When they were moved to be seated at the table, Felicity's apprehension moved up from 'this isn't going to end well' to death con 'oh god; we need to escape before something explodes' five.

They - the staff - somehow managed to place her in front of Oliver.

As in, directly in front of.

Eyes in line of sight-

Actually, it was completely his fault.

And his face - his hands, arms, scent - would be just feet away; potential contact mere inches. After the look he'd sent her earlier; the way he'd admired her dress - gazed, coveted, praised and revered like a man instead of a partner in crime - this felt forbidden. Crossing some unseen, unfamiliar line. Dangerous, which was all kinds of weird; we're friends, comrades.

This still felt different.

Knowing that she'd have to lie because Tommy put her in the hot seat - porcupine flatulence my friend; porcupine flatulence for a year - because he needed to feel less like the third wheel and more, 'the man who moved on from Laurel Lance with Oliver's IT girl', like she was territory: an object rather than a woman with feelings, and all at the cost of her conscience.

I can't do this.

Too late.

It was the seating hostess from before who made the decision; bringing them through to the caverns of the restaurant - the best seats; where half the restaurant could see them, and it gets better - and pausing in front of a beautifully decorated square table.

"I think you'll be very comfortable here." She declared with the kind of confidence Felicity Smoak had never had, would never have. "A waiter will be with you soon to take your orders." Smiling at them all, she bid adieu. "I hope you enjoy your evening here."

Is that a joke? Oh god, don't leave. Still, Felicity smiled (tightly) as the woman escaped, but not before pointing to a garcon who popped out of nowhere. Whoa-

He stepped close to her and then proceeded to - why just me and not Laurel or, um - lead her towards a chair, which he pulled out and waited for her to move into, with all the polite assurance of a highly trained gentleman. Embarrassed, so I'll just- yep, she went to stand before the chair-

And, she thought helplessly, you're moving away too. Great. He really was. After that one gesture of etiquette. Leaving us… by ourselves. Already. She swallowed.

Painful, so painful.

Then Oliver's hand landed on the back of the seat in front of her and her head shot up so fast to see him stepping into place - to see the garcon suddenly there and waving him over to the seat as he set the menus on the table before getting out of dodge - she heard it crick. This, she realised, was the cost of losing sight of the Hood: it meant perpetual surprise.

But why did he signal to Oliver and not Tommy? Her supposed date.

Um, mouth pressing together, Felicity saw Laurel - who'd been surreally content with this whole idea at the start - freeze on the spot, unable to move forwards as she and Tommy stood looking at her and Oliver in silence.

So awkward.

Ever the adapter, clearing his throat, "I'll, ah, pick this side," Tommy joked because what other side could he pick, and moved; his hand coming to rest lightly on Felicity's bicep. "With my girl, right?" Like, aren't I charming, and don't we adore each other?

And please, please keep in this character I made you wear five minutes ago because you don't look happy to see me.

True: the sharp glare she sent him could have peeled paint off walls. It made the too-big-a-smile on his face wobble precariously and, his hand stroking down her arm, she could see still it in his eyes: the drawn out please.

Manipulative little…

But he wasn't really. He was just desperate and hopelessly, unrequitedly, in love. And trying to move on from that. She could see the others in her peripheral; see Laurel's eyes following the movement of his hand and realised that was partly why Tommy had done it, see Oliver's head bowed. As in, down. As if something was difficult to watch until-

Tommy's fingers tangled with hers.

Oliver physically shifted away from them all, pulling out his chair: the scrapping sound making her stomach jerk.

I can't do this.

And she didn't quite understand how this was hurting Oliver-

"Oh." Gentle blinks punctuated the ache - there was no other word for it - fluxing through his features. As if he was fighting with himself, trying to smile and wasn't fully succeeding. "Right." He closed his mouth, cleared his throat and this time, managed that 'happy for you' expression. "That's… that's great."

He looked like someone had just broken his arm and he was trying not to scream.

-But evidently it was; there was something wrong. If it were any other man, she'd hedge all the guesses; but this was Oliver. And this felt different too. Far out of her range of experience. Brand new and, ultimately, uncomfortable for him; if not painful.

In green leather, a three-piece suit or jeans and a t-shirt: Oliver hid much. But even under the hood he was still a man who, like Tommy, felt a great deal. Unlike Tommy, Oliver didn't share. Not with a soul.

Not with anyone at the table.

"It's always difficult for me to," he'd once said to her, after a long night under the lively sounds coming from Verdant's floor, "be open with the people I care about."

"And after everything that happened," she'd involuntarily finished for him; sitting there with her legs dangling over the side of her chair, "that went from difficult to impossible?"

He'd nodded; the dampness from his shower drying his hair into a bushy mess that was criminally delectable to look at, "Yeah."

"Mission impossible."

His lips had twitched. "I'm not sure this is worthy of a mission but… my family deserves better. Tommy does. And Laurel."

"And what do you deserve?"

He hadn't answered.

So, this - how Laurel and Tommy both seemed in the dark about him - wasn't deliberate. Felicity was sure that, subconsciously, Oliver thought he'd taint the people, the person, he chose to reveal his secrets and feelings too. Closing himself off was how he protected. Unhealthy, yes; but necessary. And Oliver isn't healthy: he was just really good at hiding how deep his scars were etched into him. Which was why Tommy didn't have the first clue as to why this was such a disastrously bad idea.

She ground her jaw at him.

As much as he'd been feeling for weeks - was still feeling - Felicity could have slapped the fake, if slightly smug, smile off his face. You aren't fooling me, buddy. And that tapered brow, that third swallow- if it feels so bad, it's because it's wrong, you big lug.

Add to this further illogicality, Felicity wondered how Laurel, one of his two closest friends, could be so oblivious to both Oliver's discomfort and Tommy's hurt. Or deliberately blind. Or believing in the lie Tommy had just sprung on them. And honestly, was Laurel happy for Tommy or not? In the last few minutes she'd shown clear shock, distaste and delight for her ex-boyfriend's love life. Pick a lane please; je suis confused.

The three of them were contradictory.

Tommy, the posturing. Laurel with the ever-present smile.

Oliver was blank.

Proving a point. Pretending.

Pain.

For three people intent on protecting, using, destroying, maintaining and revealing lies; they each held close to them with a disturbing diligence. Lies could be shields: even as they hurt each other with them. But until they let them go, until one of them opens themselves up to the truth; they'll never be happy.

Now Felicity was caught in the crossfire, resisting the urge to flee towards her Ben and Jerry's. This was supposed to be a fun night with a friend; no expectations, no awkwardness, nothing real.

Sometimes, a game of pretend was healthy.

This game of pretend felt like razor wire; one wrong move or word and there'd be bloodshed. Who needs Game of Thrones with moments like these? She wanted to go home.

Tommy could have done anything but this, anything else. She'd known at the start, when she'd seen Oliver and Laurel with Tommy, that the evening was ruined. Tommy could never have eaten dinner with them in the same restaurant; even if they'd left to eat elsewhere, he wouldn't have stopped thinking about the two of them here, in this ridiculously romantic setting. He wouldn't have been able to let go and both he and she would have ended up in the exact same place they'd been at the start of their friendship: at the Merlyn Mansion, drinking his father's overpriced whiskey as they drunk-bought things they'd never need with cash-cow his father still was in death.

But.

Now Felicity felt pitted against the man she'd worked nights with. A man she trusted, who trusted her.

Spending time with Tommy… not telling Oliver, it wasn't the same. She couldn't tell him and not even because Tommy had asked her not to.

Her relationship with Oliver stemmed from trust and respect. Her relationship with Tommy had come from a deep need to connect with someone who understood that sometimes, life handed you one lemon too many and making lemonade only exacerbated what you already knew: that no matter how hard you tried, your life would still be sour.

She'd managed to help save the Glades; but the damage had been catastrophic. Tommy had to face the fact that his father had never gotten past his wife's murder; that her death had inspired him to destroy lives instead of build them. His father, the tyrant. The dark archer who'd murdered over 500 people. His name would forever be tied to that fact.

And Oliver, because he'd had to, had killed his best friend's father at the same moment that Tommy had run into a broken building to save the woman he loved, knowing she couldn't love him back the way she loved Oliver.

He'd just hoped differently.

And Laurel didn't know this. Tommy didn't know that Felicity knew this; that she'd had her com open that night, had heard every excruciating detail.

He didn't know that Oliver hadn't slept for three days after that night; alternating his time between patrolling during the chaos, watching over his friend in the hospital and avoiding the people he loved.

Until she'd opened her mouth. Until Felicity, worried about Oliver in a way that no one else could seem to spare during that first long week, had reminded him that sometimes you don't get that chance to tell a person how you feel or what they mean to you… except with extreme babbling and verbal stops and starts.

Within 12 hours, Oliver had reached out to Thea, had visited Tommy and Diggle at the hospital and had stopped by Laurel's apartment.

Oh, and he slept.

Then he took Felicity a bundle of flowers, coffee and a basket of fat free, assorted muffins.

She didn't want to damage that in any way. Being used as a buffer or a tool or a trophy piece or a pretty little focal point felt like the punch line to a bad joke- this felt like a joke. God, Tommy. What was worse was that Felicity, who'd never once thought she could be a truly welcome addition in Oliver's world, felt distanced from the other three: the only one in the know, opposing every mask sitting at the table.

She would never be equal in terms of importance, to Laurel. Tommy, who needed her now, never would again in the future. Oliver-

Oliver… trusted her. Would always need that, no matter what context.

Her heart, normally so upbeat and on the glass half-full side of the coin, dipped precipitously.

She'd gone out of her way to be here for Tommy and he did this.

A fun night, that he'd promised they'd have, this was not.

It felt like a tease, being there with them - in a beautiful dress that she couldn't afford, being admired and complimented for more than just her appearance; for her mind and voice - and a challenge from Tommy to Laurel, that she felt was getting lost in translation. Daring disaster to join them for what promised to be an excruciatingly long dinner.

Laurel really did a number on him. This wasn't just resentment, jealousy or hurt. This was vindictive anger. He and Laurel were a better match than they thought.

But since Tommy didn't do anger very well - it normally ended in copious amounts of alcohol and unmanly tears that he'd beg Felicity to never share with a soul the morning after, as he made her cream cheese bagels - dumbassery looked to be his flavour of the month.

As if to overstate this, Tommy placed his glass down and spoke. "I don't know about you but, I could probably eat my weight." As if anyone else was hungry anymore. He pulled out the chair next to her; it was facing a beautiful mosaic on the adjoining wall and at any other time she'd have pointed it out. "It's your fault." He added in an undertone with a wink thrown in just for shits and giggles and- do I look like I'm enjoying myself? "Looking so delectable."

Kill me now. This was mortifying.

Tapered gaze - narrowed eyes that didn't dare look at anyone else - Felicity pulled a face; grinding her teeth as she fixed her dress so that she wouldn't tread on it when she'd inevitably have to rise and leave; you know, when everything falls to pieces?

She knew that Oliver, already in his seat, was in a perfect position to see the exit, the entrance and the way through the kitchens. She understood: even found it reassuring. It was part of who he was, and just a little bit of PTSD, but we don't talk about that.

It was something Laurel clearly didn't get the memo about. "Uh…" She eyed Oliver and then the seat Felicity's hand now rested on - that her booty was about to sashay into - and very literally, waited for someone to say or do something. As if she'd been stilled by an invisible hand.

Felicity paused; wobbling where she half stood.

Really, the seat was perfect for Laurel: it was right next to Tommy who she could touch and turn to whenever she felt like it - eradicating the issue of being seated at a square table over a circle - but also in front of Oliver who she could gaze at throughout the dinner; maybe as their fingers slip and slide before joining across the table.

Dispelling that mental image, Felicity's instincts started to sharpen. Laurel; she still needed something, something that should have happened by now. Something that hadn't in regard to the two men in her life and, if Felicity were a gambler - in a past life - she'd hazard a guess, like a triple dog dare that I'd win (hands down), and state - because her womanly intuition was surprisingly spot on - that Laurel had jumped the gun so to speak and was ten steps ahead of everyone.

She was waiting to be forgiven. Needed to be. By Tommy. With this, she could then pursue an all-out romantic entanglement with the man she couldn't let go of. A relationship Oliver seemed to be hesitating on for whatever reason Felicity couldn't fathom.

And Tommy had come here, seemingly beyond happy, with a date. It left Laurel with a conundrum; should she have let the clearly available man who loved her to death, go, when the man she couldn't let go of, was holding back?

It also meant that Tommy might be doing all this for nothing. It was like a car crash waiting to happen, but he couldn't help it: he both loved Laurel and was angry at her and she was sending mixed messages.

After everything Oliver had told her, Felicity had thought quite well of Laurel Lance. She was educated, kind, confident, beautiful and courageous. to add icing on the perfect cake, she also happened to be the apple of the eyes of two attractive, heroic and honourable (once dastardly) charming billionaires. They write books about these kinds of things. It was easy to feel like an outsider, when standing with Miss Lance; easy to be impressed and intimidated, if not a little awed. And yes, she'd wondered if they'd ever meet; if Felicity would ever be considered an important enough figure in Oliver's clique to meet the prestigious and much coveted Laurel Lance.

This woman of superior worth described - the image of Laurel Lance that Oliver's behaviour for several months had inspired in Felicity's head - was not the woman Felicity met ten minutes ago.

This woman was afraid.

Her eyes told the story: they didn't hide a thing, even as her smile did. Behind the curtain of brilliant smiles, platitudes and easy confidence there was a woman who held onto pain and love, because it was all she really had. This woman who fostered regret and guilt and jealousy, would never see Oliver as the man who cheated on her, would never see Tommy as the man who fit her like a glove. She would only ever see the man she should have and the man who made her realise that she should.

Knowing that this was wasn't necessarily healthy, made her insecure.

Laurel Lance wasn't yet solid on her place in Oliver Queen's life.

She was frustrated.

But it said a lot about a woman - one who knows she's in the hearts of the men she's close to - who responds to another woman appearing before the aforementioned men, as one would a threat. Especially when I'm… well, nothing. No threat whatsoever. But it was more than that; Felicity was automatically someone to be dethroned of whatever power Laurel had mislead herself into thinking was hers to take back.

I am not the invading army. She was doing a friend a favour that he'd taken advantage of; there will be no contests here. Tommy mattered more. To Laurel, Felicity was the immediate problem at the table and she had no idea why: It's not like I'm here with Oliver. Heaven forbids. Even if her dreams did not.

It was this and one other reason that made Felicity wary of the woman; it had been a recurring thought for many months that she'd kept shut about for fear of judging a person - a situation - that she had almost zero right to touch. And I don't. Oliver's personal life is exactly that: personal.

Not wanting to jeopardise a strong friendship with a man who'd given her - whether he knew it or not - a new lease on life by arbitrating on his way of loving or caring for a person, his blindness and how he chose to view the people in his life. Case in point: his mother and her hand in the undertaking. Diggle almost lost him on that one.

But manners are still a thing, as was politeness, and if Laurel was going to just stand there and wait, then-

"Did-" Felicity pointed down at her chair - a loose curl pinging off her cheek as her head moved - as if it wasn't obvious, "did you want to sit here?"

She was going to make sure that Laurel knew that her feelings were not Felicity's. Unnecessary. To the tenth degree.

Felicity felt honoured, privileged, that her choices in life had led her to meeting Oliver Queen. To hold even a modicum of his trust. Considered as reliable enough to, very literally, fight criminality together with. And despite her misfortune, Laurel was lucky in a very real way. Personally, she had a lot going for her: a good job, a best friend, beauty and allure to match. But she also had a father who cared enough to be over-protective. An ex-boyfriend and current love who both adored her. Friends in high places. An ally in Moira Queen.

Felicity didn't know what that was like, because she didn't have any of it.

Just her soul.

Her IQ.

Her beliefs.

Herself.

It was good to see other women flourish under love and care. Truly. And even if Felicity had been alone for a long time, I now have two amazing friends; both of whom wouldn't let her walk home alone at night. I'm blessed too.

So. "I can move." She said, gesturing to Laurel and-

Never let it be said that Felicity's intuitive skill as a woman was below average, not after the look Laurel gave her. Yikes. O-kay, if she feels that strongly about it, Felicity straightened from the seat-

"No!"

Almost spilling her drink, she hyper-blinked at Tommy who was half stood - his arm reaching out - staring at her. Beseeching. "You're my date." Like, 'obviously; so, what are you doing honey? Sit your cute butt in that seat and pretend to love me'.

She mentally threatened: Will. Kill. You. For. Free. But, no dice.

