(a/n: listen i had trouble with this last one for so many reasons (how to end, how to write, is this even understandable english at this point, blah blah blah) but one of my biggest concerns was it would be too cheesy. but canon oliver queen in love and in a stable relationship with felicity smoak is… fucking fluff? it looks like it's taken straight from a fucking fanfic? I AM HERE FOR IT and you'll definitely find more of it here. i know we've hit a rough patch on the show currently, but we'll get through it! we will! we got through three seasons of this shit and im not getting tired now! this was my psa.

i always feel restricted when it comes to writing (with words and phrases), because english isn't my first language so sometimes i read over something and for me, it just comes across like something a kid in middle school wrote. so. well. i'm sorry if you feel that way, too.

the song is by my mother taylor swift and goes by spoiler alert: you are in love)

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chapter five: you can hear it in the silence

"John, can you leave us for a moment?" She freezes as she hears Oliver's voice echo through the training room. She watches Digg stiffen, reaching out to steady the punching bag as he nods, shortly, before sending her a look that ratios somewhere from 'good luck' to 'told you so, dumbass' that penetrates through every bone in her body.

She's still slightly out of breath from her almost-finished-work-out as she squeezes her eyes shut in anticipation, waiting for him to say anything, too afraid to face him. He touches her shoulder, and he's standing close, too close which is unexpected, and mean, because it feels so intimate while she knows he's pissed.

He's tricking her, but she turns her head anyway (noting that somewhere in that sentence probably is a 'love is…'-calendar idea, but that's an email for later). "Look, before you say anything that closely resembles anything anti-feminist and condescending and completely s—"

"Felicity," he says her name with a sigh and… is he… no? He's smiling?

This means that a) he's gone full on bat shit crazy with anger, b) he's suffering from some sort of brain injury causing facial muscle dysfunctionality or, c) he actually doesn't mind she's been hiding her road to protect-and-kick-ass-dome from him. Which, no.

"I know you've been training with Digg, for a while now," he informs her, hand slipping away from her shoulder and leaving her skin cold.

She's kind of alarmed. She had expected a lot of… yelling. At least some kind of reaction beside, well. This. Maybe she had unconsciously expected the worst of him, and that kind of makes her feel like an asshole. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He shrugs, and his hand twitches, like he wants to reach out and touch her, but is waiting for her to make the first move. "I figured, you know, you would. Eventually." She's totally an asshole.

She closes her fingers around his, and his tiny, almost timid smile stretches. She considers him, then, hikes an eyebrow, "And?"

He doesn't even look surprised she has him all figured out, "Sara told me to give you 'space'." By the way he's passive-aggressively air-quoting, she can tell he thinks it's stupid. But he did it anyway.

(She squeezes his fingers, just to be sure it isn't option b) he's having a stroke, but since he's squeezes back, still smiling, she figures hemiparesis isn't the case here.)

(She also makes a mental note to tell Sara to get a life later on, she's too invested in theirs. It's kind of… sweet. And creepy.)

"I want you to be able to protect yourself. I mean, I'm not an idiot. Being married to me, doesn't only protect you. It also makes you a target," he licks his lips, staring at a wall over her shoulder but not actually at the wall, as if he's trying to find the right words, trying to remain collected. "It be really naive for me to think that there's always going to be someone around, to, to protect you. You should—I don't know. I just don't want to make it any easier for them."

She kind of wants to tell him she loves him right there and then, but decides she wants to save it for later. Instead, she settles on playful, "So you're going to make me do all the hard work?"

His shoulders sag just a little as he swallows tightly. "I just don't—every time I think about you going off on your own, all I'm able to think about is you—you getting hurt. And I don't…" He looks almost pained that he has to say it out loud, has to be so vulnerable, "I don't know what I would do if that, if it ever happened."

Screw her heart for skipping a beat, screw that warm feeling spreading across her chest, screw Oliver. She hates it.

"I'm not going out there at night to try and catch the bad guys and put them away like, like some vigilante," she presses lightly, placing her hands on his sides, sliding them under his jacket before further clarifying, "I just want to be able to defend myself so that if anyone ever tries to hurt me, I won't go down without a fight, and very possibly, crying for my mother."

He smiles, a little, but it doesn't quite reaches his eyes, before he's back to brooding. She smooths out his frown with her fingers before informing him, "I thought you were going to yell at me."

"I know," he says, leaning down and kissing her forehead, wrapping his arms around her. "There's still time for that later."

She laughs against his shoulder, leaning back and settling her hands on his cheeks, wondering when the last time was she was this happy, ever. Looking at him, all fondness and crinkled eyes from smiling, she doesn't really remember.

"I can protect you, too, you know," he says low, almost possessively, his grip tightening on her arms ever so slightly. Her hands slip down to his neck, offering him a small supporting smile.

"I know," she replies softly after a moment, 95 percent sure a 'but I like to take care of myself' is laced somewhere inside of those two words. Still, she feels all warm and fuzzy when she think about another person, him, feeling that way about her.

She's realizes she really would, too, wouldn't she? Jump in front of bullets, and catch grenades, and run through fire for him, right. To protect him. That's... That's a completely new feeling, almost like a new kind of dependency, and it's in her every instinct to fight it, but she doesn't want to.

"I just want you to know you can trust me," his voice fades as his gaze trails off to his hands, now on her arms, using his thumb to caress her skin softly, creating a weird swirly feeling in her stomach. "I could've helped—trained you, too."

"Okay," she says, a little too hasty, but who is she to pass up any opportunity she has to see him shirtless. Seriously, it should be illegal to be this hot. "Just let Digg down easy. I think he was really enjoying making me cry."

He laughs, but it's an half-assed attempt at pretending he isn't staring at her lips, hand frozen on her arms as she slides her hands down his shoulders. He swallows hard, searching her face and for a second she thinks he isn't going through with it. Luckily, she is wrong and he surges forward to press his lips against hers, hands on her face, but it isn't desperate or fast, but slow, almost soft, steady. It's almost like coming home.

This time she honestly doesn't care she's covered in a thin layer of sweat, or looks like an asthma patient that just ran a marathon because of the five push-ups she did ten minutes ago, or that this isn't a very romantic story to tell her grandchildren—all she sees, feels, breathes is Oliver.

Somewhere in between his hands tugging on her ponytail to free her hair, his mouth on her collarbone and her hands touching his abs with church music playing on the background (that part only happened in her head, she thinks) she notes that if someone would've told her a six months ago that right now she and Oliver would be having sex on his weight training bench—she would've questioned your level of creep, wondered about your ability to ESP and laughed in your face if you thought she was ever voluntarily stepping foot inside that training room.

Who's laughing now? Not her. Definitely not her.

.

"Shitake mushrooms," she mutters under her breath, considering giving up on hanging the brightly neon colored 'welcome home' banner and settling for something less… tall. Eye-level was high enough, in her opinion.

She hears a chuckle behind her, a hand being placed on her hip as someone appears next to her. "Need any help?"

"Not really, I'm fine," she says, a little too enthusiastically as she damns her mother and father for making her so damn vertically challenged. What the hell's up with that, mom? Can't give her the big-boobgene but she'll give her the shortness gene? She refuses to look at him.

"Thea's going to be here in…" She sees a movement in the corner of her eye—which is probably him looking at his watch—because she is still refusing to look at him because of like, pride and not a complete feeling of uselessness. "Two minutes, you really want to take that chance?"

"She practically organized this party herself, down to the damn color scheme. I only had to pick everything up because she 'trusted me to handle this one tiny thing while she was still confined' so no, if I want to live beyond today, maybe I shouldn't," she gives in, sighing as she steps aside, giving one part of the banner to her So Tall (and handsome as hell) boyfriend-husband (how do you define what they have, honestly?) and pointing to a spot on the wall.

"I know, she called me to confirm you picked up the blue candy buffet."

"Yeah, because 'blue is the color of healing in many buddhist tribes in southern and central asia', didn't you know?"

He grins. "Don't forget it means reliable and responsible."

There's a moment of comfortable silence (dumb smiles one both of their faces because they're those people) as she collects a few thumbtacks and hands them to him, stepping back to her original spot to admire him as he basically does all the work.

"I'm happy to help," he mentions casually, shrugging a little, "Make things easier for you. Things like helping you hang up streamers and balloons, or open up your jars or maybe making your travelling distance shorter."

