You got me out of babysitting duty. I'll be over with medicine and soup in a bit."

Before Felicity could protest his last statement, the line had gone dead and she didn't know whether to groan or smile. On one hand, this lightness was something she wasn't quite used to from Oliver. He had been acting more cheerful since their visit to Central City and Barry and Co.'s subsequent stop by Starling City. Their interactions had been lighter and almost back to how things had been before their tragedy of a date, but this laughing and cheerful Oliver was still taking some getting used to.

On the other hand, she was very much groaning and ruing his impending visit because if she looked as awful as she felt, he probably wouldn't make it past the front door before hightailing it out of her townhouse. She was unfamiliar with being sick, but surely ailing people got a free pass on looking acceptable. It had to be a written law somewhere.

A chill made it's way through her body and she pulled the comforter tighter around her body as she turned on her side and curled into a ball, oddly finding comfort in the position. Before she knew it, the warmth of her bed drew her back into a shallow slumber.

When Felicity heard the click of her door downstairs unlocking, she could have sworn she had only just closed her eyes. A quick glance down at her phone still clutched in her hand showed her that she was wrong and that it had been nearly forty five minutes since she hung up with Oliver. It took her fuzzy brain a moment to register that Oliver didn't have a key to her place.

"Oliver?" She called out. It was a pretty pathetic shout, but it was all she could muster with the way she was feeling. "Oliver is that you?"

A brisk "Yep!" was all she got before she heard the door close and bags rustling. She figured he must have made his way into the kitchen as she heard a few cabinets opening and closing in rapid succession. Just a few moments later, she heard him coming up the stairs.

"Hey," She greeted softly, forgetting to be self conscious of the way she must look.

"Hey," He echoed back, slowly coming near her bed, perching on the edge of the mattress.

"Did you bring your arrows?" She questioned quietly, watching as a confused look spread across his face.

"No..."

His mouth was still open in an "o" when she huffed, "Well, can't put me out of my misery that way, then."

A small smirk turned the corners of his mouth upward, "No, Felicity, not that way. But between Dig's medicine cabinet and the corner store down the street, I think we can handle this."

She had to remind herself that the chill she felt was definitely – probably – from her illness than the way Oliver said her name. With a small smile, she breathed out an "OK" before meeting his eyes with hers, "Just so you know, I've never ever been sick before. So you are about to get slammed with 20+ years of whining."

"Never?" His eyebrows shot up in amusement.

"Nope." She managed to pop the 'p' in the word and gave him a warning look, "I don't think your training has prepared you for this."

Rising from the bed, he planted a swift kiss on her forehead – oh that was something she was going to be replaying in her head on repeat shamelessly, for sure – and gave her a grin as he made his way to her door, "Looks like I've traded one baby for another today."

With a very undignified yelp and a half-hearted "hey!" from Felicity, Oliver made his way back downstairs. Presumably to concoct some sort of remedy in her kitchen. Oliver in her kitchen definitely sent Felicity's mind somewhere it had no business going given her current state, but who was she to ever have control over where her thoughts wandered anyway? Domestic Oliver... this was an Oliver she liked. Not that she didn't like every other version of Oliver. She did. She just didn't like the version of Oliver that tried to tell her how and what to feel and what was best for her and...

She caught her rambling thoughts and rolled over on the mattress. Her uneasy stomach made itself known again and before she knew it, her feet were on the ground and rushing towards the bathroom. She didn't think she was being that loud – then again, who was she to know how loudly or quietly individuals "lost their lunch" – but before she realized it, there were footsteps coming back up the stairs. Her hair was quickly pulled back from her face and someone was rubbing her back comfortingly.

Of course she knew who that "someone" was and a part of her mind was embarrassed, but the sickness she felt was quickly taking over all of her other thoughts and she just wanted to stop. She wanted to sleep and she wanted to not see anymore of her Thai dinner and she most definitely wanted whoever was banging around in her head to stop.

She vaguely recognized her hair being fastened into place with a hair band and Oliver's hand stopped rubbing circles on her back. She then heard the water running in the sink and as she eased away from the toilet, a cool cloth was pressed to her head. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth – very attractive Smoak – and came to a sitting position on the floor. With a weak smile, she took the cloth from Oliver's hand and wiped her entire face, mumbling a thank you. When she was sure she would be able to get back to bed without needing to get sick again, she made a feeble attempt to pull herself up onto her feet.