"I want you right here." STOPPING YOU WITH THE POWERS OF MY MIND. "Next to me." The powers of her mind were clearly still in the realms of mortal men because Tommy continue to floor her and the other two at the table. "Come on: it's our date too."

His fingers tapped the chair's neck support and her eyes lifted from them, back to his face; tap them again and we are no longer friends.

And he smiled because he couldn't read her well; looking to the others like he and Felicity were the real deal but also asking them to please be patient because they were still finding their feet as a new couple and no; it wasn't intensely uncomfortable and hysterically horrifying or anything, because they were sitting in front of the woman he loved and the man who'd-

"It's fine." The man who'd won Laurel's heart without doing much of anything at all to win it back… and had been paying for it ever since. "This is fine." Oliver. Voice quiet, soft; it was clear that nothing was fine. But he looked at Laurel as he spoke. "Just sit here." He signalled to the free seat to his left.

His voice was one step away from true sadness.

I don't understand. "Yeah." Felicity muttered as she followed suit; frowning in concern at- well, at all three of them. I'm missing something. Or they are. A mental process somewhere because in what universe were three people still friends who alternately slept with, loved and loathed each other in turn over the past six years?

Icky.

"Here you go."

Her eyes shut: speaking of wrong. Gritting her teeth and hiding it, she allowed Tommy to push her chair that last precious inch under her and casually stroke languid fingers over the back of her exposed neck after he did; looking at her tenderly, all the while.

Close enough to kiss if she wanted.

She did not. At all. But he looked like he did.

So, he can act, which was… mildly vexing. After all the hurt he'd displayed at Oliver's knack for performing on cue, he could do it too; albeit not as smoothly.

Still, the way he stole a breath - as if she'd knocked him breathless - would have gotten him a gold star.

Face warming, it wasn't until he pulled back just a tad - the most depressing part to this was that Tommy was showing her more appreciation and affection than any other man she'd been on a date with, in close to two years - that she realised Oliver wasn't watching them, phew, because he had done the same for Laurel.

He'd pushed her seat under her as she sat.

And now Laurel was now gazing, beaming at him: with that smile, she really was gorgeous. Shucking her hair behind one ear, the lawyer settled herself and before Felicity could worry about Tommy's reaction to this, she caught sight of Oliver.

He was… not lovestruck.

Um.

Straightening what she knew were already extremely well pressed and ironed shirt sleeves beneath a jacket she wanted to crawl into for a multitude of reasons - even if he had made it clear that in front of his real friends, he didn't want her so close to him - Oliver was interlocking his fingers without once looking back at his date. Or at Tommy who was checking out the menu and hadn't been privy to Laurel's moment of perfection.

Laurel. She didn't seem bothered by Oliver's inattentiveness.

God, why? Felicity would want her date to take notice of her… unless this was how old 'Ollie' used to operate, explaining why the lawyer expected nothing more which was all kinds of wrong.

Worse, the three of them had a pattern of bad habits or misbegotten rituals they either couldn't break, or still paid deference to.

Now that Laurel could see the multitude of possibilities that sitting next to rather than beside her beau brought, she was happy to reach for her own glass and sip the contents. A peacefulness; an assuredness that Oliver had brought to life. Back to life.

Something Oliver didn't have a clue about and wasn't relishing in the way a man in love might. His glass of scotch was receiving all his attention.

Felicity knew Oliver. He didn't enjoy food the way other people did; he ate for necessity sake. He wouldn't care about the menu; he'd care about his date.

Oliver wasn't caring about his date beyond the perfunctory. He wasn't behaving as if he were on a date full stop; in fact, he- he looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

But he wasn't saying a word.

"Should we ask for the wine list?" Tommy asked, making her jump and she found him still smiling; his twinkling eyes on the prize. Her. "I know how much you love Bordeaux."

Making a sound at the back of her throat - when I'm enjoying myself and not forced to play a role, Bordeaux is lovely! - she responded with a heartfelt, "No." On any other occasion, she'd give a hell to the yes. "I think I'll just stick to my very large," three fingers, "Whiskey for now."

And maybe ask the nice garcon for a second… and a third. Wine was for comfort, for friends, and celebration. Not for awkward encounters of the fourth kind: the 'best left untouched' territory of the post and present ex's, lovers and oh's.

This really shouldn't be happening; someone pull the fire alarm. But her mental plea went unheard because Laurel shifted; leaning in towards Oliver, looking at him through her lashes. "That might be nice." She whispered loud enough - with just the right amount of flirty-flirt in her tone to leave Oliver under no delusions as to her underlining meaning - that they all heard; throwing in some pretty bedroom eyes to seal the deal. "We could share."

Felicity looked down, away.

If anyone had been watching her with attention to detail, they would have noticed the shallow breath she took in. The way she played with her fingers and pulled her feet beneath her chair. The way her stomach contracted as something inside her squeezed tight.

A bottle; they could share an entire bottle together in front of Felicity and Tommy and she'd have to watch as their cheeks grew red, as their flirty-flirts increased. Getting to know her good friend's lady-love should have been a pleasure but, please- please don't do that to me. It would kill Tommy, and, in all honesty, it wouldn't do to well on Felicity's heart either.

A good time he said, Felicity remembered as she took a larger sip of her very strong whisky; gasping a little as it burned the inside of her throat. Stella can go get her groove on elsewhere next time-

"What do you think?" Laurel pressed.

And Felicity realised it was in lieu of a response from the amazingly attractive vigilante billionaire sat before her.

Still feeling like she was intruding - normally the very idea was enough to make her babble like the best of them, but she was increasingly wordless - Felicity cleared her throat and tried. "Maybe, um…"

Fail.

"I'm not-" Swiftly glancing to him, to Oliver; her mouth shut. She'd seen that look before in his eyes; but it was so carefully held by the passiveness in his expression that it passed inspection. "Maybe we shouldn't." And he smiled as if everything was exactly as it should be. "I'm not really a wine person."

Surprise flushed through Felicity: her thoughts stuttering. So, that bottle he opened and shared with me and Diggle the week after the Undertaking was… what, exactly?

Oliver gestured to his unfinished drink. "Still full."

If the fake in his expression was any indication, it wouldn't be for long.

Taking him at his word, Laurel nodded and turned to peruse the menu once more and Oliver… he was still smiling that smile he'd wear when he was sure no one was really paying attention: a small smile revealing no teeth, that somehow managed to weave the goodness in him through his expression and bringing the cracks out in his armour.

As if his heart was bleeding.

Oliver was a beautiful man; but he was only ever wretchedly beautiful, when he was sad.

Throat moving - his discomfort was real - it took a while for Oliver to centre himself, to look up from the table and meet her eyes.

And that's when the fake faltered and the real came out. Helpless to it, he let out a small breath that nearly destroyed his painful smile. When his eyes betrayed him, she felt it in her diaphragm.

There was a lot there in his face- how is Laurel not seeing it? She felt covered with it; drenched in a sea of emotion untouched for so long it was coming out of his pores. It was dark, that abyss. It was lonely. It was Oliver.

It was in his eyes as he looked into hers and a painful awareness enveloped them both. He knew that she knew that all was not well tonight. That beneath this saccharine scene - this golden moment in time where everyone appeared happy and healthy and hopeful - that should have been a triumph for a man returned from hell only to sink into another kind of nightmare; a man who'd come out of it still blessed with friends and family and love…

It was just another bad dream.

She didn't understand it. Didn't need to.

If it hadn't been for Tommy, she wouldn't even be here tonight. There was nothing to chastise him for; this façade of his, was holding on by a thread. It was going to hurt him later; who was she to add to it? He had his reasons, clearly.

She may be lost here, with his most cherished people; but what she wanted most just then, was to reach across the table and touch his hand.

Or… slowly pull off his tie. But that's a different urge altogether.

Loosen the collar button on his pristine shirt. Breathe a little Oliver.

She couldn't do that: he wasn't her date.

Instead, biting down on her lip - entwining her own fingers together - she tilted her head and sent him a smile that said you're a strange one, Mr Queen and I get it. She aimed for gentle, for understanding. She felt vulnerable herself. But it came out with much more warmth, more playful in nature and with a tad more love than she'd aimed for, but that had been beyond her control for a while now.

And he seemed to need it.

Head ducking down a tad, she saw his shoulders loosen. Watched his eyes close for a moment as this tiny self-deprecating smile flickered on and off his lips. Nu-uh. He wasn't allowed to feel like that, not here. Not with the people he loved and trusted most in the world.

This night was just as much for him as for the rest of them, and even if her being here was the biggest sham of all time, Felicity endeavoured to make him see that. Somehow.

"There's so much to choose from." Laurel absently muttered; her finger following the lines on each lamented page.

Extremely aware of everyone and everything, Felicity leaned forwards as much as she dared; centimetres only because she didn't want to pull Tommy and Laurel's attention away from the menu.

But the movement caught Oliver's eye again, as she knew it would.

"Are you ok?" She mouthed; searching for that certain something that would make her back off. "Oliver?"

That subtle head shift he'd give sometimes, that alluringly sweet and infuriating lie of a smile - like, what are you talking about Felicity - that told the world he was living off an extremely well-fed ego, as if he were perpetually satisfied with himself. That's what he gave her: like he was someone else, another mask.

But he didn't know; the last eight months had taught her much about him. Head slanting to the side, she blinked once: straight faced and candid, dude. Please.

As she'd done once before, when they'd first met.

And he didn't want her to see it, she could tell; but it happened anyway. It wasn't that he looked tired or weary; you could describe his expression like you would a sigh. Some slight deflation. A soothing certainty of the situation, even though the situation was miserable. Barely a trace of the smile left.

He breathed in, exhaled... nodded.

She didn't look away. It wasn't a hardship.

His eyes dropped to her painted nails on the table - the clear dark green of them; hey, it goes with the dress - before smiling again; a real smile this time, even if it was small. It touched his eyes and he repeated another slow head shake as they flickered back up to hers. "Nice." He mouthed back.

The colour.

That was definitely part-ego on his side, but she'd allow it. He'd earned it.

Fluttering her fingers - stop smiling when you're clearly not okay -she shrugged one shoulder at him; fashion baby.

And he hadn't been for a long time; he hadn't been okay.

Did he even know how evident it now was? The lonely in him. It would bother him, she knew, if he could see it himself. See how his eyes didn't light up when he smiled. See it in his unsure movements, as if everything drew attention. Hear it in the undertone of his voice; the soft throatiness, the low - quiet - cadence. The deeper than normal rise and falls of his chest, as if he sighed more than he exhaled but made sure no one could hear him.

He lived and breathed loneliness. So very used to bad things happening, to losing the people he loved in one form or another; he was expecting to lose again here. After the horrors he must have endured, the things he must have suffered and seen; lonely might once have been exactly what he wanted. Lonely was safe.

Except, unlike the multitudes of times Felicity had seen him on the nights she left him working solitary in the dark of the Foundry, now lonely looked like a slow death. Like he was standing in the cold; looking in through a window at the warmth inside and the people you long to reach, to sit with and hold onto, but can't. Or don't know how to.

And he wanted out of that.

I think he's trying to fight it, that yearning.

But he didn't think he deserved it, which meant that there was a lot riding on this night for him. It could be proof that… maybe he was. And it was going so well. Her heart felt heavy, even as she was smiling at him.

Again, Laurel wasn't seeing it. "There's too much to choose." Or feeling it. "What's good here?" She asked, looking around the table-

Felicity pulled back, straightening; her hands falling off the table and into her lap.

Oliver watched her do it; whatever he saw… it made the corner of his mouth lift as the rest tilted down. Made his head dip just a tad; his eyes on the table cloth. It wasn't peaceful or contented. He looked like he ached.

And if the barest tightening of his jaw - or the way he pressed his lips together - was any indication, he was frustrated and that wasn't confusing at all.

"Well my lady," Tommy playfully intervened for Laurel - in lieu of a response from the other parties present - and an actual giggle left the lawyer, what is that?

Oliver's eyes closed at the sound: his face etched with regret.

"I've heard they do a very nice Italian." Tommy continued, and he didn't have to see or feel a single thing about Oliver or anyone because, according to him, he was on a dream-date of his own, son of a- "But their Lobster Frittata's exquisite. I love lobster."

"Wait." Automatically ceasing the opening and in friend mode - I can't help it; we're like this, and it had always been harmless - Felicity shot him an arched brow. "I thought you hadn't been here before." It was almost flirty, her 'dare to dare' tone. "I mean, I was surprised. The playboy who leaves nothing to chance, hasn't taken a lady to The Lamont?" Mock gasping, Felicity was mostly she was reeling from… from everything. "Did you lie? How can you know if you won't be going home alone at the end of the evening?"

'Cause you certainly won't be going home with me.

The real smile on Tommy's face made months of resignation, anger and grief; vanish. "Hey now, I haven't relied on that in…" the laughter in his eyes dimmed a little as he swept back through pleasant and not so pleasant memories. "Wow, not since Ollie came home."

Ow. Crash and burn. I aim for the tropical island and steer straight into the rocky cliff. "Did it even work then?" Voice high, her pretence of permissive laughter was so extremely weak, and it didn't come close to covering up Oliver clearing his throat. That, and she was trying to buck up Tommy's ego a tad, as well as remind him that; no, I am not like one of your one-night trips to heaven. "Did it ever work?"

Forget about wondering how women had ever fallen for the crap of the bad boys sitting at the table - really, how: though she knew full well that both men used to sip at the same Bacchus font - how did he and Oliver ever think landing a woman like Laurel Lance was going to be easy, especially given their history? The bigger question: how could Laurel ever want Oliver who she knew had cheated on her? How could Oliver cheat on a woman he claimed to love dearly?

Convoluted did not a happy trio make.

Worse, she couldn't hide that she felt that way. Oliver's eyes told her so when they flickered over to her; she sounded off and he noticed.

He was wondering why.

Arms flat before him on the table - his mouth a soft line - he took her in; searching for what was off. He was wondering very hard indeed, focusing his attention on the wrong woman.

She wanted so much to just talk to him… but they didn't- they never talked about his personal life. She had to let it go.

But he was seeing what Tommy wasn't in all his effort to keep the evening firmly on his side of the chess board. "You'd be surprised!" Entrenched in his past, looking both like a bashful little boy and juxtaposing an extremely secure, carnally satisfied grown man; Tommy cleared his throat. "I did alright." An awkward shoulder shuffle told her he'd done more than 'alright'. "I mean, sex is sex. It was easy."

Her stomach contracted. "W.O.W." She breathed each letter, elongating each; are we really having this conversation? "You know, it shouldn't be easy, right?" It depended on what a person was looking for.

But the way he said it. Sex = easy.

Is that how Oliver thinks?

…She hadn't thought about the words or how they'd sound. What they'd mean to the rest of the table.

Why has everyone gone quiet?

"Well-" Abruptly uncomfortable, Tommy cleared his throat; his self-mockingly smile aimed at nothing at all. "You're speaking to the wrong crowd."

Tommy's words had the effect of a hammer smashed into ice. Oh, sweet Jesus. Did he actually say that? Rigid in her seat, she gaped at him and the silence was deafening.

Oliver was staring emptily down at the table.

Laurel was looking at her: a mix of wounded, insulted, angry and guilty marred brutally with her complexion before she swiftly glanced Tommy, discomforted.

It was brutal.

"But um," he looked at Felicity now, blinking once; as if truly seeing her for the first time. Please don't- "I think I'm finally sitting with the right girl now."

As opposed to Laurel who wasn't the right girl?

Tell me you did not just-

He had.

Horror was a heavy, viscous punishment sliding down her oesophagus and into her stomach. No, she internally moaned; feeling attention coming at her from all sides. Why would you do that to me?

Why would you make me want to cry?

She did want to cry. This felt like a punishment she hadn't earned. Putting her on the spot, shoving her into the limelight- into the line of fire, to be used like this. To be used to simultaneously send a message his friends needed to hear and to hurt them just once.

This wasn't Tommy. Not the Tommy she'd come to know: his eyes were telling all the love stories that hadn't happened between them and if she didn't know him well enough, she'd think he were for real.

And- Oh God, Laurel. She was taking a larger than normal sip of wine- a gulp, she gulped. Gulping back wine like it was a pain killer.

Fix this! Lips together - desperate - they popped when she tried and failed to speak: a release of air escaping her instead.

Was it even for her to fix?

"You okay?" Tommy asked; a flicker of genuine confusion, concern flaring through the lie.

"I-" I want to punch you in the stomach! How to answer the impossible? I need a stronger drink. She hummed; barely managing to croak. "Cocky." So, stop it; for your sake if no one else.

Undeterred, Tommy had the audacity to beam at her. "I prefer to call it charm."