Something is up. He never uses the word happy, that's for one.

Her head snaps over to him, pushing her glasses further up her nose as she licks her lips in hesitation, trying to stall, "Are you—are you asking me to move in with you? Because we kind of live together, already, like, have been for a little while now. Or are you asking me to start working from home because I told you that I'm going back and there's nothing—"

"No, it's not that," he replies as he pins the banner to the wall, moving closer to her to pin the other side as he avoids her gaze. "I mean…" he sighs, clenching his jaw, probably angry at himself for not always being able to say what he wants to with words. "We could share it, my room."

She understands him still, and she smiles, brightly and genuinely because that's about the cutest thing she's ever heard and every time she looks at him the beat of her heart just becomes his name. "I'm in as long as I can bring my babies with me," she teases, trying not to make too big a deal of it as she leans up to peck his lips. "And with babies I mean my tech, not actual babies."

"Just to clarify," he asks cynically, definitely amused and she's happy that she gets to see this Oliver, happy that he's less guarded around her, and just all around happy.

"Just to clarify," she echoes, mouths clumsily bumping together because she's too busy smiling. Maybe Just To Clarify could be their 'Okay' faintly (and ironically, she feels it's important to point this out) crosses her mind, then there's a whistling sound and when she breaks away from Oliver, it becomes clear it's the one and only Thea Queen.

"So I leave for like, two little months and I come back to find out Oliver… has teeth?" She hugs her brother, looking up at him as she does so, feigning surprise. "Oh, they're even prettier up close. So white and blinding."

"Thea," he states with a hint of menace, but since he's still smiling it doesn't do much.

She moves over to Felicity next, swaying them from side to side while they hug. "I hope you didn't forget my blue twizzlers for my—"

"Candy buffet, yes." She exchanges a look with Oliver, laughing loudly. "How could I ever?"

.

For a while, Felicity is pretty certain it's the best welcome home party she's ever been to.

Thea planned an elitist party of the year for her own homecoming, even though the only people attending are Oliver's people. (She planned a better party from a hospital bed than Felicity could've planned standing and along with an actual party-planner—that's kind of pathetic, isn't it? Felicity feels like she's lacking on so many levels.) She guesses Oliver's people are Thea's too, though, and thinks they're even hers, now too.

There's lots of food, like not even the nasty stuff you'd expect at fancy parties like caviar (way to keep the stereotype going) but actual delicious food, like donuts and ice cream, so naturally, she's eating a lot. (When she asks Thea about it she just rolls her eyes and mutters something about sugar being an addiction.) There's awesome music, people are dancing, everybody's happy. Even the neon-and-mostly-blue decorations are super on point, if she does say so herself.

Then she hears yelling from the kitchen, making out a 'don't even try to make up one of your lame excuses, Roy', even above the music. When she looks at Oliver, he's already looking at her. Which is still something she has to get used to.

"Thea and Roy…" she starts off pretty crappy, not really sure how to break it to him that his right (or left or third?) hand's been doing stuff with his baby sister.

"You think I didn't know?" He raises his eyebrows and she purses her lips to keep from gaping at him because he just keeps surprising her, doesn't he? "For two people who think they're talented at hiding secret relationships, they're as subtle as a brick through a window. I wouldn't call making out frequently and not in the privacy of their own rooms, secret."

"You don't mind?" She gives him a look that at least a little skeptical, and not just complete and utter disbelieve.

"I never said I don't mind, I was just waiting for one of them to screw it up themselves before I had to step in and be the bad guy."

"That's kind of morbid," she huffs, raising her eyebrows as she looks up at him while he rolls his eyes, squeezing her hip.

"It was before I met you." He doesn't really seem to notice how she tenses up at his words, probably because he didn't really realize the weight of what he said.

They haven't actually exchanged an I love you out loud, but she figured it was kind of implied (and as long as it was implied, she wasn't going to say it first, accounting to the fact she might end up looking like an idiot). Him casually throwing around an "I want to live together together" and a "you changed me basically" in one day was kind of the closest they've ever gotten to a verbal confirmation since his infamous "don't ask me to say I don't" and was seriously kind of bad for her heart. Super stress-inducing and all.

"I take it you don't approve?" She says instead of making a bunch of indecipherable noises, because that's what she actually lowkey feels like doing.

"Roy's not a bad kid, but he's done a lot of bad things. He's been through a lot, I don't think that's… what Thea needs."

"We all go through hard times and sometimes we make mistakes, but you're seriously not going to write him off because of his past, are you? That's kind of hypocritical," she replies, focusing her energy on fixing what's left of Thea and Roy instead of figuring out what the frack is going on with Oliver and Felicity because she might explode otherwise, making a point of looking at his hand on her hip and he presses his lips together.

"If it makes you feel better—she is my sister. I'm never going to approve of anyone."

"An egalitarian hater, nice."

"I'll just go talk to Thea, tell her to keep it down—" She cuts him off by putting her hand on his chest. "I'll go, if you don't mind? I kind of feel like this requires a little more…" she purses her lips, nodding at him, "subtlety?"

As if on cue, there's a loud, dramatic, "JUST GET OUT ALREADY!" coming from the kitchen and Thea. They exchange a silent look as he deadpans, "Yeah, subtlety's Thea forte."

"I'll be right back," she replies as she reaches up to kiss his cheek. She flashes him a bright smile before hurrying off to the kitchen.

It's not like her to physically run from her feelings, or even run to begin with, but she needs a little time away from him to figure out how to deal with them. The… feeling stuff. He has a habit of incapacitating her. He's like that attractive and intimidating with all his unadulterated, unspoken feelings for her.

Besides, there's family drama. She's pretty sure family drama beats 'So, You're Wondering Why You Can't Tell Your Husband You Love Him' on the list of priorities one has in life.

"Get out," Thea snaps, voice getting louder the closer she gets to the kitchen. "You didn't visit me once, you didn't pick up when I called, you ignored all of my texts."

"If Oliver—" Roy protests, at least making an effort to keep his voice down. When she steps inside, she notices how exhausted he looks, eyes rimmed red, shoulders hunched as he tries to reason with his… whatever she is. The frack. There's so much undefined relationships in this family, it's kind of screwed up. Nevermind they could dedicate an entire season of Dr. Phil to all of their dysfunctionalities.

The blonde decides to clear her throat, to make her presence aware, but all she gets is a weary half second glance from Roy and complete neglect by the Queen in their midst.

"Not Oliver, me! You're in a relationship with me. Or you were." Thea has always been passionate, Felicity can't fault her for that. She loves, or she hates. There's really no in between with her.

Roy sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, voice deflated and defeated, "It's complicated."

She huffs in response, arms crossed over her chest as she pauses aggressively ordening her goodie bags, because only Thea would give away goodie bags at her 'welcome back from rehab' party. "You weren't there for me. What's complicated about that?"

"Guys," Felicity interjects, glancing between the two of them, "There's about twenty people in your living room wondering what the hell is going on."

"Nothing," Thea bites, glaring at her (ex?)counterpart before stalking back to the party, muttering, "There's absolutely nothing going on here."

"Roy," she starts, trying to offer him some comfort, but he shakes his head.

"I did treat her badly, and the worst part is," he pauses, clenching his jaw so tightly it makes her own teeth ache. "I knew I was doing it and I still did it. She…" He stops again, considers her, which, naturally, makes her pat down her hair and have at least twelve conspiracy theories about what kind of food could be stuck to her face. He sighs, looking at the ceiling as he speaks to her. "Oliver, he—he saved my life, gave me purpose. He promised he would never abandon me, I can't—"

There's a hostile tone, an angry edge to his voice, like he's embarrassed to talk about it and anger was the only way to save some of his manhood. She rolls her eyes, leaning back against the counter, because, men.

"Look, this might be news to you, probably Oliver, too, maybe the entire male population but, nobody owns Thea." She grabs his forearm, squeezing gently as she softens her voice. She's half-surprised he's even letting her, considering he mostly pretends to hate her. "She's an adult that is very capable of making her own decisions, and she decided on you."

He swallows tightly, and she makes a move to take her hand off him figuring he might need space to deal with his manly feelings, but he uses his free hand to keep it put, turning his head to look at her. "How do I?" His voice lingers, and she figures it's as much of a thank you she's going to get from him tonight.