Of course, Oliver swept down and picked her up, ignoring whatever slight protest she could muster. Because, honestly, with the way she felt, he could carry her all he wanted at this point.

"I was working on this soup that Dig swears by – yeah, apparently Dig is a bit of a cook," He interjected without even needing an astonished look from Felicity, "But it looks like I need to start smaller."

With a nod, Felicity murmured an apology as he tucked her back into the bed.

"Don't apologize," It came out a bit sterner than Oliver intended, but he went with it, "Felicity, there are a lot of things I can't do, but let me take care of you."

She didn't even try to hide the look that passed over her face – a look she knew he caught – whenever he said that. There was the big elephant that was always somewhere in the room where they were concerned: what they could and couldn't do; what he could and couldn't do when it came to them. She let it go with a small, and pained, smile. She just nodded, allowing him to continue taking care of her.

The lightness from their phone call and Oliver's initial actions upon arriving at her home was immediately sucked out of the atmosphere and he turned to go back down to the kitchen and attend to whatever he had begun concocting upon his arrival.

As she settled into the bed, a few tears ran down Felicity's cheeks. If anyone had been there to see, she would wholeheartedly swear that it was from the sickness, from the recent bout of vomiting, but that would have been a lie. Every time she and Oliver got close to forgetting about the outside world and who they were, it all got snatched right out from under them.

She just wanted him to leave now. Him being here and taking care of her made Felicity yearn for things that had been taken off the table for them – by Oliver himself, no less. Oliver was the type of person that took care of people, but this... this was too much. Too much had been said and unsaid between them for this to be the platonic action it should have been.

If Felicity was more like herself, she would have insisted he leave.

Instead, she fell back into a fitful sleep.

"What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing," Was Oliver's mantra as he fiddled around in Felicity's kitchen. He was simultaneously preparing the soup Diggle had given him the recipe for as he boiled water in the teakettle for some herbal tea he had picked up at the store. Still, it wasn't keeping his mind busy enough. He was able to finely dice up the ingredients and place them in the large pot to cook without much concentration, so his mind kept drifting to the blonde upstairs.

Things had been better between them since Central City. Their banter and friendship was back to how it had always been before their date and the mess he had made of their romantic relationship. Well, if you could even call it a romantic relationship. There were feelings, lots and lots of feelings, but no actions.

It was for the best, he kept reminding himself. As much as he wanted it, there realistically was no way for a relationship between the two of them to end well. He just wanted Felicity to be happy. While a part of him, a large and selfish part of him, hoped that that happiness would be with him only, he knew that there were others out there that were better for her. They hadn't spoken about her relationship – was there even a relationship? – with Ray Palmer and if Oliver had his way, that would never, ever come up; but from what he walked in on that night at Queen Consolidated – Palmer Technologies, whatever – he knew that there was something there. It might break his heart in the long run, but that didn't matter to him. All that matters is that Felicity is happy and out of harm's way.

Brought out of his reverie by the whistling of the teakettle, he clamored around looking for a mug before fixing the tea to her liking (it didn't escape his notice that when she had been his EA, he had been bringing her coffee or tea and not the other way around).

He crept back up the stairs, tea in hand, only to stop short in her doorway. Her eyes were puffy and he wouldn't be winning any awards as a hairstylist for the messy ponytail he had thrown her hair into, but even ill Felicity managed to give him pause. She was sleeping, yet she was beautiful. He felt an imaginary vice squeeze his heart tightly as he walked towards her nightstand, setting the tea down on a coaster next to her alarm clock and glasses.

He debated waking her up so that she could get some liquids in her system via the tea, but he decided she needed rest more at the moment. Hopefully she could rest and when she woke up the soup would be ready. It would be a couple hours yet before the soup would be ready for her – them – to eat, so he had nothing to occupy himself with. That could lead to troublesome thoughts. He settled into the very, very bright fuchsia chair in the corner of her bedroom and gazed at the blonde sleeping in the dead center of the bed.