This was the least pleasant or charming she'd ever found him; even with that handsome smile. "Over-confidence." Delivered as intended - a flat warning - Tommy blinked; finally remembering and responded by diving for cover, for his drink. And because her brain worked like a pachinko machine, Felicity immediately did what it told her too.

She looked at Oliver.

Oh. A shaky exhale left her, and she wanted to look away. She wanted to say something, the wrong thing.

Purgatory.

He was near-religious in hating himself, but it was the opinion of his best friend - the man who thought that they were and had been of shallower waters - that made his venire of nonchalance, shatter.

He was holding himself so stiffly she was surprised he didn't crack at her expression when he met her gaze.

Talk, you're good at that. "I'm guessing you held all the awards for charm once upon a time." Inclusion: Oliver might have been a 'Jack the Lad', but so had Tommy. Hell, even Laurel had learned a thing or two in hindsight. He wasn't alone, and she managed to communicate it subtly… without sounding like a blabbering idiot, which tended to happen when she was nervous.

They all needed more alcohol.

"I…" Looking like he was having trouble forcing his vocal box to work, Oliver couldn't seem to keep eye contact with her for more than a second at a time. "I think it's safe to say I no longer possess any amount of finesse in that department."

Beside him, Laurel opened her mouth-

"I beg to differ." Because, duh. He charmed her without even trying. Daily. Freely. Unwittingly. There were oodles of it in him; he'd just lost the ability to be a douche about it, which was the best thing that could have ever happened. Even if it had left him a little lost at sea so to speak. Her response was innocuous because Felicity felt enough about the subject. "You don't realise how much you stand out?"

"…No."

She near-snorted, come on.

Surprised and a little flushed, his eyes kept side-lining; unsure of how to take her honest teasing. "I mean," and endearingly shy, Oliver gave this little jerk of his head like I'm really not anything to call home about. "I try not to."

Because, he wasn't worth the trouble?

Her heart melted. And because that notion of his ridiculous to her - because she was so fond - a laugh escaped her. "Oliver." Shaking her own head - for a man that good looking, he was awfully humble; unaware of his own allure - she saw that he was looking at her, fully this time. Unblinking. "You fail."

In all the best ways.

His mouth moved a little, lashes fluttering slightly - as if her words had untouched something in him - and this hesitant, modest and pleasantly embarrassed smile erupted across his jaw. It looked grateful.

Mission accomplished.

Also, wow: it was gorgeous. After all the sad and the lonely and the angst, she knew she looked like she thought so too. That she was happy he'd smiled and that his smile was beautiful…

All at once, they could have been alone at the table, which was precisely why she remembered that they weren't. Crap-a-doodle.

When would she learn? She'd never have Oliver. Even so, she couldn't help the depth of warmth she had for him, the respect and admiration he brought out in her. The pride in herself that he'd helped instil. The attraction, the connection that she felt just looking at him.

It was reprehensible. I'm on a date and-

But she wasn't. She wasn't on a date. None of this had been by her design or choice. She was very literally playing to the whim of her friend who'd needed her to pretend to think he was the moon and stars.

Taking a much-needed breath - pulling herself away from a gaze that could see into her soul - she glanced to Tommy. Who she was here for in the first place. "Your boyish allure works a little too well for you."

So, stop compensating.

Because she was weak. Because even though she was here for someone else - to put them first - she didn't want another reminder that she didn't belong here, that she was the biggest liar, that Tommy would never have admitted to just needing a friend tonight.

That Oliver couldn't stand to be seen with her hands on him in front of them.

"Are you saying I've charmed you?" Tommy breathed, not seeing the distress that was making her eyes sting. His own were sparkling; as if he'd remembered all the fun the evening was supposed to be only far too late for it to be effective.

She lifted her whiskey glass, finishing off the contents with a healthy mouthful as she eyed him over the rim. Courage. "Predictable." She licked her lips of the traces of alcohol and found Tommy's eyes following her tongue; you're playing hard ball with the woman across from you and I am not going to help you. "And one of your old plays."

"No school like the old school." Stella was practising his flirty-flirt. "I'd never use old tactics with you." And he said it as if he believed every word, because she was it. The one. Her stomach muscles twisted. "You're too smart for them."

"Damn straight." And just for the reminder, she sent him another pointed look: so why are you using me Tommy?"

But he simply shifted in his seat, slowly shaking his head as if he couldn't believe he was this blessed. "I'm a lucky guy."

God help me. Placing down her glass - this stops now - she lifted her gaze, opened her mouth and-

"I wasn't looking for anything else back then." Tommy started, and he seemed genuine. Real. His smile was quiet. "I went with what I knew."

Dangerous. Territory.

"I went with what I knew."

Like… Laurel? Who he'd known for years before they became exactly what he was used to: friends with benefits. Like she was safe. Like Laurel was old news and Tommy, do not do this with me.

Don't insult what you both had through me.

She'd had enough coffee breaks and lunches with this man to know that there was nothing ordinary about his love for Laurel; nothing subpar or 'old news' about her. She'd been his one and only. His future. His lobster. And now, he had to find a way to move on. He half hated her and Oliver for it.

But, not like this. Not with a lie to save face.

"Well," her finger traced the rim of her glass, "I think that our past relationships teach us a lot about ourselves." She tried.

But he made a dismissive sound that didn't give her much hope. "Yeah, like who not to fall for."

And it got worse.

Searching for something, anything; her chest pulled when she saw how his words affected Laurel. How hurt lined her features. How, once again, Oliver was just… listening. Hearing the pain behind his friend's smile. Feeling it.

Not sparing a word for either Laurel or himself.

"But maybe it did teach me something because, now," twisting ever so slightly towards her, Tommy's hand lifted, "I want a lot more."

And it settled on hers where it was prone by her glass; fingers interlinking.

With you, was the message left unsaid.

Something like dread made her insides sink.

In one swift move, Tommy had beaten the other two at the table. I didn't realise it was a competition. Clearly it was: she never thought she'd see that kind of self-satisfied expression on Tommy's face.

In his need to feel like he'd gained back a little ground, he'd forgotten about her.

It was so much more painful than she thought it would be. Had he even thought about after? After this date? What he'd say, what she'd have to? How was he going to explain this? Would she forever have to pretend to Oliver that they had a romantic history instead of the truth? How could he take any of it back?

Looking down at that hand, she let out a weak breath. This is what solicitation feels like.

He'd understand later. He'd feel terrible. But here and now, her chest felt too tight and she wanted to leave. There was nothing she could do to help him; he didn't need her to be here with him, Tommy had all the angles covered. She was there to look pretty. To be the icing on top of the insult-my-ex-cake.

"That's… great." And Laurel's words made Felicity's eyes close because she was sure that Laurel didn't know how she sounded. "I'm… I'm happy for you."

"Thank you, Laurel." Like aw shucks.

It really did take everything Felicity had not to get up; not to push his hand away because it would humiliate him. Not to retreat into a corner. Stay. "But I mean," Laurel continued; hurt and something akin to fear lacing her voice, "were we that bad?"

That you'd have to say it like that?

"We were a mistake." Tommy shrugged. SHRUGGED. Oh, holy Jesus. "I'm trying to learn from my mistakes."

Like she'd been smacked. "A mistake?" Laurel breathed out.

They were actually having this conversation.

And if Felicity was uncomfortable, it wasn't anywhere close to how Oliver must feel: but she wouldn't, wouldn't look at him. Still, it was clear as day that the three of them hadn't talked about this when they'd needed to.

"Laurel." Leaning forwards on the table, Tommy aimed for friendly; but Felicity saw his throat move, felt his hand tighten over hers. "You were in love with Oliver. I knew that, and I still went after you. I shouldn't have. I should have known that you'd never be able to love me."

Ouch.

Doe eyed and emotional, four hushed words rushed out of Laurel. "I do love you."

Um. Uncomfortable and maybe not the best thing to respond with here and, am I supposed to react to this? Did Tommy expect her to pretend to be the offended date because he'd brought up his romantic past, though that was never happening-

"Great." It was such a nonchalant answer; an and? Like, so what? "What does that matter?" There was no acid in Tommy's tone, but his hand finally leaving Felicity's told her enough. "We're over. We've been over for months." So intent on Laurel, he didn't see Felicity flex her fingers before cradling her hand.

He didn't see her look upwards and sigh in relief.

Didn't see Oliver watching the whole thing.

By the change from 'sad eyes' to 'what the hell', she'd say he'd picked up on a thing or two. Gulp. Eyes a tad too dark, too severe, he watched her hands; his expression silent and there was real disquiet there from him, for her. Every inch of him was reacting to her anxiety, to the topic of conversation, to Tommy's behaviour-

But not to Laurel?

She'd just said aloud that she still loved Tommy: why wasn't Oliver reacting to that?

"That isn't what I meant." Laurel tried, quietly. Her voice wasn't shaking: she was just being earnest. There was real affection there in her face; love, gratitude and something else. "Despite how we ended, I don't think it was time wasted."

And there was nothing Tommy could say to that. His face was set, and that look on Tommy was an altogether different kind of terrible.

Reading him like a book, Oliver's eyes closed.

Time wasted? No. But to Tommy, it must feel like it was all for nothing; for him to lose like that, lose hard. And then his father and his belief in the good nature of his best friend: it made Laurel's words feel trite. Not quite enough.

But that was life. It was unfair, unjust and hard.

Maybe that was why Tommy smiled at Laurel instead of revealing those feelings. "Neither do I."

Tentative, Laurel returned it. What is this? Why was it so hard for either of them to be honest? "I want to be part of your life, Tommy." Before he could disagree - or agree to disagree - Laurel ventured onwards. "I mean, I asked earlier if you were seeing anyone and…"

She gestured to Felicity.

Tommy hadn't known he was until he saw me in this green dress and watched you falter, butwere they really going to start talking about his love life, like they'd only ever friends? Wasn't this why Tommy had roped in Felicity; to prevent this from happening a second time this evening?

"I didn't want to presume anything about this." Let the discomfort start anew. Tommy sounded so unlike the man who'd made her laugh harmlessly over coffee for the last couple of months. "This is… this is only our second date."

He was trying a new tactic.

Ok-ay. Internally moaning - pushing down the urge to walk out, arms wrapping around themselves on top of the table - and looking up-

Only to find Oliver's eyes following the movement of her hands once more. "Second date?" He asked in that deceptively soft way of his.

"The most amazing night, man." Tommy emphatically stated- stop talking Tommy. "But a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

Kill me now. It was horrifying; she had to close her eyes because tears were building. Right the hell now. Lips pressing together - deep breaths - she had no idea if any of them were looking at her and she aimed her face down to make sure they couldn't see, a curl of her hair brushing her cheek as she did…

Hearing Tommy hum appreciatively, she squinted her eyes open to find his nose deep in the menu. As if everything was fine. No damage done, and there hadn't been really… to anyone other than her.

Laurel was still clueless.

Oliver was at the exact same level of sadness as before.

No, he hadn't realised he was making her feel like less than a person and more a fork in the eye of his ex-girlfriend and a trophy to his ex-best friend: Tommy thought that it being a lie would make every word excusable.

This was a piece of the old Tommy Merlyn who'd survived the sinking of the Queen's Gambit.

The version who wouldn't - didn't - catch how Laurel lost her smile again. They have no idea who the other is. Or what the other wants. They missed a lot by not looking at each other when they needed to.

And Oliver who did know them, couldn't be himself around them. Which meant Felicity shouldn't be here - even as a ruse - because it was a waste of time.

Tommy felt like he had to do this because he needed to feel less like the injured third wheel and more a man of his own agency. Oliver was waiting to be forgiven or blamed; waiting for his friends to see the real him, even as he didn't want them to. Laurel was between what she wanted and what she needed and was unable to tell the difference between the two. It was exhausting. A minefield.

Toxic. She winced at the thought. I'm sorry Oliver, but this - the three of them - it's not… healthy. I'm not the spokesperson for emotional health but, this is not that. Worse still was that Felicity felt like she couldn't voice any of it. Not here, sat enclosed by a decade's worth of history she knew nothing about.

She was the intruder.

Because Laurel and Tommy, they lived in the past as much as Oliver did, and lord knows Oliver has his reasons. It was extremely unhealthy for them and dangerous territory for her. But neither had they both spent five years trapped on an island and other hostile places. No, they'd had those five years to grieve; to move on, to let go, to forgive or, at the very least, admit that they couldn't.

They hadn't.

What was the reason for that? Issues become excuses and an inability to let go would only enable the problem.

As she'd discovered from her tete-a-tete's with Tommy, both he and Laurel - the Queen family, the media - expected Oliver to do that for them. To heal them with his return. When he hadn't, they had to find ways to deal. They'd been unsuccessful.

Again, Oliver knew this too, and - magnanimously - he didn't hold it against them; that they couldn't why he'd changed enough to throw them off or why he was so friendly one minute and so aloof the next. That was the kind of person he was: selfless.

He blamed himself for their pain too.

Question was, why was no one just beyond grateful that he'd survived?

Okay that's unfair; she knew Tommy was, had been, beyond overjoyed.

When Oliver had returned, Tommy hadn't cared who he'd become; he'd just been ecstatic to have him back. But his best friend had changed to a degree that Tommy didn't know what to do, didn't know how to accept, leaving him feeling on unstable ground. Add Laurel to the mix and Tommy's deep insecurity issues were given major fuel.

And now-

"Felicity?"

Um - it felt like she'd been given an electric shock - she blinked, searching the table-

The garcon had returned and was waiting with perfect graciousness at Tommy's right for her to tell him her poison. Oh good; that's not embarrassing or anything.

Flustered, "Right," heat rose up her neck as she pawed open her own menu, "I-I'll…"

"Have you been here before?" And it was Laurel exhibiting the kind of curiosity that made Felicity nervous. "You could just order from memory."

And hurry it up, got it.

But Felicity almost burst out laughing. As if I've ever been taken somewhere this classy; chance would be a fine thing. And money. And a social status… and a social life.

A man who wanted her enough.

Breathing in the air of the pathetic, "Yeah, I haven't um… been here before," a laugh of the forever socially feckless abandoned her; this is such a disaster.

Laurel exhaled.

Clearing her throat, Felicity stared down at the list of food and the lack of a dollar sign, which means they're above extortionate and I feel sick.

Nothing looked recognisable to her, which would have bothered her more if she had an appetite to satisfy. "Whelp, there are a lot of-" her throat closed on an awkward chuckle, "that's a lot of choice."

Half of it was labelled in a foreign language. Who speaks French in Starling? She couldn't tell if anything had even a hint of peanut in it. Where are the warnings? A lot of it sounded bizarre and utterly unpalatable. Do I want to know what 'les escargots' means?

Tommy was paying, and Felicity had a history of preferring Big Belly to an evening at Renaldo's. I should have taken a benzo.

She should have looked to see what Oliver was doing tonight.

She should have cancelled.

"I, um-" clearing her throat, she smiled up at her meal partners and it probably looked as painful as it felt. "What did you all decide on?"

Then, maybe she could just copy one of them.

Feeling like she'd gone back in time to high school, her stomach pulled when Laurel sent a not-very-subtle for god sakes glance to the ceiling, as if Felicity was keeping them waiting, gak. "I'll go next," Laurel declared to the garcon. "And I'll have what he's having." She pointed at Tommy - but what did he order? - sending him a secret smile; the kind that belonged to close friends and lovers. "With a glass of Pinot Noir."

…Was that relevant? Pinot Noir?

Neck muscles twitching, fingers convulsing against the table; the pulse in Tommy's throat fluttered. There was an aching edge to the boyish smile that Laurel's words - and the memory they invoked - brought out in him.

It was concerning. Looking at Laurel now, Felicity could only think, why is she doing this?

It was the exact opposite of the right thing: her words, her fondness- they weren't helping Tommy. Helping him get over her. Friendly, knowing and borderline flirty smiles do not make love easier to get over. Either distance yourself or give an actual explanation.

I'm not the queen of breakup by a longshot, but even she knew that a history of getting over past loves who betray you in ways that destroy your trust in men, shouldn't make you want them back.

Watching Laurel as the garcon made a note of the second order - maybe she has no idea of the power she still holds over Tommy - Felicity nudged her date. "Say the word; we can go." She whispered.

Please say the word.

But he stared at her like she'd asked him to dance the fandango. Worst thing. "Why would we?" Smiling, he glanced down at the menu in her hands. "Oh." Feeling his arm brushing her back as it rested behind her, Tommy spoke quietly. "God, I'm sorry: you said you didn't want a highbrow dinner, but I drop you in one anyway." Please stop talking. "Here, let me tell you what's good-"

Don't you dare. "Tommy." She whispered; their faces inches from each other. "It's fine. Just give me a second, I mean," with a near-silent laugh, come on, she lifted up the menu and shot him a desperate glance of friendly confederacy, "everything looks exactly the same on this thing."