"I'll talk to Oliver," she suggests, and it's weird, that she doesn't second-guess her influence on him as much anymore, because he's her husband, he really is, and he cares about her and people who care about each other care take each other's opinion seriously. Right. (She said she doesn't second-guess it as much, okay.) "In the meantime I suggest you gravel. Lots and lots of gravelling."

.

"So. Now that I also live here—am I allowed to make a few adjustments?" She props herself onto her elbow, making sure everything is covered up with their thin sheet since she like, needs him to focus on her words right now. His eyes are closed, but she knows he's awake. He usually got up hours before her, but lately had gotten the habit of reading or browsing around on her tablet while he waited for her to wake-up, too. He was trying to be more normal. It was clingy, in the best way. She runs a hand over the arm covering half his face. "Like, a few pretty pillows or, I don't know—open the curtains?"

Dark and moody was kind of his signature style, which was fine, honestly, but also kind of depressing? She could do with a little more sunlight in her life.

He chuckles, low, turning his head into the pillow as he slowly starts stretching. "I'll think about it." He lazily slings an arm around her waist, pulling her in closer as he adjusts his face to look at her. She presses a kiss to his shoulder, hating herself for having to do this, but well. She was an adult. She couldn't continuously avoid all her problems and live in a bedroom for the rest of eternity. Right?

"Are you going to talk to Thea?"

He sighs, heavily, as he re-closes his eyes. "Probably."

She presses a kiss to his temple and runs her finger through his hair, which has been getting longer than his usual army-style buzzcuts and is apparently her secret kink. She doesn't even know, okay? What even is sexy about hair? They're literally dead skin cells. Get it together, Felicity. "They remind me of fetus us. I mean like, Thea is definitely a little more passionate than me."

He rolls over onto his back with a half-hearted sigh. "I have zero doubts she would fight him."

"Roy is not as decisive as you, but he is just as emotionally insufficient, only less…" She narrows her eyes, trying to find the right word. "Broody." She laughs as he pokes her in the side, and she has to slap his hand away to continue without tripping over her tongue. Which is already hard enough of a task without him being cute and playful. "—and he is a little less tall than you."

He yawns, like it's casual, just, bro voice: 'joking around with the wife', as he adds, "—and he obviously doesn't love you as much as I do." Joking around with the wife he loves, it is.

She shifts, propping her chin on his chest, if only to give herself some time to process it and not completely chicken out. "So we're doing this? We're two married people in love?"

"Yeah," he says, certain as he brushes some hair away from her face. Then, insecurity washes back over him as he looks at her. Her cheeks-hurting, teeth barren, shit-eating smile was apparently not enough of a confirmation. Soft, he confirms, "Right?"

She leans forward, licking her lips as she hesitates before pressing her lips against his, warm and a little wet and, "right."

.

The next couple of days she barely sees him, besides fleeting good morning pecks and if she's lucky, she'll vaguely register him slipping into bed and putting his arm around her. If he's lucky, she doesn't accidentally elbow him in the face, hazy with sleep.

There's a bunch of mob people from all of the world in town, like a convention or a meeting (is there some sort of pamphlet available for these sort of situations, like Russian Mob 101 For Blonde IT Girls Who Know Nothing? ? ?), and apparently they don't 'do' hotels or maintain some difference between night and day, so they're in her house most of the time, too. It's almost too much testosterone and indecipherable Russian for one girl to handle.

While she inhales her Big Belly lunch, Sara, in combat with three German Bratva guys twice her size in their work-out room, informs her half highkick that there's a gala tonight and that'll be 'basically the last of this elitist shit show'. One of the guy smirks, though—even though Sara's heel is pressing into his neck, and Felicity winces, as the other woman slams the heads of the remaining two together —so she figures it's all in good faith. Kind of like those big family reunions she used to watch on tv; a 'hate to see them go, love to watch them leave' situation. In this family they just enjoy to kick each other's asses and communicate in different type of growls.

The 'basically the last' is the best vague phrase she's heard the last couple of days. She had kind of been spoiled with company the last couple of months, and downsizing that to just one other person was kind of depressing. She misses the companionship, the food (Vyacheslav bakes surprisingly good chocolate-chip cookies) and the bad jokes, she misses Oliver. Granted, that's kind of pathetic, because he's right there, in the same house as her, but still. She misses the just being, which is so cheesy, and a little too Nicholas Sparks, even for her, but. It's the way she feels.

She manages to corner Diggle Saturday afternoon in the garden to binge-watch Too Cute on Animal Planet (a show about, you guessed it, cute animals) on her tablet and share a tub of cookie dough ice cream because they deserve good things in life, while her husband and his minions (she means this in the nicest way possible, probably) congregate with half of Russia.

It's sunny out, so naturally, she looks like a sweaty tomato in a flower printed romper. She's staring at the bottom of an empty tub of ice cream, a tiny polar bear growling on the background, when she realizes pigging out and dying from cuteness might not be everyone's first life priority. Pff. Right? Dig probably has stuff to do. Man, she really cannot wait to get back to work on Monday.

"If you need to be in there, you should go. No need to keep me company out of pity, or anything. I could always make a troll account on Reddit and correct people's grammar on popular posts."

He shrugs lazily, and it's now she realizes he's practically dozing off in his seat, fingers linked over his stomach and feet resting on a chair opposite of him. Ha, his loss. He missed like, five baby animals she didn't know existed. "Nah, it's all politics in there, and I don't really care for politics."

"No?" It pops out before she realizes it, and sounds probably ten times more judgemental than she originally meant.

He sighs, adjusting his sunglasses to the top of his head, turning his head slightly so he's looking directly at her. "I know you've been dying to ask me, so just do it."

Her pride is telling her to shut up, but curiosity wins out every time. She sits up, shoving the empty tub away and pausing netflix. "Why?" She winces a little at her next words, because she's never this blunt on purpose. "You had a wife, right?"

"I did." His jaw tightens and he doesn't make eye-contact with her. She already regrets asking, just because of the look on his face. "We met during our first service, married before our second, divorced before our third. We had actually just gotten back together when we found out she was pregnant. She had just requested furlough when we found out one of our own was working together with a criminal organization. That organization was called HIVE."

She pulls her knees to her chest, shaking her head to herself as she thinks it over. "HIVE? I've heard that name before, haven't I?"

He nods, stiffly. "You might've read it before when you hacked into Oliver's computer. HIVE has ties with a lot of criminals, mainly in Asia, including and not limited to Chien Na Wei." His shoulders straighten, grip on the armrests of his chair tightening at the memory. "I told Lyla not to get into it, that we should just report it and let the army deal with it."

Her voice is strained when she asks, "Why didn't she?" She's not entirely sure the answer will make it better.

"The one of our own happened to be my brother and she didn't just want to give up on him, not like I did anyway." He purses his lips, pausing for a moment as he remains deep in thought. "She was shadowing him during a drug deal, it went bad and she tried to save him, my brother. Andy—" he clears his throat, rolling his shoulders backwards to get rid of some of the tension. "He was hit by a wandering bullet and Lyla insisted on driving with him to the nearest medbay, and the truck, it hit an IED, some sort of anti-tank mine and she, uh.. She died on impact."

Her heart is beating loudly in her throat, and she doesn't get it. How the world works the way it does. Why. "I'm so sorry, John." She reaches out to put her hand over his, and the cold metal of his wedding ring feels like it's burning her skin.

"I didn't even get to bury my wife, or our child." He shakes his head, wiping away the moisture that had collected under his eyes with his free hand, brushing it off. "I lost my brother, too, and I, I never thought I'd get another one. Oliver, he offered me an opportunity to make it right, and I took it. Without him, I don't—I probably wouldn't have been here today."

She doesn't understand, furrows her brow together in thought. "So this is… it's about vengeance?"

His head snaps towards her as he corrects her, firmly. "Justice."

She must look as uncomfortable as she feels, because he draws his hand back. They're playing jury, judge and executioner. They're not any of those things, and they're certainly not God. She opens her mouth, but he speaks before she gets the chance.

He uses a voice that makes her feel like she's back in detention for hacking into the school's fire alarm system because she didn't prepare for a test. "There are a lot of bad guys out there, Felicity. I know you think we're one of them, and maybe we are, but you don't know what all these people would get away if it wasn't for us—" he pauses, before tentatively adding, "murder isn't the worst thing they're capable of."