She wasn't sleeping peacefully, that much he could tell. She would toss and turn from one side to the next periodically, but she never woke up.

Oliver's thoughts became more and more dangerous as he gazed at her. What if he could keep her safe? Too many people already knew about Felicity's association with the Arrow, so would she really be in more danger in a relationship with him than she already was as his partner? Felicity might not be as combat efficient as Diggle, Roy, or himself, but she had proven over and over again that she could handle herself. Then again, Sara could handle herself, too, and look what happened there.

That was different, a traitorous part of his mind reminded him. Sara surrounded herself with even more dangerous people than Oliver did. That didn't mean she deserved the fate she had been dealt. Oliver had survived losing Sara. It had been difficult – she had been by his side on the Island and again when they briefly reunited in Starling City - and he owed a great deal to her; however, Oliver knew he wouldn't survive losing Felicity if something should happen to her. The situations were different. For all he cared about – and even loved – Sara, he was undeniably and irrevocably in love with Felicity Smoak. And that was dangerous.

"Stop thinking so loud," the ball in the middle of Felicity's bed groaned out, "I think you're managing to make my head hurt even more."

Oliver smiled tightly as he made eye contact with Felicity. Her head was barely poking out of the covers and he could plainly see how miserable she was from the look in her eyes, "I didn't want to wake you. I made some tea. The lady at the store swears it cures everything," He rose up from his seated position and picked the mug up from the nightstand as she sat up and fluffed some pillows behind her to sit back against.

"Should be cool enough to drink by now," He murmured as he sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully placing the mug in her hand, their fingertips brushing as they switched possession of the ceramic mug with binary code scrambled all around it.

"Thanks," Felicity offered with as genuine a smile she could muster, instinctively blowing on the moderately warm liquid before taking a sip. Her face scrunched up in disgust, "Ugh, why are cure-all's so disgusting?"

Oliver raised his eyebrow and gave a small laugh, "Let me get right on putting an arrow in the sweet lady at the store," he deadpanned.

"I think it's only appropriate; you recommend this," She made a face at the mug, "and you get paid a visit by the Arrow," She pushed the mug back at him, "I think I'd rather be left to my fate."

"Hm," Oliver set the mug back on the table, "you weren't joking when you said you had 20 plus years of whining to make up for."

Felicity stuck her tongue out at him, "When I can move without my body aching, I'm going to punch you," At yet another raised eyebrow from Oliver, she added in her most menacing tone, "When you least expect it."

"Hm," He murmured again, "So, just about anytime?"

She snorted, not caring about the lack of gracefulness in the action, "Oliver's got jokes. Took you long enough, broody boy."

"I'm not -" He began weakly, before dropping it altogether as she reached across him and grabbed the mug again.

At his bemused expression, she took a sip and did a better job hiding her disgust than the first time she tasted the liquid, "It tastes awful, but it feels good going down my throat." Her wince and the look that flashed across Oliver's eyes indicated to both of them that the slight innuendo didn't go unnoticed.

"I don't want you to end up sick," She admitted after a moment, taking another sip. This time, she didn't even grimace.

"I won't get sick," At the curious look she shot him, he continued, "But if I do get sick, you can tell me 'I told you so' and I won't even get mad."

"Hm, Oliver being wrong about something. I almost want you to get sick now. Then again, I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I'm pretty sure there's some awful garage band practicing in my head and my body feels like it's gone a few rounds with a Mirakuru'd Roy." She paused, "Not 'gone a few rounds' like sex, but gone a few rounds in a fight. Which I lost. Not that I'd feel any different after a few rounds of sex with someone who has been Mirakuru'd because that just seems painful as well and -"

"Felicity," Oliver ground out, all sorts of feelings trying to keep themselves at bay. First of all, he did a good enough job imagining sex with Felicity without her putting any sort of images in his head. Especially if those images involved Roy and that just brought a whole new green monster into the picture. He'd hate to pummel Roy for no known (to him) reason the next time he sees him.

"Sorry. My lack of filter still works," She smiled forcibly, "Yay me."

Oliver watched as she finished up her tea and held the mug out to him proudly, "All finished with this monstrosity. Point, Felicity."