"I wouldn't exactly label any dinner at The Lamont, generic."

What? Blinking up, her earrings tapping against her neck; Felicity looked to the owner of the voice, to Laurel.

The very essence of refined; Laurel's tone was a little too affronted - as if for Tommy's sake if nothing else - and it touched a little close to home. A woman like Laurel who was treated so easily as a friend of the Queen family, fit in so well with overpriced food at overpriced restaurants and-

I do not.

Felicity was embarrassing them with her inability to appreciate the splendour, to fit, and didn't that just resonate. From the moment she'd met Oliver Queen, Felicity knew she'd loved him. She'd also known how out of her league he was.

"That's… not what I meant." Tentative, her smile a distant memory, Felicity looked at the lawyer whose expression became one she couldn't discern. "I need to know what I'm ordering-"

"Well, all the food here is amazing." And Tommy cut her off when she dearly needed him not to. Feeling the sting of it in her chest, her eyes shot to his. "The menu's just a little extreme." It was almost patronising. She had the highest IQ at the table; she could figure out a menu. "We'll find something together." Oh, and she really loved it when men do that; when they take over on dates, subconsciously aiming to control the endgame. "Maybe get an interpreter for some of this other stuff."

"That's not it, I-"

"I know just the thing." It was like she wasn't there, Tommy; there was this lie of happiness on his face and she wanted to growl at him. If he didn't stop interrupting her, she was going to explode. It was either that or sit there feeling hurt. Steadying herself, she took a breath. "I've always wanted you to try this-"

"Felicity's allergic to peanuts."

Thank god. The words made silence magically fall across the table. The frustration in her chest, drawn out; as if by a syringe.

She wasn't alone. Not like she thought. Oliver was there. Her Oliver – the one almost drowned out amongst his other faces.

"It's an extreme case." And she was nodding with him before she could stop herself, letting his knowledge of her soothe as he spoke to Tommy. "I don't know if she has her epi-pen with her, but she-"

"Oh, I have one in my purse." Felicity added at the nudge.

"-always has a backup." He smiled at the words, as if her confirming his words was were reassuring, but it was closed mouthed and firm. "Still, I'd rather err on the side of caution: Felicity should be able to eat a nice meal here rather than spend the evening in the hospital."

Yes, that would be preferable.

It was strange how Oliver suddenly held the table after being near silent until now. The way he spoke too; so 'matter of fact' yet so soft. The kind soft he'd offer as a threat to the men and women he aimed arrows at late into the night. Something she'd come to refer to as Oliver's Lethal Soft.

The kind that held no softness in it at all.

And he was using it here. Now. With his best friend and love.

Um… problem.

Felicity knew better, she did.

But he was smiling, and his smile held nothing behind it. In fact, she could swear on her grandmother's grave - and she'd loved her grandmother dearly - that his smile asked Tommy; why didn't you know that, friend?

Said friend's face had blanked. "Allergic?" As if surprise had knocked him expressionless, even his voice sounded unthinking and absent-minded. "To peanuts?"

"Any nut, really." She filled in with a swift breath - they could all hear it; her nerves playing havoc with her voice - being unnecessarily expressive with her hands, "I'm sorry about this, it's-" Horribly embarrassing? Super inconvenient?

"There's nothing to apologise for." Arms settled on the table in front of him, Oliver looked at her with that same intensity he'd beheld when he'd walked towards her earlier with a hand on his breastbone; his eyes comparable to… well, to chocolate. He'd melted at the sight of her- the dress, it's the dress; it has to be the dress. "I'm the one who's sorry. I should have remembered sooner."

She couldn't help the smile on her face; it was the first she'd seen him like this. This mix of unease, an endearingly masculine compassion (he was unaware how attractive it was), and a sincerity that somehow heightened his usual sensuality to new peaks: only with Oliver could I ever think that and not cringe. "You haven't even opened your menu yet." Silly man.

How could he keep looking at her like that? Like she was a source of heat and he'd been cold for days.

"My apologies," the garcon said, startling her and reminding them all that he was still there, oops. "Mademoiselle," he really did have a French accent, "we should have catered to this before you sat down."

And with the attention back on her 100%, it did not in any way lessen the tension that had risen exponentially in the seconds since Oliver's statement. "No, it's fine." She cleared her throat, glimpsing Laurel-

There was an odd quiet to her now. Like, Oliver jumping in at the last moment had given her pause. Whatever it was, it was mounting because her date wasn't paying her any attention.

Oliver was looking at anyone except the garcon, the table top and Felicity's hands.

And her mouth, as she apologised again, and it wasn't confusing her at all. Um. "I should have said something-"

"Nonsense!" French in every sense of the term, she blinked as the garcon moved her to her side with the kind of grace she envied and plucked the menu right out of her fingers. "We have specialised menu's that should have been offered to you; I will get you a copy with a glass of the chef's recommended Domaine as an apology." And if that didn't leave her spluttering into incoherency - Domaine was far out of her price range - his next line would have. "A stunning wine, for the most beautiful lady in the restaurant."

Heat bloomed on her neck and cheeks, panic closely following. But I'm not- Dumbly, her mouth opened and closed - her great fish impersonation; holy crap - and she was helpless then against that pull that always led her gaze straight to Oliver-

Sweeping half second glances from her hair down to her hands; his eyes told a story.

Yes; he'd really, really liked her dress.

He'd liked her hair too.

He'd liked her.

The way she looked tonight, the things she'd said, the atmosphere that had hovered around them: she wasn't an idiot. She'd seen that look in a man's eyes before. Just never in Oliver's, never at her.

He'd. Liked. Her. Enough to openly show that he did; even if it was silent.

Oliver. The Hood. Her friend.

The man with a date.

Overwhelmed, she had absolutely no idea how to deal. It was almost cruel, how he was behaving...

"I can emphatically agree with that, good sir." Tommy chimed in and she could hear his smile, his pride.

Feel the weight of his hand on her shoulder.

"Thank-" Throat so dry she couldn't finish- that's enough of that, Felicity forced herself to remain still. "Well, I adore red wine." She breathed, almost like a plea to move along and, please stop complimenting me and an expensive wine? I might as well.

It seemed to make the garcon incredibly agreeable. "Excellent!"

"Great!" Added Tommy.

Felicity mouth formed a, "Yep."

It was Laurel's turn to stare at the table.

The garcon bowed - bowed - before walking away at speed and she stared at the empty space he'd been before an involuntary nervous giggle had her turning back. "Sorry… about… that."

To describe the atmosphere as a tense one was to underscore it: Diggle would love this, she figured. What had he once said to Oliver? 'Eventually, it'll all come up; your pasts with your presents.' Everyone's not-so hidden neuroses were pushing up past their sealed enclosures and she wasn't invulnerable to that.

Her own were getting a bit of a polish too.

"I never knew that about you." And, finally, Tommy sounded like her buddy again: he wasn't smiling anymore. "How did I not know?"

She played with her own fingers; teeth drawing across her lower lip. "It never came up." You never asked.

Oliver hadn't either.

But he watched people like a hawk, which meant he'd watched her like a hawk too. Oh. That felt far too nice, which might have been why she looked at him; had to. "I sure know how to spoil a mood." Her tongue clicking as she tried to banish her ever-present insecurity: that she didn't fit here.

He shook his head in that slow, liquid way of his. "You didn't ruin anything."

Inhaling, "Thank you." She breathed demurely.

"It was nothing."

He could cure cancer and I bet he'd say exactly that. And she figured she looked just as she felt - affectionate - if the way his eyes shyly danced over hers was anything to go by.

"You said," The abrupt interjection made Felicity emotionally back step, guiltily, "you work for Ollie. You'd have to be working pretty closely to know each other allergies."

Danger. Danger. High voltage.

Ummmmmmmm- "O-oh, well, we…" A little help here!

"She works with me." It was so subtly uttered, so nonchalantly amended - like an afterthought, one he'd repeated for the third time this evening, oh boy - it almost detracted from the severity in it. The hardness. Oliver was not a happy camper. "And she's my friend."

And real friends know things like that, right?

"Where does she work with you exactly, Ollie?" There was the frown; the break in Laurel's pretty smile that warped it from friendly to something else.

But she'd found the substantial plot hole: how was someone like Oliver Queen friends with Felicity Smoak? Well, the incredibly attractive billionaire spends 5 hellish years away, becoming a vigilante and realising, hey! I could really use the expertise of a genius hacker who nobody knows exists to help me fight against the corruption in the city. That's how.

"The last time I checked," Laurel continued, and Oliver's opened-to-reply-mouth remained that way, "you weren't exactly looking to take on responsibility of your family's company. Remember when I told you after you came back, that I didn't see you as master of the universe? That hasn't exactly changed." And her tone was coated in it: the innate self-assurance that she knew this man deeply enough to say such things.

She'd said that to him?

How destructive.

"She installed security at the club." Tommy explained for everyone, pointedly, making Laurel jolt and Oliver's lips press back together as he, once again, looked at anything other than the live sitting at the table. "There were a few issues, so she had to keep coming back to install… new stuff." He finished lamely; eyes shifting from to the next. "What? It got lost in translation."

Another reminder; as much as Tommy knew, there was so much more he didn't. He was as clueless about who really helped Oliver aim his arrows as Laurel was about Oliver's secret in its entirety. It was an effective realisation: as of this moment, I am the most lying liar here. She was lying to Oliver about being Tommy's date, to Tommy about being Oliver's literal partner in crime, and to Laurel about the fact that her boyfriend was the hood and that she knew more about him than Laurel would ever wish she did.

But her brain was still frozen on, I didn't see you as master of the universe. "You know," she said without forethought, "I think that if you put your mind to it, you could do anything." Biting down on her lip, she needed him to know that he wasn't that person: a man who couldn't aspire or inspire. "Like say…" and tilting her head, Felicity lightly tap-danced her fingers across the table as if silently playing Oliver's theme tune: less guilt Arrow, more hero Arrow. I need to tell him about that too, about Arrow instead of Hood - choosing not to peek at him from under her lashes until the very last second. "Being 'master of the universe' one day? I mean," she floundered, "if you wanted to be." Brow-line smoothing, his mouth softened, and she couldn't help the carefree smile that came out; Oliver made her feel like anything was possible. Anything included lame teasing. "A good, kind master who would reward his subjects with compliments and ample perks!"

Something he already kind of did with her.

Free coffee. Free rides to and from work. Free drinks at the club. Free access to Queen Consolidated's mainframe. The many praises and attempts at flattery when he knew he'd asked a lot and she'd gone above and beyond the call. Genuine gratitude. Two heroes who she spent her time with in a near-cave, who'd taken the time to install security in her home that was roughly five times above her pay grade for free and had looked at her oddly when she'd brought up the price. Two men she considered to be more family to her than her 'flesh and blood' family.

Most important of all, a real and true purpose.

And the shock of something so simple and so sweet from her, made this quick but happy laugh leave Oliver. "Of course." A real smile with his throaty rejoinder, made her shiver. "Though my first act as master would be to hire you as co-master."

And it was so adorable to her in that moment - that instead of vice president or executive assistant or CEO something or other, 'co-master' was his vernacular choice - that. It. Just. Came. Out. "Yeah," she nodded; voice full of bubbles, "I could definitely teach you a thing or two."

Drinking the last of his drink, Tommy choked on the final swallow; spluttering into the glass.

As in, I'm actually pretty business savvy. I paid attention to Walter and I paid my dues in the 12-month Diploma I took in my first year at QC. She 100% meant it as a favour veiled as jest. As an acknowledgment to the fact that, if he ever considered taking over the family business - especially with his mother in jail - she'd help him.

She did not mean it as the loaded innuendo it came out as and, frozen by her own reckless mouth, she saw that Laurel did not think that her audacious words were the accident they were, entertaining or remotely suitable.

Oliver?

The faint blush came first, then the head dip: the way he couldn't quite decide whether or not to laugh at her social gracelessness, seemed helpless against the urge anyway, just put a gag on me already. "I… I ah…"

Hand slashing through the air, kill me now, Felicity closed her eyes in a grimace. "It doesn't matter-"

"No, I… I'm very sure you could."

The husky little way he just acquiesced to her words.

Turning just so, to stare at her DATE; Laurel blinked hard once. Twice.

Mouth mid-way open to say- what, say what? Felicity's eyes shot to his. Did he really just-

No, he didn't mean that. He was just confirming that she could absolutely teach him the figurative ropes to business and finance; not the literal ropes used behind closed doors, in darkened rooms involving erotic exposure and her response was only stuck in her throat because of the decidedly more than friendly look in his very open, very heated eyes and-

This shouldn't be happening, she thought in her head - a whisper.

But it was.

It was as if they were all alone, without their dates, which weren't really dates, were they?

And that was all kinds of bad, not to mention rude and inappropriate of them both- the shock of the year really, and so unfair because she was reading too much into something that could never be, and he didn't know the affect he had on her because wouldn't that make him cruel-

"Are you kidding me right now?" Incredulous, Laurel glanced from Oliver to Felicity. "You're actually doing this in front of me? In front of Tommy?"

Easing slowly back into his seat - eyes remaining with her, sans smile, until his back was settled against the chair rest - Oliver took a moment; as if he was planning before he carefully spoke. "Doing what?"

The way he asked, like what have I done now?

Had Oliver ever spoken to Laurel like that before? Because Laurel looked dumbfounded. Tommy seemed frozen and sincerely concerned for the very first time about what he'd instigated, and it wasn't remotely gratifying to see. He cleared his throat. "Um, I'm okay with it, Laurel."

Felicity winced. Wrong. Thing. To. Say.

"Excuse me?" The absurdity of his deflection fed the derision in Laurel's tone. "You're okay with them flirting?"

Stomach immediately contracting, Felicity felt shame heat her face.

"Come on, that wasn't flirting." Tommy backtracked at speed, pointing to Oliver who seemed to be holding his breath; waiting for the right moment to speak with the smallest, most polite furrow on his brow. "I've seen Ollie flirt before; these two are always like this," he shook his head, "that's just what they do."

Oliver's eyes swiftly slid to Felicity-

Who ducked her head: unable look at him past the one second she did.

"That's just what they do."

Was it? Did they… do we flirt?

No matter what Tommy thought or wanted to think - no matter what he had been witness to - there was no denying the seduction in play here. Innocent seduction maybe, but it was there. And Oliver was reciprocating in that heady, soft way of his. Reciprocating. Returning her accidental flirtation. Willingly, openly and knowingly engaging her and- and no matter how many times I re-word it, it sounds unbelievable. It was twisting her about. Did he even realise? Was he doing it deliberately?

This - to Tommy - was harmless because… because apparently, they always did this and how was she supposed to internalise that?

Most of all, that was not a pleased look on Laurel's face. "'They're always like this'." She reiterated, her smile full of sharp edges. "Well isn't that just what every girl wants to hear."

I'm sorry. She hadn't meant this to happen-

"Hey," Tommy said, sounding pretty much done with the whole thing and it was easier for him really: he'd chosen to be here, to be sitting across from them when he and Felicity could have been elsewhere. "Don't make a big deal out of it." Dear God. "If Oliver had liked Felicity that way, he'd have made a move already and going by his track record, it would be over by now and you'd still be the woman on his arm tonight." Resting his elbows on the table, having no idea what he'd just said, Tommy finished. "I'd still be the lucky guy I am tonight. Everybody wins."

Felicity stared at him, waiting… no dice.

He'd just insulted her.

He'd just insulted Oliver.

Worse, he didn't even realise he had.

And Oliver watching this realisation set in her - because he'd barely stopped looking at her since her verbal gaff - with his communicative eyes and stupidly perfect eyebrows, made her look away.

Maybe he didn't understand: maybe he was so desensitised to the idea of being a source of blame, he didn't hear it anymore.

However, so into his role, Tommy had managed to not only remind Oliver of his relationship failures - as if telling him that he thought he hadn't changed a bit - he'd managed to make very clear to the world that Oliver would never see Felicity that way, because she was Felicity. But if hell did indeed freeze over in some strange phenomenon, he was also positive that they'd be over and done with faster than a shooting arrow and in time for his reunion with Laurel.

The same Laurel who looked slightly mollified by this.

"Voila!" Proof that the garcon had superhuman senses, he poofed into existence at just the right moment - as hurt from Tommy's carelessness caused swells of dulled pain to play havoc with the tears that were threatening again - handing her an iridescent glass of red as he placed the new menu between her hands. It was written in English. "I shall give you a moment to make your decision."