She does understand, on some level. It's just hard to wrap her head around sometimes. She used to just be the IT girl, her only acquaintance with death was watching her favorite characters get killed off on tv. That didn't quite have the same impact as being surrounded by it twenty-four seven. It is uncomfortable, and it is messy, and bad, and difficult, but maybe it's not wrong. She manages a, albeit weak, smile onto her face. "Maybe there's no such thing as the good guys, Digg. Maybe we're just all doing the best we can."

There's a contemplative look on his face for a moment, almost amused, before he leans forward. "You know, Felicity, I don't think love is about changing or saving a person, I think it's about finding the person who's already the right fit." The way she looks at him must convey something like 'Ok..ay?'.

She's about to thank him for keeping her informed when he elaborates. "To some extent, I think you did both. Without you…" He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. "Everything here would still be the same. I think it would've broken him at some point. So thank you."

She leans over and throws her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly before pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. Before all this, before living this kind of life, before meeting all these people, she wasn't unhappy. Now her heart just feels so much-fuller. "Thanks, Digg."

Besides seeing Diggle here and there, she spends most of her free time with Thea, since she's the only other inhabitant of the Queen mansion that doesn't have Bratva duties to fill or How To Get Away With Murder workshops to follow. She figures Oliver squeezed in talking to his sister, because there's a considerate amount less glaring and death wishes, and the corner of her mouth actually lifted like an inch when Alexei made a dumb joke at dinner.

Figuring they're close enough to talk boy problems, she corners her an hour before the party, under the guise of needing a pair of earrings to match with her emerald dress. She'd kind of found out green is Oliver's favorite color on her, too and she isn't a tease, but, she's really missed him. Like a lot. Plus, she looks hella great in green and it's her personal fave. It's a win win.

Thea, of course, snatches both of the pairs she's holding up out of her fingers, and immediately hands her a new diamond pair that'll 'make her eyes pop' and throws a pair of heels her way. She thanks her, trying to gently ease into the subject Roy, which her very special brain apparently takes as an cue to ask her, "So, how are things with Roy?"

She closes her eyes, mentally cursing herself as the brunette's hands freeze while straightening her hair. Felicity is sure the smell of burnt hair is infiltrating her nose when Thea clears her throat, putting the straightener down and pats down her hair. "It's, uhm." Her jaw tightens in that emotionally closed off way only Queens can do. "I'd like to say it was a difficult decision, but it really wasn't. I can't be someone's second choice. I won't be."

Felicity is not entirely sure that she'll give out better advice than her usual 'I need to use the bathroom for a sec' to which she proceeds to Google said problem. She's spent more time on Yahoo Answers then she did on the computer that one time she tried to hack the Pentagon.

"If it helps, I don't think Roy did what he did on purpose. I don't know him as well as you do, but I'm actually pretty great at counting cards while getting people to tell me juicy stories and Diggle happens to really trust that I'm not cheating, so I've heard about his life here and there. That he was abandoned and dumped in the trash and practically everyone he loved, either died or left, until Oliver took him—okay, not under his wing, because that's cliché and maybe a little patronizing, but, you know what I mean."

Thea's hardened face softens a little, but it doesn't look like she's telling her anything new. So, against all her basic survival instincts, she digs a little deeper, into personal territory. How does she always manage to end up in an entire monologue? "I know, from experience, that it's hard to tell the difference between people who are out to intentionally hurt you, and the people who do it with the best intentions. Especially when all your life you've been told you shouldn't trust anyone."

Thea raises her eyebrows, but there's an amused glint in her eyes. "Shitty mother?"

"No," she laughs, putting her arm around the other girl. "My mom's pretty great, actually. Dad left us and she can hold quite the grudge. Not that I blame her. My father is a piece of junk, who, by the way, does not have Felicity proof firewalls. Booyah."

"You know," Thea tells her, putting her own arm around the blonde's waist and squeezing, "it's actually kind of funny, because I overheard Oliver talking to Roy and then he caught me. I had to convert to sulking and told him Roy would always pick him over me, and he gave me the exact same 'that boy thinks he owes me' speech."

"Hmm, that's strange. It's almost like we're trying to tell you something." Thea huffs, knocking her hip into hers before playfully pushing her away, cocking an eyebrow. "I guess distrust runs in the family. It took Ollie a while, too, didn't it?"

"And I'm way more charming than Roy is."

She smiles, bright, and then it turns a little timid. "I do want to say thank you, Lis."

She fixes her glasses, blinking at her friend in confusion. She had basically just reminded the girl of something she'd already heard before. "For what?"

Bold as ever, she fumbles with the fabric of floor-length blue dress as she blurts out, "I think I turned to drugs because turning towards my brother, my family, it was too hard. You made it a whole lot easier. I had a lot of shit I needed to sort through and," she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, shaking her head lightly, as she sighs, defeated. "A therapist might've not been the worst idea."

"You did all the hard work." The corners of her lips turns up, waving her off. "I'm just glad you're okay."

She bites on the inside of her cheek, like she's deciding if she should reveal the next piece of information. "I have actually been trying to get back into a college. Just community college for now, and just a couple of classes, but—it's good. I'm, uhh... Getting there."

She leans forward to hug her, immediately withdrawing. "Oh my God. I'm sorry—I'm just.. Wow. That's great news, Thea! I'm really happy for you. Wow." Thea laughs, pulling her back in for a real hug. "It feels great to finally tell someone besides my own reflection in the mirror."

"I bet Oliver would be very proud."

Thea raises her eyebrows, arms crossed over her chest, and Felicity snorts. "Fine. He'll struggle a little, and I'll have to talk some sense into him, but then he'll be super proud."

They talk some more about the classes she wants to take, most of them fashion based and Felicity suggests she takes a digital designing class, too, and then she figures she should probably finish getting ready since the party's already begun and her hair has not yet made contact with a brush.

Thea catches her hand before she leaves, offering her the kind of broken smile only a boy can cause. "Felicity. Thanks. I just.. I think I need a little more time."

.

The party is very tiring, mostly boring, a little weird, too. Thea keeps dragging her around to introduce her to people she's apparently already familiar with; most of the men try to dance with her so she practically babbles them to death until the song's over (something about matryoshka dolls, the process of turning a potato into life-ruining alcohol and little broken Russian words she's learned that they clearly find very funny); she does a secret shot with Sara in the kitchen to make it a little more bearable; this all accompanied by mostly classical music.

Who even threw this party together anyway? A 200 year old member of a Bratva subdepartment dedicated to vampirism? She would not even be surprised at this point. There's not even food, which barely makes wearing heels worth it. She's afraid to go the bathroom for half of the night, the possibility of walking into someone snorting up powered blood or sucking one someone's neck have never been this high. Okay, and maybe she's been inhaling champagne like chocolate-covered pretzels.

Finally, she finds Oliver, by himself and moves to stand next to him, leaning her forehead on his shoulder and groaning softly. He chuckles, brushing a hand over her head. "You look really nice."

She smiles into the fabric of his jacket lazily, resisting the urge to throw her fist into the air and scream about how she was totally right about green being his favorite color on her. Booyah. "Thank you."

"How you're doing? I heard you called a Captain a disgusting pig?"

"What?" Her head snaps up, a little belatedly because he smells really fricking fantastic (and she wants to cry) and she might be more clingy than she'd like to admit, eyes widening as she clutches a hand to her forehead. What did Sara put in that shot? Did she black out? Her hold on his arm tightens in horror, color draining from her face. "Oh God."

"Thea said you kept bad mouthing them with a polite smile on your face and they loved it."

She puts her head back on his shoulder, groaning again, this time with a little more heat. "I might kill Roy. Here I am, thinking I'm learning how to order pizza, while in reality I'm probably asking questions that leave people to wonder 'how many fingers' and 'where, m'am?'. I want to die. Literally."

He laughs, puts his arm around her so she's resting her head on the juncture between his chest and neck instead, and rubs her arm softly. "They all love you, I promise."

"Speak of the devil," she mutters as her eyes narrow in on Roy. He's talking to his (ex)-(girl)friend, and Thea's actually smiling and not looking like she's about to throw up or throw punches. "If I was a bad person like him, I'd be hoping she'd throw her drink in his face right about now." In reality, she's kind of rooting for them. Baby steps and all. She still wants him to trip down the stairs, though. Softly, but painful enough for him to reconsider his decisions in life.