Plucking the mug from her fingers, he held it between his two hands in his lap as she settled back against the pillows, "Good. The lady might not get a visit from the Arrow, after all."

"Yeah, not my best moment trying to sic the Arrow on an unsuspecting grocery store clerk. Lets chalk that up to the sickness and pretend I'm not an evil psychopath on the inside."

"Fair enough," he rose up off the bed, "Do you feel up to eating something? Dig's soup won't be ready for," he glanced at her alarm clock, "Another two hours, but I picked up some crackers at the store."

Felicity shook her head rather vehemently, "No thanks, I'll wait on the soup. I think I'll try getting a shower. I'm probably winning a few hot mess awards right now. Except less of the 'hot' and more of the 'mess'."

Oliver instinctively went to correct her, but it froze on his tongue. His mind was really trying to sabotage this distance he had so carefully constructed between them since that night at the hospital the night baby Sara was born. "OK. I'll go clean up in the kitchen. Don't over do it and call me if you need anything."

She nodded and climbed out of the bed, disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door. Oliver lingered a moment, looking at the door she had disappeared behind before making his way downstairs to clean up the slight mess he had made of her kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later, Felicity was still standing beneath the warm spray of her shower. Well, moderately warm spray. She couldn't quite get comfortable under the water. Parts of her body craved hot water, while other parts insisted on something cooler. Between adjusting the nozzle numerous times and alternating between standing and sitting, this was not the most enjoyable shower of her life.

She had just managed to wash her hair when a wave of exhaustion hit her. She wasn't leaving the house today – or even planning on drying her hair – so the lack of conditioning it would be OK. She shut the water off and grabbed the fluffy towel she had set out for herself. She was able to enjoy being wrapped up in the warmth of it for a few seconds when the urge to lie down became nearly unbearable. She quickly pulled her hair up in a ponytail before stepping out into her bedroom. Oliver was still downstairs, thankfully, so she was able to quickly rummage through her underwear drawer and pluck out a pair of comfortable panties without him seeing. She then dug out a fuzzy pair of shorts and a t-shirt from some 5K race she was pretty positive she never participated in.

Felicity was just pulling the shirt over her head whenever Oliver made his way up the stairs.

"Oh," He was clearly a little flustered, as her bedroom door had not been shut and he caught a glimpse of the skin right above the waistband of her shorts. "Sorry, I heard the water shut off. I completely forgot to give you some of these," he was carrying a foil packet with two little pills in it in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

"All dressed," She flashed him a smile, "No harm, no foul." Her facial expression changed quickly, "But I have to lie down."

He quickly set the items he had been holding on her dresser and pulled back the comforter for her as she settled back into the bed. He tucked her in and went to retrieve the medicine and water, "Was the shower over doing it."

She shrugged as he popped the pills out of the packet into her palm, "Well, I was feeling pretty gross and a sponge bath wasn't exactly an option."

Oliver suddenly had difficulty unscrewing the cap to the water bottle. After struggling for way longer than necessary, he managed to unscrew the little plastic top and handed it to her as she took her pills.

"Right," was all he mumbled out, before realization dawned on her as to what she had said.

"Oh, Oliver. I-I didn't mean..." She cringed visibly, "I'm really bad at this." She gestured between the two of them.

Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask, he kept repeating internally, but now it was his turn for his mouth to betray him, "This?"

She burrowed into the covers as he sat down on the edge, again. With a sigh, she elaborated, "I'm keeping my explanation short because I need to sleep. But this," She darted her eyes down at her body and then over at him, "Us. Or, lack of us. Sometimes I forget that things are the way they are and I say these things that used to be OK. Or, if not necessarily 'OK' at least they used to be a lot more innocent than they are now. But now there are feelings. Were feelings. I don't know, I said I'd be short and I've said too much."

For a moment, Oliver was quiet. Being quiet was easier, but since when did he take the easy route? "You had it right the first time." Her eyes had drifted shut, but they snapped open at his admission. Oliver saw now that her eyes were dull with sickness, but that they also had a glimmer of hope in them. And who was he to take that spark from her? "There are feelings, Felicity."

"I know," She confessed, "I know that you can't act on them. Believe me, that message has been received loud and clear." Her laugh was dry and it gave way to a coughing fit, which lead to groans as that exploited her already sore body.