Again, poof; exit stage left.

She took a shallow breath, holding her glass between her fingers.

"That guy deserves a raise." Tommy muttered before perking up. "What are you having Oliver?"

Yes: he was oblivious. Though she was glad he hadn't exacerbated Laurel's insecurities, he'd still made his ex-girlfriend feel better by pulling Oliver down a level.

By labelling Felicity as both forgettable and less than remotely special.

"…I haven't decided."

By the tone of his voice - she hadn't looked past her wine glass yet - Oliver sounded less unsure about choice and more, I lost my appetite a while ago.

Tommy fell silent.

"Well, he'll be back in a minute." Laurel urged in a murmur. A murmur. Brain cells spinning. "And then maybe you can tell us all how you got to know each other so well." She finished; as if the suggestion was made by an intrigued party instead of a worried one. A jealous one.

As if both she and Tommy hadn't made both Felicity and Oliver feel inches tall instead of feet.

There was literally nothing for Laurel to be jealous of.

But then Tommy nudged her, and she had to swallow it down. "Are you even looking?"

A smile was in his voice and ever the uncontrolled social survivor, Felicity's eyes fell on something and her mouth took her on a journey. "Hey, why don't we share!"

It was an odd defiance, but it was something she also had little control over.

Tommy's face popped into her view line. "Share what?"

Not you. "You've already ordered." Managing to look up, Oliver blinked at her; arching a brow. "Why don't we?"

Quizzical, his eyes side-lined. "Sorry?"

She loved food; if food were a man, she wouldn't be here. She was wearing a dress she couldn't afford, showing skin she never usually dared to, had come to a restaurant where the price was so far out of her range, she felt like she was about to break out in hives and all so that she could be pushed away and metaphorically pulled close by Oliver, be used, insulted by Tommy and slandered by their lady-love.

The least she could give herself was excellent food and wine.

"There's this speciality." Her exuberance did not go unnoticed and Oliver had to press his lips together. His reaction to her weirdness was always kind of hilarious, despite his mixed signals. "French laundry."

He looked like he was having trouble with something. "It's called…"

"French Laundry." She nodded, loving it. "Yep."

"Oh."

"Sounds kinky." Tommy muttered.

Sending him a half eye roll and some side-eye, Felicity continued reading. "It's a 12-course tasting meal, wow." That is a lot- "Wait, it says they're small courses that give you a taste of the some of the finest meals ever made." She finished on a high note, food solves everything… I wish.

Head tilted, his hands resting on his forearm; Oliver read the menu she'd turned his way. "Hm."

Her smile drooped. "Bad idea?"

Another, softer sound hummed from him. "Good idea."

Ooh. "Really?"

His eyes flickered up to hers.

"W-well," and she stumbled when they touched her, as always; heart thudding, which was embarrassing, "you don't usually-" try new things? Get a taste for the unknown? Take a choice for pleasure rather than work-

Um.

"Felicity," he said as if she was greatly amusing and not at all in the derogatory sense, "this was your idea."

Rapidly nodding. "Right, I just- I didn't think you'd say okay. But, sure… okay." They could share.

Gently blinking, he copied her. "Okay."

Gaze tapering, Felicity made a shrewd noise at the back of her throat. "You're just saying okay because you have no idea what you want, and I'm making it easy for you, aren't you?" She felt rejuvenated. Oliver was going to share her food. He was going to try new food. Oliver. "But I will gladly take that advantage. No getting out of this one." She added in an excited whisper.

Oliver smiled the kind of lazy, contented smile - paired with those eyes - that could get a lot of women in trouble-

"Right."

Trouble like that.

Disbelieving, Laurel just stared at Felicity; visibly upset. And it was all Felicity's fault.

Immediately, Oliver's face blanked. It wasn't because of guilt. She knew his guilt-face well.

It was as if he was asking for patience.

This isn't right. None of it was and she could have kicked herself, but it sunk in: Felicity had just asked a man who wasn't her date to share a meal with her whilst both their actual dates were with them. I hadn't- I wasn't trying to- Even if she did think that Oliver was a dreamy mess; the idea of trying to be so insultingly brazen, hadn't even occurred to her. She'd just been…

He was her friend. He'd looked sad. She'd just anted hm not to be. Ergo, food. But apparently, we flirt on a daily basis so there's a tiny chance it came out a lot friendlier than intended.

The contradictions in the room were stifling.

"Are you ready to order Mademoiselle?"

God, yes! "Please," she closed her eyes, pushing back her dread before looking up at him, "Yes. Um, can we," she gestured between herself and Oliver–

Who she looked at, hedging her bets, asking for confirmation: am I doing this? I thought it was okay, but Laurel is- And we're- what are we doing?

She spoke with her eyes and it lasted all of one second before he made it easier for her.

"Can we," promptly, Oliver looked to the garcon with that same small but real smile, "share the French Laundry, please?"

His voice was low, whiskey smooth - completely devoid of masks - and suddenly the air between them felt like no man's land again: dangerous, exposed and untried. For the first time this night, Oliver sounded like a man who wanted to enjoy it. With his date.

Who was not her-

"Monsieur," by the look on garcon's face, he didn't know that, and Christmas had come early. "The chef will be pleased: it is a very recent addition to the menu and he has been waiting for the challenge." Bending closer, as if to share some wonderous secret, he added in the loudest, cheesiest conspiratorial whisper she'd ever heard, "and knowing this will be shared between lovers, would please him all the more." The words hit her with the force of a punch: her mouth opening and closing like a fish, uhh. "I can assure you, you won't regret it."

Supressing something, Oliver's head dipped briefly down: lips pressing together before he glanced back up: his eyes clear. "Thank you."

Thank you? She gawked.

What. Was. Going. On?

Oliver would not- could not, treat a date the way he was treating Laurel right now. Being a man with five years of issues didn't halt all sensitivity. This was hurting her.

One conclusion could be made: it wasn't a date to him.

"Thank you." Then the garcon managed to take Laurel's and Tommy's metaphorical hearts and step on both. "You are a very lucky man, Monsieur." He spoke directly to Oliver; this time is the quietest murmur. "Your bel amour is exquisite."

And instead of doing exactly what she expected him to do, instead of correcting the garcon - which would embarrass the lively gentleman and the idea was a sore one but would placate Laurel - Oliver's smile warmed reservedly: it was a very male smile. It showed teeth, and his voice was throaty. "I know."

She looked ridiculous: gaping the way she was, and she had to reach for her water, he knows I have good taste or that he's a lucky man- and why was her awful brain even going there?!

But go there it did, because dreams don't come true like this and in her experience, hard work and not accepting defeat made small dreams happen, but this was the motherload.

Does he really think I'm exquisite?

She'd been sure he hadn't seen her as anything other than his quirky sidekick. Before tonight, the idea of anything more had been wishful thinking on her part. Was he simply playing a part with the garcon?

But the way he looked at her as the garcon poofed right out of existence again - leaving behind doom - stunned her into silence.

"Well," Said silence turned claustrophobic as Laurel spoke. "That was… there aren't words."

Guilt twisted in her gut. Oh, what did I do and why did I do it?

Wanting to take her cue from Oliver, it was stunning to watch his eyes close again: a heavy exhale making his chest deflate. "Laurel."

"I mean," a quiet, bitter sound left the lawyer, "do you even need me here right now?"

I'm horrible. Thoughtless. She'd only been trying to help. "I- I didn't mean to- that wasn't what it looked like."

"It wasn't?" The caustic bite in Laurel's tone was almost palpable. "You just ordered the most romantic meal on the menu to share with my date." Felicity only knew now that it was romantic, idiot. Idiot! "You meant to."

I didn't, I promise I didn't. Taking another shaky breath, desperate for the fanned flames to be put out by her metaphorical sprinklers, Felicity tried. "I didn't know that it-"

"I really don't care about what you don't know. I mean, do you know how rude that was?" The oxymoron made her head spin. "Aren't you supposed to be here with Tommy?" Laurel threw out, casting a sceptical glance at the man in question. "Isn't this bothering you?"

Long, LONG story.

And Tommy- he looked strange. Relatively silent for the last two minutes, he'd been watching Oliver unblinkingly.

Then he'd started watching Felicity.

Taking a deep breath then letting it out; Tommy finally looked at Laurel. "Felicity isn't like that." He said quietly. "She was being kind. She's always kind."

Head titling on kind, Oliver's hands moved to his face: he breathed deep, shoulder lifting.

"Kind?" Humourless, cynicism morphed Laurel's face into the kind of unpleasant that Felicity didn't know what to do with. This was a bitterness that had never gone away. It was heavy, and they were all feeling it.

The type that had been fed everyday with the inane, the simple. With this meal. With the answers Laurel must have felt she hadn't been receiving.

It was with that in mind that Felicity reached for an understanding. "Laurel-"

"You've been talking to me like we've met before. You don't know me." Laurel gestured to Oliver, to Tommy. "You don't know us." And… she wasn't wrong. It kept Felicity quiet. She couldn't touch that. "Who do you think you are?"

Nobody. I'm nobody. "I didn't mean to hurt anybody, I was just-"

"Being a bitch?" She said it as if Felicity couldn't be believed and-

And Felicity felt that everywhere. Sitting there between Oliver's past and present, Felicity felt closed in.

Unwelcome.

"Hey!" Tommy called out - it was almost too loud - and he lowered his voice a tad, a finger raised. "Don't talk to her like that."

Utterly still, Oliver's hands pushed into his skin.

Frustrated, Laurel looked flabbergasted. "Tommy-"

"No," he was shaking his head, looking more than a little perturbed at his ex, "what is going on with you? This… this isn't like you."

Then Laurel didn't look so stunned anymore. "Is that a joke? You're asking me to pretend that she isn't flirting with my date? Tommy," like she couldn't believe him right now, Laurel peered at him as if he suddenly made all the sense to her. "You ever think that you give up too easily? That you let things happen to you?"

Tommy appeared ten different kinds of perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

And Laurel took him in for a few seconds that stretched into a small eternity before quietly speaking. "You let me go."

Frown falling off his face like a slap, Tommy looked flattened. Pain echoed in every muscle there, oh Tommy.

He had. He'd let her go. And he'd regretted it. He'd regretted it so much that, when he'd realised that he'd made the wrong choice, when he'd lost his chance, he'd blamed Oliver. He'd regretted that too.

"I knew how Ollie felt about her. I knew that she still loved him. I pushed her away- I pushed them both away. And then I took too long in coming back. I made it all Ollie's fault. What kind of friend does that?"

The kind who'd hoped only to see his hope die before his eyes.

Through the window of an apartment he'd felt was home.

Sobriety and loneliness made truths come out. He'd told her many things she kind of wished he hadn't. Oliver killed his father and slept with the woman he loved all within 48 hours of each other. But his father was a mass murderer who'd tried to kill Oliver and his ex-girlfriend hadn't taken much in the way of actions for her to fall back into Oliver again, because she. Still. Loved. Oliver.

And Oliver had gone to Tommy in the hopes of reconciliation before that, only to be brushed off.

Tommy couldn't fight what he'd known since Oliver's return. What he'd buried because, hope.

Sometimes hope killed.

And Oliver had been so lonely; there was only so much a human could fight a reality so grim before succumbing. Even Tommy could see that; he just liked to pretend it didn't matter.

For Laurel, her feelings for Oliver were clearly a love that surpassed anything she'd felt for Tommy. Maybe anything she could feel for any other man. Hadn't Tommy told Felicity that? That in the five full years since Ollie the playboy had vanished, she'd only slept with his best friend, which is a psychological mess I'm not touching.

It said a lot: just like every other word and look was doing in the here and now.

But this? This was regret. From Laurel. And by the look on Tommy's face, it was the first time she'd shown any.

He was shaken.

He'd hurt her by letting her go, but had he underestimated how much?

Maybe he'd shown her something that had been hard for her to leave behind, something Oliver had never shown her. But she was also telling Tommy that since he'd pushed her away, she didn't appreciate his half-assed attempts at moving on when his dates made so-called passes at her man. And it was something she wasn't secure in; her and Oliver. Felicity realised: this meal was meant to prove something to the lawyer. That she and Oliver were legit, always and forever and that everything was going to be fine. She no longer had to wonder.

Waiting and worrying was exhausting.

And Oliver- he'd been very open about how he felt tonight.

They weren't on the same page. A page Felicity hadn't read.

"You let me go." Laurel reiterated, and many would wonder why it was inappropriate for Felicity to be unintentionally alluring to the man in front of her but not inappropriate for Laurel to discuss her sexual history with both men in question with her at the table with them. "I went to you. For days I tried to convince you to… to change your mind." Wounded pride was evident in her eyes, as was a boatload of confusion. "You said no."

Whoa. Tommy had not told her that little nugget.

He wouldn't look at her: his throat working.

What made it worse was that Laurel was making the kind of sense he had nothing to fight against.

"I'm really happy to see that you're moving on from that." A smack to the face followed by a bullet wound. Laurel really had let him go completely. And now, he could only blame himself. "But that wasn't on me. Tonight was supposed to be a fresh start for me and Oliver, yet you come here and-"

"It isn't like we planned this." Tommy ground out, eyes reddening. "I have better things to do than plan how to ruin my ex-girlfriend's and ex-best friend's evening."

Ex-best friend. If Felicity felt that in her spine, she couldn't imagine how it felt for Oliver.

"I'm not saying you'd go out to hurt me for what happened." Wasn't she though? "But you're still letting the amazing Felicity Smoak, who is apparently the woman you've been waiting for all your life," and oh, that was a different kind of bitterness right there, "flirt with a man who is not you."

Also, letting?

"She wasn't flirting!" The shout made Felicity flinch, please don't do this. Any second now, it would become a scene. We'll be asked to leave, photo's will be taken, everyone at QC will know I was here last night with the owner- "And I don't let anyone do anything."

…Thank God he said it. Seriously; thank God, because their friendship would be over if he hadn't and it was on tenterhooks as is.

Laurel gaged him, the same way she might have done her clients. "I don't understand," a cold shrewdness filling her features, "is she that good in bed that you'll let anything lie?"

And the ugly at the table rears its head.

Even Laurel's cheeks pinked at her own words, but she didn't falter.

There was silence for a moment before Tommy spoke and he didn't sound remotely put together. "Too far Laurel."

It was too far a while ago.

So extremely uncomfortable it might be, Felicity didn't really care what Laurel thought about her. She cared about her friend to her right. Her partner to her front. Did Laurel mean so much to them that this kind of behaviour at a dinner was acceptable?

And while he'd managed to hit a few nails on the way, Tommy had wanted to make Laurel regret her choice to move on and if not regret, and maybe feel shamefaced at her constant attempts to sweep it under the rug: she didn't. From her perspective, Tommy let her go. While she didn't want him to think badly of their time together, she thought that everything that had come from it, was a result of Tommy's presumptions and the fact that Oliver had never stopped loving her.

Put simply, after six years she was finally getting who she wanted. After letting her go, Tommy was jealous when he had no right to be.

Done with talking to him, Laurel came back to Felicity. Great. Luckily there was wine. "You're rude, and you have no place here except as Tommy's trophy." Voice low, ignoring Felicity's speechless stare - wine glass mid-way to her mouth - Laurel leaned closer over the table. "I don't care if the waiter's half gone on you, I don't care that you know Ollie after setting up his security or Tommy after whatever drink you had at Verdant: we- me and Oliver; we came here for a reason. To be together." The way Laurel emphasised that made Felicity see she'd been correct before: Laurel had been waiting. For vindication. For Tommy's blessing. For her chance. "Your date is next to you. Remember that or leave, because I will not stand by and let some stranger hit on my boyfriend and insult Tommy."

Beyond words - at the venom lying in wait under Laurel's pristine exterior - Felicity just sat there.

Laurel thought she was protecting them: Oliver and Tommy. Maybe if I repeat it enough, I'll actually feel like a person before I leave. Between this and Tommy's ploy, his lie - his absent-minded remarks that hurt more than he knew - Oliver's mixed signals, his sadness and his quiet… Felicity was done.

She couldn't deny that she'd been thoughtless: that with Tommy's plea was the only reason why she wasn't walking out. But Laurel was wrong too. And Felicity had no idea how to say that here, when the righteousness in Laurel's tone seemed to infect everything.

And Tommy, he wouldn't - couldn't - speak the truth. It wouldn't just make this whole thing worse; it would confirm everything he thought Laurel and Oliver believed about him. He couldn't tell them the truth.

He couldn't choose Felicity just then.

She was alone, when he promised she wouldn't be.