"If you think that makes you a bad person, you don't want to know the things I wished upon him when I first found out," he teases and she half-heartedly slaps him on the chest, which hurts her more than him. He sighs, as he mockingly recites, "I know, I know. This isn't 1840 and Thea can take care of herself."

"She kept introducing me as.…" she racks her brain for the right pronunciation, closing her eyes in thought and also because her head feels pretty nice there and she's just a tiny bit exhausted. Thea made up for it with her usual Queen charm, but her Russian was still a little rusty and Felicity's feel for language was worse. "Sestra? What does it mean?"

He smiles, timid but obviously pleased, pressing a kiss against the side of her head. "Sister."

"Would it be weird if I use your sister as a transition into hitting on you? Usually I'd obviously be able to come up with a more clever line, because you know me, smooth is my middle name and all, but I haven't seen you in like three years and I really want to kiss you." She lowers her voice, checking to see if anyone can hear them, "On the mouth."

He laughs, in that endearing boyish way that makes her chest feel warm, and she realizes it's slowly starting to become her favorite sound in the world. "It would be weird."

He looks out at the rest of their company, scanning the crowd, pursing his lips while she's already rolling her eyes in disappointment and frustration. She needs some quality time with her damn husband already. Some of that frustration might be sexual and quality time might involve a little something sexual, too, but that's just getting two birds with one stone. It's efficient. Good for the environment or something. "But, I also think that everyone's drunk enough at this point that they won't notice if we sneak out."

She pumps her fist enthusiastically, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. "I love you, so much." It's only like the second time she's admitted it out loud, so it feels a little heavier than it was intended, but he just takes her hand in his and intertwines their fingers, bringing up her hand to kiss her fingers.

"Me too."

.

my anaconda don't

my anaconda don't

want none

unless you got buns, h—

She finally finds her phone, on the floor next to her nightstand, half hidden under the bed. She blows some hair from her face so she'll be able to make out who, rudely, awakened her from blissful sleep. Why did she make that her ringtone again? Oh right. She didn't.

It's Iris. At 5 AM in the morning.

After about a million dodged calls and half-assed excuse filled texts, she probably deserves an explanation (and at least twelve awards for not giving up on her yet). Felicity feels like she's in a good place now, anyway. She's not even sure how much she's even allowed to reveal, since she probably will never learn the mob ways, but. It's all good, she's happy. In a perfect world she could've done this a few hours later when she isn't sleep-deprived and has had a chance to brush her teeth and fill up on some fluids, but this'll have to do.

She reaches for her glasses sleepily, freeing her hair from the messy bun it was in before she tiptoes into the bathroom, careful not to wake Oliver, and puts the toilet seat down before sitting on top of it. After not even one and a half second of dial tone, Iris answers.

"Glad to hear you're still alive." She can practically hear Iris teeth grinding so naturally, her own jaw starts to hurt in sympathy pain.

"Hi," she breathes, and figuring it's best to rip of the band-aid, "I'm so sorry. Really." Gravelling, lots and lots of gravelling, she reminds herself.

Iris huffs on the other side of the line and the blonde can just picture her offended face clearly. "You can't just send me occasional snapchats of you stuck in some sex dungeon—"

She shrugs to herself, because, okay, the Queen mansion does look like it was pulled straight from Hugh Hefner's wet dreams. "It's not a sex dungeon. Okay, wait, let me rephrase. It's not a dungeon, like, at all. Not a dungeon. It's mostly dark in here, yes, but that's because I think the curtains are sewn shut together. They like it dark and moody here."

She lets out a nervous little laugh, because she's rambling like a crazy person, and this is Iris—who's not only her friend, but also three more big articles away from winning a Pulitzer—and if she continues at this rate, she'll be confessing to a murder she didn't commit and probably admit that that one time five years ago she didn't tell her there was something stuck on her teeth for the first half and hour after she noticed because she was talking to the guy Felicity had had her own eyes on. In highsight, Iris wearing red always wins out over anything Felicity could possibly put on and also, she probably wasn't looking to hook up with her half-brother anyway. Oh, Wally. She'll never forget the look on his face when he realized he was checking out his sister (which she belatedly found out was because she was his sister and not because he was totally knocked out by her flawlessness). Amazing.

"Felicity. Hello? Are you still there?"

Frack. Why is she such a bad person? She can't even listen to her own friend rightfully complaining about something really crappy she did.

She presses a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes in lowkey self-hatred. "I know, I know! I suck. I'm the worst friend ever. I don't even deserve you."

"At one point, I took the train to come check up on you myself and you were nowhere to be found. I even went to your job and they told me you took a leave of absence. A week later I found out you managed to make time to see my boyfriend, while you couldn't even be bothered to send me a quick e-mail."

"To be fair, at the time I didn't know he was your boyfriend." She winces, because even she knows that's a lame excuse. She didn't know, though, honestly. It was about the first thing that came out of Barry's mouth when she met up with him, but it wasn't a premeditated crime of friendship. She was also still bitter about Oliver being so possessive back then, so that probably clouded her rationality. Also, she's just an asshole and Iris deserves a better friend.

"How would you? You never answer your damn phone." The tone of her voice is harsh, but Felicity knows that means she's more sad than angry. It's screwing with her brain. This is why she couldn't call her earlier, she would've come home in a heartbeat.

"Fine. Here it is. I got married. And, well, it was all a little complicated. It still is. My mom doesn't even know and I know you have her on speed dial and that you're probably, and rightfully! Angry right now, but don't you dare. I'll call her. Preferably sometime far in the future, but I will."

There's just a scoff on the other side of the line and she feels really, really bad. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt her best friend. "Have you been abducted by some sort of vampire sect? Are you doing drugs? What is up with you, Lis?"

That seems like an abnormally long and weird conversation to get into over the phone. "I promise I'll tell you exactly what happened, okay?" She sighs, because she does want to tell everyone she knows that she found someone and that they're happy, but the circumstances surrounding the how and the why would make it a very difficult conversation that she should probably talk about with Oliver first. "But for now, could you please try and trust me that when I tell you I'm happy, I really mean it, I."

It's silent for ten uncomfortably long seconds that feel like ten eternities, before she finally sighs, giving in. "You really got hitched?"

"Yeah. His name is Oliver, he's—he's great." She pauses, tries to rail in the huge smile on her face a little because it almost feels unfair that she gets to have this in her life, him. She finally feels like she's in a good place, a place where she can share him with the other people in her life. "I promise. I hope you'll get to meet him, sometime soon."

"Pictures or it didn't happen!"

She laughs, and Iris laughs, too, and she's so glad, because this doesn't mean the end of the gravelling or mean she doesn't have to buy Iris a year-supply of her favorite coffee and apology cupcakes, but it does mean they'll be okay. "Wait, okay, hold up."

She puts her on speaker as she starts scrolling through her phone's photo library. The obligatory stiff wedding picture they took at civil hall that kind of makes her cringe because it's them, but it's not them. There's one that has more than the usual defects, beside Sara and her two middle-fingers photobombing them, her eyes are half-lidded and Oliver is in the middle of talking (yeah, it surprised her, too—oh how the tables have turned). One she took herself where he's hugging her from behind, but he's shirtless and she's only wearing the bedsheet so it's a little too racy to send to Iris. There's no way her phone's cloud is protected as well as her own and there's no guarantee that at one point China White won't go after her social and / or professional life.

She ends up sending the one Oliver has on his desk in his study, where they're standing in the garden. It's from the waist up, his hand on her back, smiling down at her while she stands sideways and shows off the colorful flowers behind them like she's one of the models on the Price Is Right. The sun had been nice out and Thea was screwing around when she had taken it. Various graciously zoomed in versions of alike photos had surfaced over time.

It's a goofy one, but it's cute. She likes it.

She can't deny she's kind of holding her breath when she presses send and doesn't release it until Iris brings out a low, "Damn." Iris snorts, like she can't quite believe it. Neither can she, and she was there when it all gradually happened, so she feels her best friend on a personal level. "Now I understand why you didn't want to share."

"Okay, okay," she brushes it off, glad they're not facetiming so she can't see the blush creeping down her chest because she'd never hear the end of that. "Enough about me and my life. How are you?"

.