Oliver placed a hand on her cheek as she stopped coughing, realizing for the first time that she was burning up. "I think you have a fever."

"You've always been so good at deflecting," She had to admit that his hand felt refreshingly cool against her cheek and she leaned against his touch unashamedly.

"Felicity," He let out a long sigh, "Are we doing this now?"

"Yep," she brought her hand up to his and removed it from her cheek, but didn't let go once it was resting on the mattress.

"OK," It didn't go unnoticed by him how easily he always acquiesced to Felicity's wishes as of late.

"I'm trying to go back to how it was before, Oliver, but I can't." Her voice was raw and he didn't know whether to attribute that to emotion or the sickness.

"I know," He wiggled his fingers around until they were interlocked, because no matter what his head was telling him right now, he was tired of listening to it, "I went to go see you. The night after dealing with Cutter."

Her eyes widened in alarm and from the look in his eyes, she knew he had seen what happened between Ray and her. "Oh, Oliver, no."

"Felicity, I just want you to be happy. I think you have a shot at that with Palmer."

Another coughing fit followed by a groan, "I tried." She confessed, "I tried kissing Palmer and moving on because, hey, apparently all a guy needs is a salmon ladder and I'm mush," At the puzzled look on Oliver's face, she quickly barreled on, "That was a joke. A bad one, but – nevermind. The point is, he isn't you. He never will be. No one will be."

"Us being together is –,"

"So help me, Oliver, if you say 'dangerous', I'm going to change the password to the doors every day for the next month," Not the strongest of threats, but it got Oliver to pause and change course.

" – what I want." He finished, shocking the hell out of Felicity.

"Repetez, s'il vous plait?" She wasn't quite sure why she replied in French, but it was safe to say that is not the response she had been expecting.

"I want to be with you, Felicity, I just don't know how to." He confessed solemnly, brushing his thumb across her fingers were their hands were still intertwined.

"No one magically knows how to make a relationship work, Oliver," She offered him a genuine smile, even though her throat was now starting to burn with over use. This, this was worth it, "Just be yourself. I want every part of you. I love every part of you."

Oliver had no rebuttal, because he knew it was true. He had been unsure of how strong her feelings ran, yes, but he had always known that she accepted him as the Arrow and as Oliver Queen. For him, straddling the line between the two worlds was difficult, but for her there were no masks as far as he was concerned. She loved him, not just Oliver Queen, not just Starling City's Vigilante.

At his silence, Felicity was beginning to be overcome with a sense of dread. Maybe the "I love you" had been too much. Maybe he didn't feel the same way; sure, he had all but said he loved her, but that had been a long time ago. Maybe he felt strongly, but just not that strongly.

Suddenly the bed shifted and he placed a ghost of a kiss on her lips, "I love you, too, Felicity." He pulled away and untangled their fingers, "I've got to stir the soup."

As Oliver hastily retreated downstairs, Felicity was definitely dumbstruck. He kissed her. He told her he loved her. He kissed her, told her he loved her, and then went to stir the soup.

What the hell?

"That soup better be heaven in my mouth," Felicity grumbled. That was definitely no way to end a conversation, and if she felt like she could stand without wobbling, she would have followed Oliver downstairs faster than Barry in Flash mode.

Alas, she felt like crap. And her eyes were heavy. Her damn body was working against her and it was making her cranky. So, she slept.

"I have to stir the soup?" Oliver whispered to himself incredulously. Of all the excuses he'd used to get out of conversations in his lifetime, that one definitely took the cake.

He was downstairs stirring the all-important soup, even though it wasn't really necessary. Actually, he was pretty sure he had been stirring the soup for thirty minutes now. Sadly, that wasn't an exaggeration. He kept stirring the ladle 'round and 'round as he replayed the entirety of their conversation over in his head several times.

It was never supposed to go that far, to get that deep. He was supposed to come over here and take care of his Felicity – not his, just Felicity – and go about his business. Now the look Dig gave him as he left Dig and Lyla's apartment made more and more sense, and boy did he hate when Dig made sense. Especially when it came to what had been going on with him and Felicity lately.

Dig always made sense.