And maybe Oliver's past, the way he'd treated Laurel, meant that he thought he felt he couldn't utter a word either. You trespassed lightly, or you got out of dodge. Even being the Hood's IT girl, her place wasn't at this table. Oliver had deliberately split his life in two: it wasn't for Felicity to decide if and when he had to change that.

So, there was nothing she could really say.

Except, what were her options? Sit there in silence? Not happening. There was understanding and there was self-respect and she couldn't sacrifice the latter to favour the former. I can do both. It just might not be appreciated. Maybe she mattered; maybe no one cared enough about her. But she wouldn't just sit there. She wouldn't hurt Laurel, but the lawyer was suffering under the notion that Felicity was planted there by Tommy simply to hurt her, which… was almost true. But not like this. He'd done it to save face, not to damage her date.

He'd done it because of the overwhelming guilt that kept Oliver silent and the concern that made Laurel talk.

But that didn't mean that Felicity deserved to be the scapegoat-

"Laurel."

It felt a lot like being yanked back into the here and now, hearing his voice. Felicity jolted: her heart was very literally twanging, and she had to suck in air.

Hands coming off his face, they clasped together before he placed them flat against the table and Oliver - dark eyed - evaluated how they looked against the cloth, as if it meant something. Felicity didn't think he was seeing a thing. "That's enough." He murmured.

Taken aback, Laurel straightened in little stops and starts. "Ollie?"

"She did nothing wrong." Feeling that, relief almost dragged her to the floor. He hadn't thought she'd been too forward, too flirty-flirt. And Oliver's focus still down; his voice low and so controlled compared to the thrum in the atmosphere coming from Laurel, from Tommy. "You know that."

It was as if an ocean was talking: he was a confusing sea of violent calm, with depths deep enough to crush sound. Dark waters that squashed the light between each black molecule of self-flagellation and painful experience.

The man had become a shield.

If a sound could be associated with Laurel now, it would be a hive of angry bees. "But she-"

"She," he expressed each word clearly, "did nothing wrong."

Laurel's glare wasn't quite on point: her eyes were too wounded. "You didn't have to pretend."

No, he didn't have to. But he had.

Hadn't he? Pretended?

Or… had he just been honest?

There was a tiny crease in his brow. "Pretend what?" Like, I don't understand, and it really wasn't the time for Oliver to play dumb.

"That you liked it." Like all the air had been knocked out of her, Laurel took a very deep, very unsteady breath; her eyes echoing something painful. "You… you're never like that with me. But with Tommy's date, you flirt? In front of me?"

One soft blink followed another. Felicity knew that expression: the one he wore when he was waiting for the blame to hit and would take it standing, and the moment he opened his mouth to speak-

"Don't try and lie your way out of this one! You think I don't know that: that you lie to me all the time?"

Oh wow. And it all comes tumbling out, which was what tended to happen when open nerves were prodded.

"You think I don't know that? That you lie to me all the time?"

Felicity's palms began to itch. "Okay." Voice wobbling just a tad, discomfort tended to lead to all kinds of disturbing babbling and awkward smiling from her and she knew it would make everything about ten times worse, so she pushed out her chair. "I'm going to go-"

"No, please," leaning on her forearms, Laurel rounded on her; "don't get up." It was only partly caustic. "You don't get to start this, then leave. Don't play the injured party here: you helped cause this."

"Jesus Christ." Tommy breathed, and - frozen as she was - Felicity saw that he was rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.

Laurel looked at him, gesturing from him to Felicity. "You know I'm right."

"No." Tommy resurfaced; his hand dropping limply to the table, as if he'd suddenly lost all energy. "You're really not." Oh.

Uh oh. Was he going to-

"Stop."

Again, he made her jump. Oliver-

Quickly looking at him, Felicity's heart tripped.

He wasn't looking at Tommy who still wasn't helping make this right; he was staring at Felicity. "Don't…" struggling for the right word, he licked his lips; his hand lifting to metaphorically stop her, "don't leave."

Eyes sliding from him to Laurel who was glaring at everyone at the table as if daring them to say just one thing wrong (but also looking like she was about 30 seconds from crying), Felicity muttered. "I think it would be better for everyone if I do."

"It really wouldn't." Tommy quietly cut in, but it wasn't heartfelt. It wasn't a please stay with me because you're my date and I have feelings for you. It was an I fucked up; you leaving now won't change a damn thing.

Either way, her urge to flee was rising.

But Oliver had a very different response. "Please, just wait?" Expression so intense, it was the one he'd once worn when he'd first asked for her trust when she'd joined the team. Open. Candid. Resolved. "Trust me."

And she did; he knew she did-

"Can I trust you?" Laurel immediately threw out - arms folded over her chest, jaw locked - and… had a right to the question.

But it was one Felicity knew Oliver couldn't answer now, or ever. And he took a steadying breath before saying exactly nothing in return as he turned to face her. "You do not talk to her like that."

Shock made Laurel's wide eyes narrow. "That's what you focus on?"

Clearly. "If I hurt you, then I'm sorry; but I did not do anything with hurting you in mind."

"But you still hurt me. You didn't think about how I'd feel." Chest rising and falling, Laurel searched his face. "We're on a date." She reminded him in a pointed whisper. "And you- you didn't even correct the waiter when he thought you'd come here with her."

"Why should he?" Tommy don't- "she's stunning. And, you know," he made a che sound and that didn't sound right at all, "she made him smile." He cracked a twisted grin at Oliver who looked about ready to jump across the table. "Only time I've seen you smile tonight buddy."

Gak-

Wait. Oliver hadn't smiled tonight, before she'd gotten there? As in, no actual smile? Or just the fake smile and Tommy could read see it now and-

Not the point!

Laurel- her focus was singular, and she wasn't taking any of this. The way Tommy was speaking made his compliments sound more patronising than pleasing. "So, your point is that, as long as I smile and pretend to be the good date- as long as I ignore that, this would have been fine?"

Oh, tread carefully Tommy. Or maybe don't because, you're dangerously close to asshole territory here. Tommy wasn't even looking at Laurel. "Whelp, I stepped into that one, didn't I?" He laughed like it was all one big farce - and it kind of is - before turning to his ex. "You're so wrong and yet… No, you're just plain wrong." Oh god.

"Not. Helping." Oliver ground out; low and a touch threatening. A shut up, man.

"What?" Tommy shrugged, smiling; but the smile was dead. There was a visceral ache in his face, like he'd just realised a couple of things that made everything else seem small. "It really doesn't matter what I say beyond this point: she's sniffed us all out, haven't you Laurel?"

And the smile he sent to her, was one filled with so much resignation and lingering unhappiness that it seemed to take the sting out of Laurel's venom. Torn between speaking - defending herself - and realising she had nothing to currently defend against her own curiosity, she didn't say a word.

Certain she shouldn't be present - she didn't want to hear any of this - Felicity spoke to the table. "I really do think that I should go."

"Why?" Her eyes closed, Tommy. "We're just getting to the good stuff!" Voice high, he was deliberately trying to grate on every nerve. Eyes re-opening, please don't do this, she saw that he as just looking at her. "Just wait, like Oliver said."

There was something there: he was upset, clearly, but not by her. There was something he wanted.

"Tommy." Oliver whispered, frowning at his once very close friend. "What are you doing?"

"No, he's right." Laurel joined in. "She should stay and listen to the history of us. We're all friends here, right? Didn't you just say she was your friend?" She shot at Oliver; arms still folded, neck muscles clenching.

"Yeah," Tommy derided, "were all real close."

Oh boy. The insinuation made Oliver stiffen. "I don't think this is the place to put our-"

"Our what Ollie?" Laurel quietly cut in, waiting for something.

He gaged her, somewhat unwilling to continue in this. "There's a lot we haven't talked about and we shouldn't start here."

"Then when?" Again, that certain something Felicity was missing understanding on, shouted out from Laurel's eyes. "You said we would, that we'd talk: we haven't."

The reminder made Oliver exhale. "I said that for a reason."

"But we've barely spent time together!" The truth just kept on coming. "You were more worried about Tommy than about us. Don't you want this?" Laurel's hand latched onto Oliver's. "I'm ready."

"Laurel." Shaking his head, he was trying to tell her something with his eyes. "Not here."

But she wasn't seeing or hearing him. "Why?"

He didn't have much of an answer… beyond very gently removing his hand from under hers. "It's between us; not anybody else."

"That's not good enough anymore."

"I know." He admitted, still quiet. Still kind, compassionate and so sad. "There's a lot of history."

Laurel nodded, and yes; that was a hopeful shine to her gaze. "Years."

"And I don't…" he started, swallowing as he took in Laurel Lance. "I don't remember much of that being good history. Even the way we- even with what happened in May." With them sleeping together the night before the Undertaking. "We didn't consider the consequences." Like how Oliver was the Hood. "Or how we might hurt Tommy."

How with every newspaper clipping of them, with every time they'd be seen together, every meal or event where they'd have to wonder if Tommy would show, would taint their every step simply because of the way it had been handled. It shouldn't stop them if love was enough between them… but he'd also slept with her sister. And she'd made it clear that as much as she loved him, she also hated him for destroying what they had.

Sometimes, there was just too much history. Sometimes feelings weren't strong enough. And that was never easy to hear.

"Maybe we didn't." Laurel tried. "Maybe we really were selfish and wrong. But if we were wrong, we were wrong because we love each other. Don't we get to be selfish sometimes?"

Momentarily lost for words, Oliver shook his head: the space between his brows creasing in soft reproach. "No. If us being together can only be called selfish then we're doing the wrong thing."

If Felicity suddenly declared that today be the day that Laurel Lance be stuck with hot irons rods, and then actually proceed to stick Laurel with said hot iron rods, she wouldn't have looked more staggered.

"Maybe this is selfish." Oliver continued, seeing the way the truth seeped into her as pain. "I don't want to be that guy who hurts the people he cares about just because something might feel good. And talking about this now isn't just rude to Felicity; it's unfair to Tommy." His gaze was pleading. "There's… a lot."

"Which makes it all very simple, doesn't it?" Tommy hummed, but it wasn't vindictive. It was honestly weary. "I wouldn't exactly call this," he waved a finger between Oliver and Laurel, Laurel who was looking dazed with each emotional hit, "a healthy, stable relationship. This is not what I walked away for. Maybe Ollie's finally getting a clue."

"Tommy," Felicity muttered, trying, "I don't now is the time to get your two cents in."

"There won't be any other time than this Felicity," he spoke just as quietly and without anger, "because, after tonight? That'll be it. I don't want my life to be about this anymore. So, I need to speak." And there was something to be said again about Oliver: about how a man who could hunt down murders and gang members with fearless impunity, was clearly afraid of whatever words Tommy might use towards him. "I know what it feels like to be with her. In a relationship that… that I thought meant more than it did." And Laurel couldn't argue with that: even if she had been emotionally eviscerated by their break up, he'd thought she'd been in love with him when she hadn't. "But I've been with her. We've been an us." And his voice softened, though his words did not. "I watched her love you from afar, even then. Even when she couldn't trust you, like she still doesn't." Just to rub salt in the wound. "It's never made complete sense between you two, or any of us. I mean we've both fucked the same woman Ollie, at least once over the past year-"

Nope, nope, nope. NOPE. Not here for this-

Tommy caught Felicity's wrist as she tried to push out from the table - her stomach jumping and squirming - and kept her right there; like he hadn't just said that. "This is probably the most twisted friendship in the city." And he finished his drink, as if his hand still wasn't on her. "I don't think there's enough time in the world to set it straight."

But Oliver didn't seem to care about that: he was staring at the fingers wrapped around Felicity's wrist, like they might fall off if he did it long enough. "Tommy." He warned.

A chance to back off first.

This was the kind of ugly it should never have descended to. And maybe it was ridiculous, but she'd started trembling because it could sink further still.

Tommy was trembling too.

But no matter the fallout, it would be Felicity fighting with Oliver in the Foundry; not them. Give a girl a break.

"I-" Now Laurel was stuck, "I can't believe you just said that." She eventually whispered.

"Why?" Taking a deep breath, Adam's apple bobbing; Tommy held her gaze. "Am I wrong? I told you I loved you." And Felicity had to close her eyes because you could hear it in his voice how much he still did. "I went into CNRI the night of the Undertaking, totally prepared to let you go. And I told you I loved you." Smiling the kind of smile that was for other people and not for oneself, Tommy delivered a blow. "You didn't say a word. You didn't even tell me that you didn't love me back. You just looked at me and held my hand. Then in the hospital, you let go and ran into Oliver's arms."

Instead of his.

Words rushed out of Laurel and Felicity had to wonder if she'd given any thought to them before opening her mouth. "I do love you." Indignant. She sounded indignant. "You know I love you Tommy-"

"Don't." He whispered, shaking his head; looking pained himself. "You know that's not what I want, and you say that like it's-" Something stole across his face and for some inexplicable reason, he peered at Felicity; frowning quizzically. "Wait, that's what you were saying before wasn't it?"

Hardly daring to breathe right now - it's less traumatic hunting down murderers in the dark - she silently begged him not to bring her back into-

"You said that sex shouldn't be easy if I'm looking for more." That wasn't quite what she'd said. Eyes smiling and full, he gave her a tiny shrug that looked heartbreakingly boyish. "You're right. It shouldn't be. And it should feel earned." Something that anything between Laurel and Oliver, didn't feel. "I had no idea what a relationship even was before I was in one." Still looking at Felicity, Tommy spoke to his ex-girlfriend, "but I know enough now to say this." And he lifted a gentle hand; tucking a curl behind her ear - a near-apology that made her heart squeeze. She couldn't be herself here and that was Tommy's doing. "Words aren't easy, unless it's three words that come tumbling out because your heart knew before you did. That's what I wanted from you Laurel. Not the easy way you tell me you love me while you make eyes at Oliver. I can't blame you for that: you can't help how you feel. I just wish you'd have let me in on that fact before I fell so hard for you that I couldn't see the train on the tracks before it hit me." The slow speed at which he spoke, the gentle sway of his voice, the meaning behind it all: he was destroying Felicity's ability to remain as removed as possible. "You can tell me all you like that you love me Laurel," he murmured into the quiet, "but you didn't say it when it mattered and it's a joke to say it when you're sitting next to the man you really do love, expecting me to not be so fucking angry at you for it."

Felicity couldn't help her eyes flickering across the table, to Laurel as her mouth snapped shut. She'd been about to speak but now her eyes were large and devastated.

Was this the first time she'd truly understood how deeply this had affected Tommy?

"I know what love is now." And there was so much there in Tommy's gaze that Felicity couldn't look at anything else, even though it wasn't for her. "It was perfect." He continued. "You were everything I realised I'd ever wanted. A shot at a family that I hadn't had since I was a kid." Voice breaking on kid, a ragged breath left him. "And I just thought that if I treated you like a queen, if I showed you that you could trust me, then… then maybe you could feel about me in a way that makes you let go of Oliver. And that's selfish; I knew that you wouldn't, that you didn't want to." It was the least toxic kind of selfish there was, and she knew Oliver felt the same. She knew that he thought there was nothing to forgive there. But Tommy had always felt so guilty about trying to steal away a heart he knew was taken. "But I love you Laurel. It's odd how easy it is to say now that I've lost you. Not that I ever had you." Here Felicity was a conduit for him; allowing his real feelings to come through at last. He needed to say this. He needed to be honest. "I pushed you away and I will regret it forever, but…" brow tapering; confusion and doubt warring in his eyes. "It took just five days after you tried to convince me I was wrong to give up on us, for you to fall into bed with him. Five days. I don't know why I'm surprised: I always knew, you and him…" he shook his head, like he'd been the biggest fool. "We slept with each other before we actually dated too so, no surprise there."

I didn't need to hear that. She was torn between despairing laughter and the genuine need to drink herself into a coma because everything in her, wished he hadn't said all that to her face. That he was talking to Laurel but at Felicity. God. She hadn't known the details, hadn't needed or wanted to. But it explained a few things about Oliver; about his reticence since then with Laurel and… everything else.

He felt the same: that he'd rushed. Made a mistake.

He'd wanted a shot at normal; a moment of being a person's someone and he'd all but flung himself at Laurel that night.

He hadn't thought. Hadn't spent a few moments wondering what might be if they should all fail. But no one could blame him for wanting that; not even Tommy who'd pushed Oliver away first, and then Laurel.

And now Oliver couldn't even show that he loved Laurel anymore. Everything was tainted to him now.

"That's when I knew for sure: you could never love me the way you will always love him." And Tommy smiled so sweetly at Felicity - it was horribly fragile - that her lower lip wobbled. "I lose."

His thumb brushed over her cheek and she felt the wet of it left behind on her skin. Why is-

Tears.

Oh… she was crying. Of course she was.