"Plant your feet outwards." A fair thing to say, she gets it. Stance is the entire foundation of a good defense and bla, bla. She can take constructive criticism because she's not a baby or an old white privileged man.

"Straighten your posture." She cracks her neck from left to right, straightening her posture, but clenching her jaw in the process because one) she hates working out and he's not motivating her, at all and two) he's just being really annoying and his arms look really good but she can't appreciate it fully without compromising her pride because he's being annoying. It's a vicious cycle.

He's just circling her now with his arms crossed over his chest, spitting out criticism and reminding her vaguely of one of those shitposters on reddit who dared question her knowledge of Dr. Who. "Keep your hands higher up."

"Oliver," she warns him, dangerous tone to her voice. She hits the punching bag half-heartedly, deciding to just quit hitting it all together. "Am I doing anything right?"

He raises his eyebrows, "Hey, you wanted to learn how to defend yourself." She narrows her eyes at him, because that's a new low and dare she say it, a little childish, too and is he..? Is he just flexing on purpose now, or what?

There's a beat, the heat radiating off him making the hairs on her arms stand straight up, and then she surges forward, and he does too, mouths meeting in the middle. He's halfway done with taking off his shirt, and she's in the middle of pushing her yoga pants down her hips when she pauses, laughing against his shoulder. "You know, if we're going to keep doing this, I'll have to get a new trainer."

He runs a hand down her side, making her shiver, tightening her grip on his arm. "I think this counts as a pretty good workout actually."

"Meh," she shrugs, trying to hide a smirk and he sends her an offended look, tilting his head sidewards. "Really, honey, you're going there?"

She snorts in response, which she really has to unlearn, because that's not sexy at all. Neither is cheesy pet names, so. They're even. "Really, you're going there? Honey?"

"Ah, I see how it is. You're just making fun of me now."

She's full on laughing now, choking out a sarcastic no when he picks her off the floor and muffles her giggles with his mouth, teeth knocking together from smiling. More often than not, they do end up here. She'd complain, if she really actually cared that much about her physical condition.

Granted, these are-decent workouts. Kind of fun, too.

.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asks, soft, while he shrugs out of his jacket. She can practically feel his warm gaze on the back of her neck. It's late and she's tired and she doesn't know what he is talking about.

"I'm fine, why?" She answers casually, avoiding eye contact as she pretends to be busy taking bobby pins out of her hair. How slow can a girl fake taking apart a bun? She knows exactly what he was talking about.

They met up with Iris and Barry so they could judge her life, in a friendly way. They were all just casually chilling and being cool and cracking jokes, and then Iris, pink margarita in hand, had to be all like, "oh my god, your kids are going to be so pretty". Barry was laughing, like he does, and Oliver was smiling that dumb smile and then she was all like, choking. Choking, as in a piece of bread escaping her mouth and ending up in her windpipe because she literally could not for the life of her breathe.

His hand is suddenly on the juncture between her neck and shoulder, his thumb caressing the back of her neck. It's not fair, because after the whole choking incident, he'd been pretty quiet for the rest of the night. Not his usual quietness, but different. Like she'd done something wrong. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Look, Oliver," she starts, sighing, as she grabs a hold of his wrist. "I know you're mad about the whole kids thi-"

"No, I'm not mad. It's just. I never really wanted kids. I didn't really think it would be a good fit, but. I don't know." He shakes his head, staring at her necklace instead of looking at her directly. "I met you and I kind of thought that maybe now I could. It's stupid." She lets go of his wrist, wraps her arm around his waist instead and turning in his arms. Because-God. It wasn't like that. At all.

"Oliver. I want children. With you, I do. Just. Not right now." She cups his face, and he smiles, timid, leaning down to kiss her. It's soft and gently and literally out of her dreams, but not able to keep her head from working overtime. She's given up hope by now. "In which right now is a generally broad time frame by which I mean the next few years. I know you're older than me and probably want to start sooner but hey, that's why biology has blessed men with the ability to procreate even after they've turned seventy. Not-Not that I want to wait that long, but still. There's too much other things I want to do before I exchange my dresses for mom jeans."

He raises an eyebrow, locking his fingers together at the small of her back and when she looks at him she almost feels stupid for feeling like she did two seconds ago. Of course he wouldn't be mad or try to push her. He just wanted to know the possibility was there.

"I want to at least move out of the literal basement and into bright daylight at work. Maybe get into applied sciences so you can retire and become a house-husband." She smirks and he leans down to peck her lips. She's about to deepen it and bring it to their bed when he pulls away, smiling suspiciously. "That reminds me. I wanted to ask you something."

He's asked her almost everything a guy could ask a girl. They're married, they're living together, and one time he casually admitted he needed her signature to finalize 'some stuff for his will'. It literally can't be children because they just discussed that. Somehow knowing all the things he can't ask her, doesn't stop her heart from racing with anxiety. Especially not when he sits her down on the bed and he's disappearing into their closet, and doesn't return until a painful thirty seconds later.

"I'm going to say something and you can't talk, okay? I know that's very difficult for you, but please try, yeah?" He's looking at her, careful and nervous, and she nods, because she feels like if she verbally answers him right now, she might not be able to stop babbling. Also, her vocal cords might not be working at the moment.

"My entire life I've watched people in love be torn apart. My parents, Sara, Nyssa. Diggle. For the longest time I was in darkness but your kindness, your wit and your trust brought me into the light." He takes her hand, and her gaze lands on his other hand, a small box resting in it. "You were that light." He swallows tightly, thumb running over her ring finger. "I still don't know if I deserve that, deserve you. But the way you make me feel is the best part of my life. You are my always, and I... I just want a chance to be yours, too."

Her heart is pounding in her chest, tears collecting in her eyes as her breath catches in the back of her throat. He takes out a ring; a small silver band, with a diamond the size of her college dorm room, or like a human organ. Her eyes widen, because 1) that ring is like, really big and pretty and making her question the reason she's alive, and 2) is this some alternate universe or some sick dream in which they didn't already get married?

When she looks at him, his jaw clenched like he's bracing himself but his gaze not faltering anyway, she knows he already knows what she's thinking. Why?

"You never got one, and I think you should." He presses his lips together, frowning as he struggles to find the right words. "Marrying me was never really your choice, but I guess-I hope that it could be."

She presses her hand to his cheek, and looks at him, really looks at him for a moment before she leans in to press her lips against his. Hoping she can tell him this way, make him understand. That it was. It was her choice, and she would choose him everyday for the rest of her life if she needed to. It is her choice.

(In the morning, when she wakes up with her cheek pressed to his warm chest, his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder and an unfamiliar weight to her finger she can't help thinking he was the best choice she ever made.)

.

Being part of the bratva and some sort of elite rich white males circle in Starling City meant attending a mayoral benefit to show support to a different rich white male high on power. To say Felicity hated this side of her the mob life would be the grossest understatement since someone called the 2011 hacking of 77 million PlayStations all around the world 'intense'.

At least she gets to dance with Oliver and make everyone else really jealous of how good they look together. "So. Do you actually support this guy, or is this just politics?"

"He isn't the worst guy running," he offers after some consideration and she sends him a look, because, 'he isn't the worst option, per se' isn't a very good reason for publically endorsing someone. "Both, I guess," he adds, chuckling a little at the look she's giving him. "At least this way I can always pull the 'I endorsed you' card whenever he tries to really screw up this city."

She snorts, squeezing his shoulder as she looks at the other guests. "Right." When she looks back at him, he's looking at her with some sort of contemplative look, small grin playing on his lips.

"I love you," he says at the same time as she blurts out, "I need to pee." He laughs, quiet and boyish and she loves him so much it hurts a little. She sends him an apologetic look-she's such a romantic. "Don't let me keep you."

He presses a kiss to her temple before he lets go of her, signaling for Sara to come accompany her. Sara downs her drink in one gulp, handing it to the guy babbling her ear off and excusing herself.

"Bathroom," Felicity mouths at her as she makes a move for the two of them.

She groans in lieu of an actual greeting. "I was just eyeing a pretty brunette when that sleazeball attacked me with a monologue about how well his company was doing and apparently, how small his dick is."

"Ah, men," Felicity sighs mockingly, before patting Oliver on the shoulder and taking a hold of Sara's arm instead. Oliver just scoffs, shaking his head. The other blonde sticks her tongue out at him over her shoulder, emphasizing, "Who needs them."