Oliver wouldn't be admitting that to him anytime soon.

As he sat there stirring, he realized he had two options. He could pretend that nothing had transpired between the two of them upstairs and attempt to go back to business as usual (yeah, because that was working) or the two of them could try to figure out how to make a relationship work. OK, so there wasn't a choice. At least, not for him. There was no one else that understood him like Felicity. Once upon a time he fooled himself into thinking Laurel knew him better than anyone else, but that was a farce. Even before the Island, Oliver had been a pro at deceiving Laurel Lance. From where he stood, Felicity was The Girl for him. Dancing around the issue wasn't going to make any of that go away, that he knew with certainty. He was in love with Felicity Smoak and now that everything was out in the open, he was going to fight for their relationship.

"Damn it," Oliver cursed as his voracious stirring led to some of the liquid jumping over the edge and onto his forearm. Enough stirring of the damn soup.

He knew that Felicity needed rest, and while he probably wasn't her favorite person right now considering how he had left things upstairs, he was going to give her a while to rest before he tried finishing their conversation. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she felt poorly and he wasn't going to draw out her discomfort further if he could help it.

He strode into her living room and unceremoniously plopped down on the sofa, mindlessly turning the TV on and flipping through the channels until he landed on something vaguely familiar.

Of course, not even Sam and Dean's exploits could distract him from the whirlwind of thoughts blowing through his brain. Physical distractions were his preference, but it didn't appear Felicity was the owner of a home gym.

"Oh great," He groused to himself as his brain decided to envision other physical distractions; all of which involved a certain blonde IT whiz. He scrubbed his hands over his face and quickly pushed those trains of thoughts out of his mind, deciding to focus on the TV screen in front of him.

He had successfully been able to get lost in the episode whenever he heard shuffling coming from upstairs. Just as the ending credits began rolling, Felicity came down the stairs, shivering slightly.

"Oliver?" She asked groggily, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Hey," He answered as he jumped up off the sofa, muting the TV as he did, "I figured you'd be sleeping." Now probably wasn't the best time to be appreciating the fact that Felicity's shorts revealed a whole lot of leg.

"I was, kinda. I sleep for a little while, wake up, and then I can't get comfortable." She shivered again and gave him a weak smile, "I guess coming downstairs wasn't the brightest idea."

Instinctively, Oliver grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the sofa he had been sitting on and stepped closer to her, wrapping it around her shoulders, "Do you wanna try resting down here? Your couch is pretty comfortable," He gave her a smile that she returned, even though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

He knew it was probably the sickness, but she seemed more deflated now. His smile faltered upon noticing this, but he was a pro at plastering on a fake smile, so he continued on as he ushered her over to the sofa. He lent down and arranged some pillows quickly before she laid across the sofa. Between the two of them, they were able to adjust the blanket so that it covered her fully.

"Where's this miracle soup of Diggle's? I'm actually kinda hungry."

"Not much longer now. It's thoroughly stirred," He added the second line more to himself than her, but she offered a raised brow before she began coughing.

By the time her coughing fit subsided, Oliver had disappeared and reappeared with a water bottle, which she accepted happily. She took a swig and handed it back to him. She opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it and snapped her mouth shut.

Oliver noticed, but opted to not press whatever it was she was thinking, "Here," he thrust the remote into her hand, "Maybe this will keep you occupied until the food is ready."

Felicity smiled as she unmuted the TV. "Oh, yay," She sounded genuinely excited, "Shirtless Sam in this episode."

"Really? I pegged you for a Dean girl," He sat cross legged on the floor next to the couch, leaning back against the front of the couch near Felicity's midsection.

Without hesitation, she fired back, "Welcome to the world of being wrong, Oliver Queen."

Subtlety wasn't their strong suit, Oliver was quickly (and belatedly) realizing. He turned his neck to look at her, not shocked in the least when he saw her sporting a grin.

"Felicity," He said after a beat, "I – ."

"Wait," She quickly interrupted, "is this another time where once we talk about it, it's over? Because I can't, Oliver. I'd rather just let it go silently than suffer through another speech about how this can't happen."

He sighed heavily before continuing, "What I was trying to say before I was so rudely interrupted," He offset his unpleasant words with a smirk in her direction, "is that I want to make this work."