Contrition poured into his eyes and he straightened, leaning in close towards her. "I'm sorry-"

She pulled away from his hand, because she wasn't- I'm not here to be your receptacle. Felicity was a great many things this evening it seemed but, that ends now. She'd help him, be there for him… but not this.

She didn't want to be touched or used or thought so little of by anyone. She didn't want Oliver to pull away from her again, the way he had before. The way she'd just pulled away from Tommy. She didn't want to feel like someone had gouged into her with a spoon.

Sniffling aloud and not caring, her fingers wiped beneath her eyes; thankful for the absence of mascara.

A napkin popped into view at her elbow. "Here-"

She couldn't give him that he needed just then, even if it tore at her to leave him emotionally bereft of her. "You want to speak to Laurel, she's right there. Speak to her." She whispered, looking at anything but people and certainly not picking up the napkin.

It wasn't as if she'd see anything good there: Tommy's guilt, Oliver and Laurel seeing only that Tommy had just declared his love for another woman whilst on a date with her and, oh but look how hard she'd tried tonight to look the part, right?

Pity was the absolute worst-

"I," she heard Laurel start and she didn't sound remotely self-assured anymore. Just quiet. Unsettled. "I don't know what to say."

There's a lot to say and I wish to god one of you would start. Before she broke down instead of them and wouldn't that be unsightly? Being the one to cry about the truth of a relationship not even connected to her.

"There's nothing for you to say." Again, there was kind of a lot to say but there wasn't an ounce of ego left in Tommy's tone; he wasn't so close to Felicity as before either. Giving me space. "You broke my heart and I let you think I was fine." He cleared his throat. "And I blamed Ollie for it all."

Ollie. She grimaced: not the time-

"But." And it was said so candidly, the one word almost terrified her because, what now? "You're really not going to like what I have to say." I don't think she's particularly enjoyed anything you've said tonight big guy. "You have a problem Laurel. A big problem."

"What?" Laurel sounded wary. So am I.

"You love Oliver." Tommy simply repeated. "But is he the same guy you fell in love with?"

Though Felicity was just waiting for it to be over, I felt that. In her chest. Be careful Tommy.

"Tommy," Laurel started, speaking carefully and – from her tone alone – in total disagreement with whatever was going on in Tommy's mind. "I understand that you're hurt, but-"

"This isn't another shot at getting under your skin: I'm just telling you what I've seen." He explained. "The guy you've been waiting to return to you? I haven't seen him around."

He didn't come home. Oh no. Not that; don't go there.

"I have."

"Have you?" It was clear how much Tommy missed Oliver and it rivalled his love for the woman in front of him. "Are you sure that wasn't just one of his many acts."

Jesus Christ stop it.

Voice dropping an octave, Laurel's clenched teeth made each word a curse. "You're wrong about him."

"You don't know him like you think you do."

You don't know him at all, you big idiot! No one did. But if she said something… Laurel would wonder how she knew, Tommy would be both mortified (at being found out) and horrified (to discover she was in cahoots with a man he still viewed as a killer) and Oliver would have one less friend. Being silent was the only way she could be there for him as well as Tommy. It just felt crappy recompense. Sometimes you paid for caring.

"I know Ollie in my bones." Laurel insisted… Felicity felt terrible for thinking her words felt like exactly that. Words: pretty lies. "Besides, people change. I'm fine with that- I've accepted that."

"You don't even know the meaning of that." There was another pause. "I mean, you do love her." She guessed he was speaking to Oliver now and- when is the right time to make a dash for the back exit where there's no chance of a paparazzi jumping out from behind the garbage? "It's always been Laurel." I'm sitting here, contributing zero to this.

"Then what's your point, Tommy." Laurel grated out.

"…Does he you love you enough to be with you?"

As in, did Oliver love Laurel enough to let her in all the way, to reveal himself to her?

Unfair.

It was crushing. How many ways did these three have of hurting each other? She'd been sure Tommy had allowed all of this in order to- to heal somehow. The idea had been a poor one, but it had been born from a need to feel like something was under his control. This was like draining poison from a wound; they weren't letting up until the wound was clean and that could take all night.

"I can't believe you." And Laurel didn't sound so patient anymore. "We're on a date. We were on an actual date before we saw you here-"

"No, we weren't." Absolutely irrevocable in Felicity's life, Oliver's voice fell like lead-metal in Felicity's stomach. "We're not on a date."

What?

"Ollie," and that felt worse: Laurel's voice- she was begging, "please…"

"We made a deal." Oliver continued: his voice was a fragmented mix of soft, intense and tender. But there was no romance there in his tone. "We decided to wait-"

"We're done waiting."

"We decided to wait," he continued unhurriedly; as if she hadn't spoken, "which is why we haven't spoken properly yet. But now… it was because I couldn't give you what you needed. I didn't want to tell you that." And he was weary too. "But it was the truth."

Had Laurel insisted anyway? On holding close the chance of a happy ending with him.

"I know better now." Slippery slope, expectations; Laurel seemed to have them in spades. "So do you! If it hurts, that means you still want this. You can be who I need, Ollie; you always have been." She sounded so sure, and Felicity heard her move closer to him. "You always could. We can do this."

'Could' implied a level of change that Felicity knew Oliver wasn't ready for, nor should it be something for Laurel to ask for. You don't start a relationship by telling the person to change.

"I cheated on you Laurel. That was never what you needed."

"I'm past that." Was she? Could Laurel ever be over the fact that the man she loved cheated on her with her sister and ran away with her on a pleasure cruise that ended in her sister's death and his five-year absence, on top of the fact that after his return, he spent most of his time lying? Fanning the flames. "You came back: that's what matters."

Oliver seemed to think the same as Felicity. "When I came back, you told me that I should have been the one who died."

Felicity's brain blanked. "You… said what?" It came out more breath than voice with disbelief written in her gaze as her eyes met Laurel's; grasping for understanding through a fog. "What?"

For him to come back home to that… What must she have been feeling to even think that? Laurel hadn't just lost the man she loved: she'd lost her sister and her innocence. Anger could cloud everything. Except, Felicity couldn't imagine how much that must have cut into him. I mean, what a thing to hear right after you make it back alive.

How could she?

Of course, every single one of her thoughts was clear on her face and so much for not judging. She hadn't thought - like before - and that was never a good idea.

And no; Laurel didn't look so happy about it. "You don't get to judge me." She'd paled; regret an honest transformation in her. "I was in pain! And I admit, that maybe it was a poor choice of words, but you have no idea what he put me through."

Says the woman who wants the same man to love her. "He was stranded on an island for years." It was impossible to keep quiet. "Wasn't that enough?"

Laurel opened her mouth-

"It'll never be enough." Oliver murmured.

Looking at him - deflating a tad, feeling that ache return - Felicity felt that settle on her: Laurel could flay him alive and he'd accept it because he thought she was entitled to it.

And finally, Laurel heard it for what it was. An excuse. If Oliver could never repent, then he never had to push past uncomfortable borders and boundaries.

If Laurel was given leave to be as vindictive as she needed to be, then how could she ever grow? It was especially relevant in right here and now, in a discussion about the past and how change was needed. "Ollie, I was angry…"

"I know. You had a right to it." How very Oliver.

"I didn't mean it; you know that, right?"

Did he? "Yeah."

"Then why are we going back there?"

Because the past was all they had.

"Because of Sara." The one they could never get over. "Can you honestly forget my part in her death?"

Silence. It dragged on for so many seconds; a small eternity. And that really was an answer in itself. No matter how much Laurel loved Oliver, she'd never ever forget what he did nor his part to play in the loss of a loved one. She'd never have the opportunity to confront her sister, to find out why. Oliver was a symbol of that.

"Our history feels like one long betrayal. I betrayed you. We betrayed Tommy." Oliver's voice was beseeching, and it hit Tommy like a shout; flinching violently in his seat, but Felicity wouldn't look up from under her hand. "And there are other things." Malcolm. The Hood. His mother. "Things that are just… they're too much. I'm not sure I can get past them."

He wasn't sure that he could be himself and ever be true to her. And Oliver, as he was, he wouldn't risk his heart on anything less than a sure thing, which makes my never-ending unrequited love even more of a pain in the ass-

"If we love each other enough, we can get passed them together. We're meant to do this."

Again, Laurel spoke as if such things were simple for a man like him: a man who viewed everything she was asking him as one giant threat, who wasn't remotely ready to dive head first into a very murky pool, a man with PTSD who couldn't handle the pressure of facing his demons just yet. He was a man who needed a lot more than an assurance from a woman who he loved but who'd also never really seen into the heart of him. The same heart who'd been wearing a green hood for the better part of a year. Maybe Oliver needed freedom from his past for a while. To take a few steps back from this and breathe. To see where his heart took him. To take a very different kind of journey.

Laurel already had one foot in a relationship that had never really had its lift-off and she was waiting for Oliver to give her a reason for the other foot to join. But she had no idea who Oliver was. She just wanted her guy back: the one lost at sea. And he couldn't give him to her, though it looked like he'd tried really hard.

So, his next words weren't a surprise. "What if we can't?" Felicity felt Oliver's sigh reverberate deep inside her. "What if it's not enough?"

"You… you're saying you don't love me?" She wasn't getting it.

"That's not what I said. It shouldn't be this hard… I love you." Oliver told Laurel plainly and again, the lack of romance in it was plain weird to not hear; especially after the first six months of his return. It meant he'd decided something. And his soul had accepted his decision. "But Tommy was right: I'm not the same man you fell in love with." Being perforated but be less painful for him right now. "He died out there."

In the ocean. No one had been there to save him. I shouldn't be hearing this, shouldn't be witness to Oliver's pain because it wasn't spontaneous. This was being forced out of him at a beautiful table in the Lamont.

"But you came back." Sounding increasingly desperate, more and more like she was ignoring everything being laid out in favour of a positive outcome, Laurel pushed. "You're right here."

"I'm not him." If a heart untouched by his love could break for him, then Felicity's just did because he wasn't just saying he was different: he was telling Laurel that he wasn't enough and how did he not know that he was the most wonderful person she'd ever met? "Not anymore."

How many times did he have to say it before Laurel understood?

Felicity knew she'd prefer this Oliver to any other that might have been, knew that if Laurel thought about it, she would too. Except in accepting him as he is in the present meant accepting what he'd done in the past.

This Oliver cared, sometimes too much. He was a survivor and he was trying really hard to be more, when most would give up. It might never be given its due by the people he'd been closest to.

"I don't care." The drawn-out care revealed Laurel's fears: she cared too much.

It was a viewpoint, a feeling, that Oliver didn't share. "But I do. And you would too, in time; when you wake up realising that I'm a stranger. That you can't trust me. That I'm a damaged." Oliver. "I can't be with you the way you need: the man you love didn't survive." Oliver had once told Felicity: 'he wasn't strong enough'. Stepping past the eeriness of him speaking in the third person, it made sense that he thought that; that no one could convince him otherwise. "I thought I could try again; I thought I could give you what I hadn't before, but I can't. I literally can't: I can't live with you. I can't be happy with you. I'm a different person now and who I am… I can't be in your life that way."

"You have no idea if that's true."

She was crying. Laurel was crying.

And by the way he sounded, he wasn't unaffected. "Yes, I do."

"We can learn- are you saying we're beyond that?"

"Yes." Just that, just yes. "Laurel, I won't be that guy ever again; even if it means losing you."

"That-" halting so that she could swallow, Laurel sounded like her world was breaking into pieces all around her, "that sounds more like you just don't want to be with me."

In favour of not becoming Ollie again and not inviting Laurel into a world of violence, Oliver would give her up. He wanted to be better and for her to be safe. Felicity couldn't blame him.

However.

"I won't be that guy ever again, even if it means losing you."

Yes, it sounded exactly like he just didn't want to be with her. She could even take it as him saying he wanted to be better and being with her would make that impossible. "If we gave it a go," Oliver continued after a too long pause, "we'd just end up trying to change for each other. We'd hate each other Laurel, and it wouldn't take much." Now that the dam had opened, he couldn't stop. "I represent something in your life that no longer exists, as you do in mine. You can't bring back what's dead no matter how much you might want to. It's a time gone by we've all made golden, when it wasn't even close. When I was a jerk. I should have let it go," gruff and self-hating, he sounded like each word was a lash upon his back and yet a relief to get out, "but it would mean admitting that everything that happened, happened because I-" now he was struggling; words dying. "I was that bad. I don't miss who I was, but who I was loved you. Letting that go… it means letting you go."

The truth could hurt so much more than the revelation of a lie.

It was why he'd never tell Laurel his secret, why Felicity could never call out Laurel's penchant for inviting the Hood into action whenever the law didn't go her way and yet lecturing on codes of behaviour: a standard she couldn't live up to herself but believed everyone else should. Laurel would be lied to for the rest of life. And Oliver would fall and rise on that pedestal, for being the Hood who Laurel admired.

Oliver would never willingly bring Laurel into this world he'd created. It wasn't just because of the danger - and it was unfair to ask of her what she wouldn't understand - or because he didn't want her to see what he'd become. It was because she couldn't be found in any part of this new side of him. It was his.

And he'd just realised how much he didn't want her there either.

You don't always take your past with you into the future.

Now Oliver had just made damn sure that this 'almost thing' that had never truly existed between him and Laurel, would never 'almost exist' again. Six years of waiting and Laurel was getting nothing in return except one night between them that probably felt like a lie now. Her expectations had crumbled. Her reality? To live her life without Oliver Queen, because he wouldn't have her- because, in a very real sense, the part of Oliver she'd lived inside had moved on. Feelings change. People do too.

There was no one for her to blame this time.

"You were always the best part of me when we were together. I am so grateful that you took a chance on me. And I'm so sorry that I didn't treat that trust with respect." Physically sore at the visceral honesty in his voice, Felicity wanted to-

To what? And do what?

Nothing. She could do nothing. She was a nothing here. She was the accident and the impetus.

"There is nothing I can offer you," he continued; his voice still low and guttural, "I wanted to earn your forgiveness." Every single word felt painful for him to say. Admitting your sins, or what he thinks is sin, always was. "But I realised that it doesn't matter if I do or not: it doesn't change a thing. I thought I could have everything; I could be Ollie again and fix what I broke, and I broke a lot. But I can be better. I can be something else." The words rippled down Felicity's spine, goose bumps rising on her skin. "But, no matter how hard I try, I can't ever change us." A shallow breath left him. "I didn't understand that until-"

"Until we slept together." Far From being the appropriate words to use, Laurel sounded like something had died inside her: voice wet. Voice thick, voice trembling. "Until I woke up alone."

"Until the Undertaking," Oliver quietly amended, "and everything that came afterwards."

"I don't understand how the Undertaking made you change your mind about us." Latching onto anything that would help explain why her heart was breaking: any reason that would make Oliver giving her up, okay, meant Laurel was ignoring the truth.

But-

"You wouldn't." Just that and- holy crap on a cracker. "Sometimes you can't go back."

Sometimes you don't want to.

"You- you said that I knew you better than anyone, that I could see you. What," despairing and angry, Laurel struggled, "was that a lie?"

"It wasn't a lie."

"But. Was. It. The. Truth?"

As in the full truth, the only truth and nothing but? …Doubtful. It wasn't the best thing to think but Oliver had a way with words when he was trying to make the people he loved, see just how important they truly were to him. Even if the words were lies. It was part of his trauma.

He took a long moment, before confessing. "Maybe it was… once."

That wasn't an answer. Not one she deserved, nor needed to hear in order to let go. But he was too afraid of doing more damage and it was a very male response. Very guilt-mode Oliver Queen. He'd lie to be gentle.

Had it ever been true? Had Laurel ever seen to the heart of him, to the bone?

Had he seen to hers?

From everything she'd been told, Oliver had either been too selfish for that… or he hadn't cared to look past what he thought he knew.

However, both then and now, there was a half of Oliver's life that Laurel didn't know about, that he would never share. So, if she'd known him so well, wouldn't she have known that he'd be unfaithful? Wouldn't she have understood that he wasn't ready for everything she'd offered instead of making plans?

It's none of my business. None of it was: she wished she hadn't heard any of it.

Then there was a clink that Felicity swore was Laurel's glass leaving the table, followed by a loud gulp. "I see." The glass hit the table again, and Felicity couldn't avoid her flinch. Bad, this is very bad. All the bad. Laurel might see, but her tone said it wasn't fucking good enough. "You let me think we were going to start again, that everything that had happened was because we're supposed to be together." That was a lot to assume. "I should have known." Sneering was not an attractive tone in any voice…

The fact that Oliver had said just a few minutes ago, that he'd told her before this night that he didn't think they should, was clearly not the point to Laurel.