She and Sara are about to enter the bathroom, when someone grabs both of them from behind. A hand covers her mouth, and she kicking and screaming and praying she doesn't pee herself right now. That would be an embarrassing death. Sara reaches behind her and, in something that in Felicity's mind would require for her to be actual Wonder Woman, throws the man over her shoulder and onto the floor, before knocking him out cold.

She then reaches out for Felicity's own personal rude grabber, but he grabs her arm, revealing China White's symbol tattooed on his wrist. Right, why not? Sara rolls her eyes, twists his arm around until his hold on Felicity loosens enough for her to escape. The asian man uses his free hand to grab Sara by her neck, choking her at a safe distance. Felicity eyes widen as Sara looks at her and then back at the man who's trying to kill her. Trying to kill her. Right.

Felicity's brain starts working again and she punches the guy in the face. She yelps out in pain, shaking her hand as he starts laughing. Spitting out some blood on the floor next to him, he tells her, "I'll get to you in a minute, beautiful."

Okay. He wants to be a little condescending misogynist on top of being a murdering asshole? Fine. She'll threat him like just that-she stabs her heel into his foot, twisting around while he cries from pain. She's surprised that actually worked for about five seconds before muscle memory kicks into action.

She elbows him in the stomach, his fingers loosening around Sara's throat and allowing her to hit him on the back of his neck. He sinks down on his knees and Sara gives him one final blow, taking Felicity with him to the floor since her heel is still stuck. In his body. God, if she survives this she's going to be so sick. Also. She's going to need a lot of ice cream.

She leans her hands on her knees as she tries catching her breath, Sara patting her on the shoulder with a laugh. "You did good, princ-"

"There they are!" Felicity groans, throwing her head back. She doesn't need to turn her head to know there's more of China White's little helpers approaching. For real? This is possibly the worst scenario ever for when you're about to be chased down-with a full bladder and in an incredibly tight dress. Seriously, these bad guys have the worst timing, ever.

"Stairs! Go," she yells, pushing her forwards and into the direction of the door as she takes out another two guys while all Felicity manages to do is almost fall flat on her face. Why is she wearing heels? Why must she and all other woman cause this kind of harm upon themselves?

She stumbles through the door, opting for down until she spots another herd of Asian men storming up so she figures going up is the only other option she has if she doesn't want to die while being lectured by Sara about following her 'damn orders' and all.

"Sa..Sara," she pants, because okay, she's been working out and all, but she still can't walk more than three stairs without a little (twenty minutes or so) breather in between. It's not because she's weak, it's because she spends most of her time behind her computer and she's weak.

"Come on, Lis. We have to get to the roof so we can lock them-" Felicity's eyes widen as the door to the fifth floor opens and a minion stabs Sara in the shoulder. She's at a loss of words as Sara sighs deeply, connecting her stabber's head with the nearest wall before throwing him over the railing and down the stairs. Felicity feels like some really badass Paramore song should be playing on the background as the other blond reaches for the dagger, "Here's to not having hit any important arteries."

Felicity tries to reach out, warn her. "Sara, don't-"

She winces as Sara pulls out the dagger anyway, not even flinching as she smirks, discarding the object by ramming it in some bad guy's shoulder when he tries to make a pass at her. "Pain and I came to a little understanding years ago." She connects his head with her knee before grabbing Felicity's arm and pulling her back up the stairs.

They make it up the roof, and Sara barricades the door with a long piece of metal, taking Felicity's hand as she pulls her over to the edge, looking for a way down. Felicity gulps, taking a few steps back because even though her body is still shaking with adrenaline, that's a long way down.

"Normally I would try and go down the side, but it can't be long until Oliver either puts a stop to this or White gives in and retracts her men and I don't think I can carry you when you pass out."

"If I pass out," she corrects her, pushing her glasses further up her nose and Sara huffs, snickers a little before she smirks, "You're cute."

Felicity is about to open her mouth when Sara's eyes widen and she starts running towards her, pushing her aside. Everything is going so fast she barely registers a throwing scar scraping the side of her face before the next one digs into Sara's chest. Another one follows and another follows and they keep coming and coming until Sara is near the edge of the roof. "Sara!" She cries out, reaching out for her, fingers grasping hers, tears clouding her vision before she falls over.

"No," she screams, sinking down on her knees as she watches Sara's body hit the floor with a loud thud that she knows will haunt her dreams for the rest of her life, hand lingering in the air. "No," she gasps, falling back on her back. Gravel scraping her hands, her heart thumping against her rib cage like it's giving one last show before it gives out.

"No," she whispers, barely registering China White appearing into her view, long white hair blowing in the mind as she kneels over her with a wicked smile. "Finally, we meet again."

Blood rushes back to her ears and suddenly she hears everything happening around her, China's voice, the banging against the door, the sound of metal giving in, a sword being pulled from a holster.

"I'm sorry, Sara," she whispers, tears spilling from her eyes as China presses the tip of her sword into her chest, smirk wide and cold. She could try and fight, but she doesn't want to-not when… Not when she could end this, for everyone. She wraps a hand around the blade, staring straight into the devil's eyes. Blood drips down the sword, as she, shakily, but strong, spits out, "Just do it."

"Any last words?"

Normally she opts for words like 'frick', and when she's feeling extra risky she'll even use 'frack, but this moment calls for a really big fu-the door blasts off it's hinges and Diggle immediately makes a move for the sword, kicking it out of China's hand. A combat between her, Digg, Alexei and Vyacheslav starts, but she barely registers it as two familiar arms wrap around her and pull her back to the staircase, more of Oliver's men passing them on their way to the roof. He takes her face in his hand, thumb running over the cut on her face making her wince. His brow is furrowed, and he looks like he's about to cry. "Where's Sara?"

"She-I don't-the roof. She fell, and I-" She chokes on her words, a sob erupting from her throat softly before more and more follow. He presses her head into his chest, kissing the crown of her head.

Somehow they get to the ground floor and outside where Laurel is crouched over her body, shaky fingers trying to find a pulse and trying to postpone saying what everyone already knows. Nobody falls off a six story building and walks away alive. Not even Sara Lance.

Her vision starts flashing and suddenly she can't-she can't breathe. Her hands tremble as she reaches out for Oliver, her knees already giving out. "Sa-Sara." Her chest hurts and her face feels warm and her head is spinning and she can't-everything turns black.

When she opens her eyes she's on a cemetery. The rain makes the hair on her skin stand straight up, and she isn't sure why she's here until she sees her. She's kneeling down next to a grave in the far distance and as soon as Felicity spots the flash of blonde hair, her feet start moving. She wants to run, but she can't.

Because she guesses that's not what happened the first time, anyway. It figures her mind takes her back to her fondest memory of Sara.

Sara had went off the grid for a few days and when she asked anyone, they wouldn't tell her why or where she was. Finally she gave in and just hacked into her phone's GPS. Now she knows what kind of invasion of privacy that was, and how bad of friend she was being really, and that it was probably about the third worst idea she's ever had, but at the time she was worried out of her mind and expected to find her somewhere dead in a ditch. Or in an actual grave.

She stops a few feet away from Sara, hovering there because she suddenly realized she didn't actually know what she was doing her now that she wasn't injured or dead. Sara must know she's there because she starts talking. "I know I should've left my phone."

Felicity's eyes land on the headstone, and it suddenly clicks. Nyssa al Ghul. Nyssa. "I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't know," she offers, lamely as she takes a step closer. The other blonde turns her head, sniffing lightly as she rises up to her feet, wiping her dirt stained fingers on the side of her thighs. "Not for hacking into your phone, which I'm also sorry about, but." She clears her dry throat, digging her nails into the palm of her hands and deciding to just-shut up.

She huffs, brushing her hand over the top of the stone. "I'm surprised Laurel hasn't tried that trick yet. Then again, she probably figured out where I was after a while anyway. It's not really a secret."

"I'm not going to pretend like I know, because I don't, but I do know she meant a lot to you," she says, not knowing what else to say as she takes another step closer, tentatively reaching out to touch Sara's hand in comfort.

The other woman clenches her teeth together, a tear rolling down her cheek and she swallows, tightly. "For a long time I never really had anyone, never really knew what my place was on this earth and… She was… My home, my person. She was where I belonged."