"Oh," her mouth fell open and stayed there for a moment longer than necessary, before repeating the sound yet again.

"Felicity Smoak speechless?" Oliver teased, earning a glare and a very weak thwack on the back of his head.

"Oliver," She said his name full of emotion, "don't tell me this and pull away tomorrow. I meant it, when I told you about Thea's paternity, I don't want to lose you."

"You're not," He said with finality, "We're going to make this work, Felicity. You're my partner and nothing is going to happen to you; happen to us. You want a life outside of what we do, and I want that, too. I want it with you. You give me purpose and hope, and those are two things that have been escaping me for too long now."

"OK," Felicity spoke softly, partly because she was shocked and partly because she felt like she would burst from joy any moment now. This was what she wanted. Well, she didn't exactly want to feel like death warmed over on her sofa, but she wanted Oliver. She wanted to be able to touch Oliver and be with him, no holds barred.

She noticed something was off and rolled her eyes at the absurdity of it all, "Oliver, I think the soup is burning."

He leaped to his feet and disappeared into the kitchen, muttering curses and something that sounded a lot like "Diggle" but of that she wasn't too sure.

She was grateful for the momentary distraction, because it gave her the time to process what had transpired between them. Oliver had done the lion's share of talking, and for that she was thankful, even if it was a bit uncharacteristic of him. Sore throat and aching body be damned, she was going to enjoy this moment. He wanted to be with her. She wanted to be with him. They were going to make this work. She couldn't help but beam at the memory of him proclaiming she gave him purpose and hope. Coming from any guy, those are swoon-worthy statements; coming from Oliver – could she call him her Oliver now? – it was probably the most romantic thing she'd ever heard.

She knew he would fret over her safety from here to eternity and she was going to do everything in her power to assuage his fears of losing her to some psychopath out to get revenge against the Arrow and/or Oliver Queen. She'd train with him, Dig, and Roy if it helped ease his mind. Plus, Felicity Smoak was no slouch when it came to covering her digital tracks. Yes, she had made some mistakes in the past, but she had learned from those. She wasn't going to become another Sara or whatever Laurel was trying to become; she would always be more comfortable behind her computers than facing off with someone, but she would try to become more capable.

"Now who is thinking loudly?" Oliver's voice brought her out of her mind and she smiled as he set a tray across her lap with a bowl of soup and napkins placed in the center.

"I guess I'm already picking up your habits," She quipped, sitting up straighter against the arm of the sofa.

"Eat your soup, Felicity," He shot her a look as he took up his former position on the floor, leaning against the couch.

"Sir, yes, sir," She picked up her spoon and blew on the steaming liquid, "You better not have burnt it. I'll tell Dig you ruined his recipe."

"You won't know until you actually eat your soup," He sing-songed at her, earning him a snort as she finally ate a mouthful of the soup.

"Oh my god," She moaned after swallowing, "My body better not throw this up later because, this," She dunked her spoon back into the liquid emphatically, "This is orgasmic. Like best thing I've ever had."

Oliver leaned his head back to rest against her leg and suppressed a groan, "Felicity, when you're feeling well again, we're going to work on what you deem orgasmic."

At that Felicity's eyes widened and she gave a nod, "Looking forward to it." She paused. "I mean, the getting better. Because I really, really want this sickness to pass. Not that I wouldn't be looking forward to the other stuff. Believe me, I'm really looking forward to the other stuff, too. Kinda been thinking about these things for a while now." Again, she paused and mentally cursed, "Shutting up and eating my soup now."

After her babbling – and the general turn of events for the day – Oliver couldn't wipe the grin that spread across his face off if he tried.

Three days later, Oliver was the one sprawled across Felicity's couch as she actually spoon fed him The Orgasmic Soup as she had taken to calling it; for as pitiful and whiny as she had been, Oliver was ten times worse. She slipped an "I told you so" in a few times, but took pity on the former billionaire as he coughed and groaned between spoonfuls. Just as he had taken care of her, she was going to do the same for him.

Two days after that, Felicity was able to amend her statement about the soup. It was the second best thing she ever had; Oliver Queen was by far the first.