Felicity sniffs herself, wiping away a few strands of wet hair, but it feels wrong to be this sad about a situation she doesn't even fully understand, never even lived. It's fine, she doesn't need to know everything. She figures that if Sara wants her to know, she'll learn about it eventually. In time. But, God. She hates that Sara feels this way.

She smiles, small and broken, but it's still just as brave, just as strong, just as unapologetic as always. "You know, Laurel thinks I stay with Oliver because I have some sort of emotional trauma or, or PTSD, or something," she pauses, smile fading into something more serious, "but I stay because-they are my people now." She looks away from Nyssa's stone eventually, up at her. "You all are."

"She did know how to make a really good cocktail," she blurts out, closing her eyes at her own insensitivity. Because cocktails is what Sara wanted to remember about her most, sure. To her surprise, Sara laughs, loud and bold and bright, wiping a tear away from her cheek before slinging her arm around Felicity's shoulder. "That she did."

Suddenly it's hard to breathe again, and she gasps and gasps until Sara fades into black and Oliver appears into view. She immediately recognizes their surroundings just by looking at the ceiling. They're in medbay at the mansion. Her hand wraps around his arm tightly, tears escaping from her eyes and sliding down her temples as she turns her head to look at him. She doesn't have the strength to sit up.

The sobs come first, his hand on the side of her face second, and then the words spill. "This is, this is all m-my f-fault."

"No." He demands, shaking his head. But she sees his eyes, the way they're glazed over with tears, the way he's looking at her, the way he blames-not her-but himself. For not being able to save her. "No. She did this. That-This wasn't your fault, okay? It wasn't."

She sniffs, her breathing hitching in the back of her throat and struggling to come out anything less than shaky, her body protesting until she's finally able to catch her breath. The tears falling silently now as she directs her gaze back to the ceiling. She decides. "Oli-Oliver."

He brushes her hair back from her face, nodding his head. His brow is furrowed together, bags under his eyes and his eyes a kind of exhausted that few people know. She doesn't have to ask to know. Her voice is eerily steady, scaring herself. "You know what you have to do now, right?"

He nods again, eyes hard, and she watches his adam's apple bob up and down, her own chest heaving from labored breathing, before she elaborates, more tears sliding down her skin. "You have to kill her."

He inhales sharply, putting his free hand over hers. "I know."

.

It's pretty easy to get lost in the anger, in the need for revenge so they don't have to feel the pain, feel the sadness. She takes it upon herself to start hacking back into China's servers to find out her weaknesses and where to find her, no discussion necessary, and he spends most of his time training to the point his muscles are trembling, meeting up with his sources to find out more about China, or yelling at the other's for not trying hard enough. It keeps them determined, ready, but also far apart.

So naturally, instead of talking to him about it, she ignores it until she blurts it out in the most awkward possible situation. Read: dinner with most of the guys and Thea. Something along the lines of "Can we actually fight instead of doing this passive-aggressive kind of 'pass me the salt, please' and 'I'm going to take a shower first, is that okay' thing? It's exhausting." while she's stabbing her fork in her peas aimlessly.

It turns so quiet she can hear her own pulse, before Roy starts laughing and doesn't stop until someone (Thea, obviously) kicks him in the shin.

He manages to unclench his jaw and loosen his grip on his own fork long enough to grunt, "Felicity, a moment."

He takes her by the elbow and leads her into his study, sending her an expectant look.

She waits a moment, before gently asking, "Are you mad at me? For what happened on that roof, what happened to S-" Because she would understand if he did, if he was-she would.

"You were ready to die, weren't you?" He spits out suddenly, interrupting her, and she's taken back for a second because was he mad at her for that? He runs a hand over his hair, visibly trying to calm himself down, but his voice is still not quite as steady as usual. "I saw you, holding that blade, ready to-"

"I was," she admits, interrupting him this time, and his face deflates, like he had wanted her to defy him. "I wanted it to be over. I didn't want anyone else to die or get hurt to save me."

He is about to say something, but discernibly changes his mind, nodding instead, signaling he understands or, or figuring he wouldn't be able to change her mind about this particular issue anyway. He leans back against his desk, hands supporting his weight.

It's her turn. "You blame yourself."

He stiffens, but doesn't say anything. His knuckles turn white from his grip on the desk. She takes a step closer to him, running a hand up his arm. "You-" she shakes her head, closing her eyes. "You don't want me to blame myself for something she did, but you'll blame yourself?"

Sometimes he's so frustrating.

"I could've, I should've noticed you two were gone for too long sooner, or I should've send Diggle with you or-"

"For a trip to the bathroom?" She halts her hand on his shoulder, her mind flashing to Sara pulling out a dagger from that exact place like she was taking out a splinter. "We don't have to do this to ourselves. It's not what Sara would have wanted. She would have wanted us to take her down, and make sure she burns for what she did."

He nods, hesitantly, before taking her hand in his and kissing the inside of her wrist. He looks up at her, nods turning into shakes, tears collecting in his eyes, "I'm sorry."

She moves her hand to back of his head and presses it against her collarbone, squeezing her eyes shut so her own tears can fall. "I'm sorry, too."

.

She finally manages to get through China's firewalls a week after Sara's death, but has to set off a few alarm bells on the way there. She cracks her fingers (which isn't as painless as she had expected), ready to take down whoever is part of this hackathon on the other side of the screen.

Diggle and Oliver are both hovering over each of her respective shoulders, while Roy paces back and forth in front of her and her trustworthy companion-the computer.

All it takes are ten fingers, thirty-five minutes, a little piece of her dignity and all of her bomb-ass hacking skills, but she perseveres. All it'll take it just one last press of a button. "This is for Sara, you albino-haired bitch."

She presses enter as Roy erupts into a loud cheer of joy, Diggle rubbing his face with a sigh of relief as Oliver leans down, looking at her in expectancy. He knows exactly what she is thinking. She looks at him, nods firmly once, before telling him, "Winick Tower. The basement, to be precise. I could see about forty guys on the security cams before she cut me off."

"Diggle, alarm the others. Roy, start loading the car with gear."

She catches his arm before he turns away completely, staring up at him, feeling a lot of things at once. Most conflicting with others. "Be careful."

"She won't get away," he promises, leaning down to press his lips to hers for a second. The warmth of his presence lingers for a long while as she waits, and waits, and waits.

.

They spread half of Sara's ashes in the sea on a Tuesday, so she can always travel wherever she wants to. So she can always be a part of something. Laurel will spread the rest of it on top of Nyssa's grave, so they can be together at last.

She finds him sitting in the sand, and sinks down next to him.

"Thank you," she tells him after a while, shoulder brushing together as she stares at the same sunset as he is. Thanking whoever is up there that they get to share the same one.

"For what?" He asks, turning his head to look at her instead. His fingers twitch in the sand, but he doesn't reach out. Like maybe he's afraid this is a goodbye.

"I don't know?" She smiles, weak-because the stitches on the side of her face still hurt-but content. "Everything. Starting a mob war to save my life when you could've easily given me up and moved on. Ending a mob war so I could be safe."

"I was just protecting my wife."

She leans into him, pressing her lips against his shoulder before resting her head there. He looks back out at the sea, and she can see him grit his teeth together. "You know you could leave now, right? If you wanted to."

She takes her head of his shoulder, trying to get a better look at his face instead. "Do you want me to?" She licks her lips, salty from the beach air surrounding them, as she clarifies. "Leave."

"No," he says, quick and without any hesitance, before he leans down and kisses her, hard, like he desperately needs her to know. Her hands clench his shoulders, nails digging into them. All she can do is kiss him back, kiss him back, kiss him back, because she needs him to know, too.

He rest his forehead against hers and she catches her breath for a second before she tells him. "I don't. Want to leave. For the record." Her hand catches his, thumb running over his bruised knuckles before kissing them gently.

He kisses her again, so soft she barely registers it, before he presses his lips to her temple, and she thinks of their first meeting, of his bad excuses and that damn pen in her mouth, and how she could have never imagined this, any of it. She would take back some of it, some of the trauma, she can't lie about that, but. She thinks that maybe this was always where she was supposed to end up, with whom she was supposed to end up. "Good."

.

(A/N: i hope that was worth the read, y'all. thank you SO much for taking this ride with me and staying with me for these passed seven months. it was a wild one. let me know what you think. THANK YOU. THANK YOU. THANK YOU. )