Something Oliver just… took. "You can think of me as the monster who ruined your life: I'm fine with that." Because Oliver thought the same-

"But Felicity isn't."

The shock - the randomness - at being a sudden addition made Felicity's head shoot up from her hands, made her finally look at them all; feeling an anxious mix of don't bring me back into it and, why are you saying what you're saying?

Luckily Oliver wasn't turned her way just then. "I didn't want to say any of this here, but you've made it- both of you," jaw tight, he threw Tommy a harsh glare - she didn't turn to watch Tommy's reaction - before returning to his sentence, "have made it impossible for me to keep this between us." Awed at the realness being displayed - at the authority that Oliver was finally displaying because he'd been so silent and so ready to take on their sins - Felicity couldn't do anything but watch as he spoke directly to Laurel. "When I said we needed to talk tonight, you made it a dinner date and I felt like I owed you that." The phrasing was more than a little unfortunate - TO PUT IT LIGHTLY - and he didn't quite catch his own wince. Back almost a year; Oliver was bound to still be rusty. "I didn't know where we were going or what you thought was happening until we were here, and you were telling Tommy that we were on a date." No matter how his tone fluctuated, his voice never rose. "I didn't know how to correct you without hurting you and for the first time," finger and thumb rubbing together on the table-top, an old hope wrote itself in the angles of his very masculine face, "he didn't look hurt. He smiled and he laughed with you." The fact that this was his focus, said a lot about Oliver jus then and he seemed to measure the moment before exhaling; his substantial chest expanding and contracting with the strength of whatever he was feeling the most. "I didn't know what to do."

This time, he looked at Tommy.

"I didn't want to ruin that… because I miss you." It was said without a hint of reserve; just a small, apologetic - timid - smile, a slight head tilt and raw eyes. A please hear that, please forgive me.it spoke of how dear Tommy was to him and thank god for small mercies that he couldn't see her reaction. The way her chin wobbled. "So, I let it be and I hoped we could talk." The irony of that, that he was doing all the talking now, seemed to amuse him. "But I realised that everything she was saying, that being here was just hurting you."

Tommy shifted, sounding like he'd smoked a pack of cigarettes in under an hour. "You saw that?"

Oliver's eyes were shiny. "It wasn't my place to bring it up." No, it was Tommy's. And he hadn't because he'd thought it would be a fun time to twist a kind favour from a friend into something cruel; forcing them all to play nice at a table for four instead of two. "I'm just sorry that I ever-"

"No." Gulping what Felicity hoped was a wad of regret and a slither of appreciation, Tommy nodded once. Hard. "It's… it's okay." He'd needed to hear it.

Oliver looked at him in a way that made Felicity physically ache. "Is it?"

Not simply because Tommy's behaviour the last half hour - the last four months - begged to differ. But because saying it was okay, meant Tommy had forgiven him.

Unable to keep his friend's eyes, Tommy looked down and dread - disappointment - dropped into Felicity's stomach. "No."

Oliver pressed his lips together.

"I'm trying." Tommy confessed; eyes still on the table, "I'm not there yet." It wasn't all about Laurel: he and Oliver still needed to have a long talk about his homicidal father and it was understandable, Tommy's inability to forgive and forget.

Yet she wanted to shout out, why? What did he have to do to make it right?

She'd been there that night; the night Malcolm Merlyn died, and there was nothing she had to reproach herself about for helping a good man - despite is flaws - defeat an evil.

If Tommy couldn't ever forgive him, he needed to let Oliver know instead of dragging out this sadness hanging over the two of them.

But feelings are tricky.

Mouth slightly open, Oliver watched him for a moment: the naked hope in his face, near traumatising to watch dim. "Okay."

Okay. It was the kind of okay that wasn't, but to Oliver, Tommy's comfort was paramount to any amount of his own suffering.

Motionless, Oliver's eyes flickered down; as if weighing the cost of his next words and he must have decided the cost was worth it because- "It's no excuse."

"Look man, I get it: you're sorry." Pressing a hand to his chest, Tommy genuinely pleaded with him: his honest smile a surprise to see. "If you keep saying that, I'm not going to be able to-"

"I meant for you." Throat moving, Oliver's eyes flickered back up and they were hard. And as careful as he was being, there was something there that told Felicity that he understood what he was going to say may cost him. "No matter how I've made you feel…" he shook his head, once. "It's no excuse."

"What are you talking about?"

"Felicity." It was impossible not to think of his face hidden under his green hood, of the modulator that exacerbated every violent inflection of each word spoken in that particular voice that he didn't know she'd hidden away deep within her for her dreams to play with. Scary to criminals but not to her: it never had been. "I don't think you realise that some of what you said tonight was offensive. I hope you didn't."

He'd heard. She hadn't been alone. Oh.

And the lethality in his voice caused such a flurry of emotions to rise in her: reassurance because, this was Oliver and Oliver and safety went hand in hand to her. Panic because, Tommy and Laurel were the people he'd grown up with and please don't let me make this whole thing worse without me really saying anything at all.

And there was Heart too. His, and mine. For one ludicrous moment, they felt connected. Don't think about it: you're his friend- just his friend. She could have smacked herself. I'm living proof that not all IT girls get stuck in fiction; not when there was a world of unrequited love, lust and considerable emotional angst out in the real world for the taking-

"I don't know what your plan was." The words were slow and - deliberate or no - he was managing to hold everyone's attention now. "You involved her in this. She's done nothing except be here for you. With you." Heat, fault, licked down her spine as Oliver searched Tommy for a few seconds - his lower lip firmly between his teeth as he deliberated - before speaking with such feeling, the two words came out more breath than voice. "You're lucky."

Her heartbeat pulsed.

Why wouldn't he look at her?

"I know I am." Swallowing, forehead creased, Tommy made this little I don't get it, but I really kind of do, and I want you to stop talking please expression. "I said I was before."

"I don't think you do." Everything in Oliver opposed him. "It doesn't matter how many times you say it: you wanted us all to sit together: if you cared about her, the way you made us think you do, you would have wanted to keep her to yourself."

Is that… how he would have behaved with Laurel if he'd been all in? Would he have stopped Tommy, would he have said, no; I want to sit with my date, alone?

It was impossible to look anywhere else; to tear her eyes away from Oliver, her face blooming a new shade of pink, winded by his every word - a little burnt by Tommy's offhand behaviour tonight - and raw from everything said. But in her peripheral, she caught Tommy move; his head turning towards her.

She didn't want to see what was there: couldn't feel more compassion, more betrayal, more everything than she already did just then. She'd come here with him, for him. Not only had she failed, Tommy had failed first.

She felt awful.

But Oliver took Tommy in, unblinkingly. "I know Felicity: she's probably more worried about everyone else at the table right now." There was something about the way he said this - frank, almost challenging, yet fond and shrewd - that made it a massive shock to hear for her. "That's the way she is," both index and middle finger quietly tapped against the table, "and she deserved for tonight to be about her and not this. Not the three of us."

"Now you care." The words were abrupt and Felicity felt remorseful that she'd almost forgotten Laurel was there. "Now you show interest."

Please don't do this again. Don't make it about care over want: Oliver cared about Laurel a great deal, otherwise this wouldn't be happening. But care wasn't synonymous or mutually-exclusive with desire. We could have all just eaten and enjoyed ourselves tonight.

Yet, how could they with so much in the air between them?

"I care, Laurel." And despite her scoff, something seemed to alter in Oliver then: the whole of him stilling before he shifted to see both Laurel and Tommy… still not Felicity. "It was like you didn't. Either of you. You didn't care. You had to air everything, right now." It was as much a realisation to him as to everyone else. Laurel unsurprisingly looked like she'd rather swallow glass than listen to another word. "Felicity Smoak would never sabotage another's happiness in favour of her own." The words were lovely and she couldn't help the soft smile that grew on her face… or see how Tommy's hand trailed over the table, his fingers nudging at her arm. "Whatever you thought we were doing before, if the way we are affects you," and Tommy tried to cover her hand with his-

She pulled away, feeling vulnerable; her hands cradling her elbows, listening to Oliver.

"-Then I'm sorry for your pain." The caveat could be seen coming from a mile away. "But I won't apologise for being myself because-" he searched for the right words as his voice picked up a little, looking contrite for even thinking of putting himself first in this situation, "because I don't regret the one moment tonight where I… where I could breathe."

It was excruciatingly honest and perfect.

She could barely breathe herself…Wow. He felt that way with her? They were friends, almost like partners, but she'd been sure-

"I don't regret the one moment tonight where I could breathe."

But he… he'd pushed her away earlier, right?

That hadn't been-

"But I won't apologise for being myself because-"

He had he merely been hiding from them? From Tommy and Laurel and the truth he hadn't shared?

Did he associated Felicity with the truth of him so much that he had to lie?

Dragging in precious oxygen - I don't know what to think - trying to argue against the confusing nature of his actions even as her own were just as jarring - though she could thank Tommy for that – Felicity felt a stab of foreboding when Laurel's brow tapered.

When life returned to her in the form of suspicious eyes.

"Is that what this is about now? I insulted your precious Felicity? I'm not buying it-" Faltering, she peered from one person to the next - injured and seeking something, a source of blame - Laurel grated out her words. "Were you lying before?" Comprehension dawned on her face. "You did sleep with her, didn't you?"

Oh my god, no. Not this. Why did it always have to be about sex? Even Tommy, beside her, was thrown by the direction.

Nodding to herself, like she was the world's greatest detective - as if she knew all and had them figured out and was irritated that it had taken her so long - Laurel looked both like Christmas had come early and like someone had just told her she'd die today. "I'm an idiot. It's so obvious." It must have been the biggest farce, hilarious to imagine, because Laurel laughed. It was a cruel sound; soft and attractive and empty, pricking on Felicity's skin and she saw the cords in Oliver's neck tighten. "That's what this is really about: you're never this protective. It has nothing to do with whether we're right for each other; you've just found a new Sara." Crude, effective, wrong. "Another way to screw this up because you're afraid of losing Tommy permanently. After all this time, who'd have thought you'd still be afraid of commitment?" Was she that desperate to ignore what Oliver had told her, that she'd willingly demean him? The man she loved? Was it so impossible to believe that he just wouldn't want to be with her? "So, come on!" And suddenly Felicity was her target; offering a smirk that was brittle. "Tell me the details: we can exchange notes!" It was more a taunt than a jeer: her voice quivering. "He's such a giver, isn't he?" Oh god, a hot flush travelled swiftly up her body as Laurel continued. "Did he say he trusted you? That he needed you? Was it all about immediate gratification or did you think this through? Was it a one-time thing? When did it happen; before or after the Undertaking?"

She didn't give pace for breath between questions thrown out like bullets, smacking against Felicity's chest: she was all barbed wire and Oliver was looking at her like he couldn't believe what he was hearing or seeing.

Rounding back to him, "Did you even wait a week after sleeping with me," she threw out; freeing Felicity, "before you pulled her into bed with you? I mean, it's like Tommy said: he's had me too after all, he wouldn't mind the irony of sleeping with another woman you've had first."

Oliver's face hardened. "Hey-"

"She'll be another soon-to-be castoff by the end of the month-"

"Hey!" Oliver shouted. "That's enough."

Knee smacking upwards - Felicity damn near hitting herself in the eye with the hand she'd raised to do something (or nothing) - and it definitely connected with the table legs. Ow!

His shout was loud enough for the people at the closest table to turn and wonder. Nu uh. Pulse racing - this was mortifying - her shoulders shrank in on themselves and she couldn't seem to look at anything above Oliver's shoulder-line. So, so awkward and humiliating and-

Her skin was thrumming.

This was ugly, part deux.

This was what love could do when fed the wrong nutrients; when it's neglected, when it's allowed to root itself in anger, bitterness, resentment and jealousy without a positive outlook.

Allowing herself to peek upwards-

Ohhhhh, that he doesn't have his bow with him makes me the happiest cookie.

Oliver looked pissed.

Lifting a single finger in point at Laurel, it looked like something had cracked through the compliance in Oliver. "Shut. Up." He bit out - eyes a paradox: a blazing blue chill - reducing Laurel's scorned self to a mere fraction of her venom as his voice sent her rigid in her seat. It was as intimidating as hell. "That's it. That's all you get to say now." So clear, so low and rough; his voice carried. "You were right; you don't know me." Holy- His head slanted a tad as he measured her. "Or maybe you do, and you just don't care what you say to anyone anymore. You feel righteous, I get it; but you haven't got a clue and I know you hate that." It was coming from a very real place, one that told Felicity, he wasn't simply heartbroken at the turn of the evening; he was angry and thrown by the woman to his right and the man at his front. At two people she knew he thought were supposed to be better than him. "You can say whatever you want about me, but you don't treat her," his finger whipped across to Felicity, "as less than."

Than… what?

Regardless, it touched her. A warmth at her back; right between her shoulder blades.

As he pulled back from Laurel, slowly, into his seat - dark eyed - he looked so disappointed, haunted. And a little repulsed.

Altered.

So, Felicity understood when she saw what was most likely a very hot tear, leaving Laurel's eye. "Did… did you didn't sleep with her or not?"

The warmth - that touch - vanished.

Validating that fact was what was important to Laurel. To Felicity, it felt a little like a knife.

"Did… did you didn't sleep with her or not?"

For one icy moment, Oliver just stared at her. "No."

The relief on the lawyer's face was another twist of that same blade.

"He wouldn't." Tommy simply said, and the knife was yanked out and ready for a second attempt. 'Oliver wouldn't sleep with Felicity, oh no.' "She wouldn't either." Oh, wouldn't I?

Oliver's hand twitched on the table.

"Now can we drop this Laurel?" Tommy finished.

And it just came right on out. "You know me so well." Felicity muttered, not looking at him; the words sticking to the back of her throat on me.

She was beginning to wonder if anyone truly did.

…Maybe she was more like Oliver than she thought.

At first, Tommy's reaction seemed to be to turn to her, offer a smile… maybe even an apology for everything said and done. But he caught her expression - caught the hurt shining in her gaze, the way she wasn't smiling back, her hands wrapped around her - and it fell. "Felicity, I didn't…"

Whatever he 'didn't', she'd never know.

Eyes flickering away, she shook her head. "Never mind."

"Um," she wasn't used to hearing Tommy have no idea what to say, "Well… I'm exhausted! And I feel like all I've done is listen-"

"Why did you lie?"

The deep, still rough quality to Oliver's voice made her shiver, which would have been mighty fine… except Tommy's final offhand remark made all the pleasant feelings generated by this man, feel insultingly juvenile.

Disgraceful.

Like she wasn't allowed to have them, because Oliver would never go there. Not with her.

She'd already known that Oliver wouldn't- didn't want her that way; even when his actions made her think twice. Baby think twice, just not with me. It still felt like another hit, one she'd done nothing to earn. She got it already. She knew the truth. She didn't need to be told again and again-

"About what?" Tommy sounded nonplussed.

Felicity allowed herself to look at him again, at Oliver.

"She's not a scapegoat." Oliver's gaze offered little in the way of compassion. "She's not a trophy. She's Felicity."

It felt so good and so… not good.

Watching his friend, it was as if he couldn't decide on an answer or where Oliver was going. "What are you trying to say?"

"She's not your date, is she?" Quiet and succinct. "You just told us she was."

Dull was the dishonour. It fixed her mouth; made her breath halt. Her eyes gave her away there.

But again, Oliver didn't look at her.

And why would he? She'd allowed Tommy to pretend to…

Across the table, Laurel looked hard at them both.

"Yeah… Yes." Smiling the smile of the broken, Tommy rubbed a harsh hand across his mouth. "God, Oliver; you have a way cutting right through the crap, don't you?" It was a joke to fill the deafening silence.

It wasn't remotely funny, and he knew it.

The humour fell and a sound that was half gasp, half groan, sucked in through his teeth. Is eyes quickly reddened, oh Tommy. "I owe nobody here an apology." The audacious words were mumbled into his hands as they, once more, dragged over his face. "Except you." The hands fell so that his chin was on them, head sloping to see her. "I owe you…" but he paused; his mouth opening and closing and indecisive of what to add next.

But they were all staring at her now. Gee. Yay.

"Why-" And Laurel seemed to suffer from the same kind of indecisiveness unable, but she was looking at Felicity. It was easy to read her. 'Why would you agree to that?'

She was searching for the ugly in someone else: waiting for Felicity to tell her what she wanted to hear.

Felicity glanced downwards. "I didn't." The bracelet on her wrist was suddenly too exquisite to look away from.

"Then why-"

"What she isn't saying is that, she knew if she said anything, she'd blow my cover and humiliate me." Tommy declared - voice as quiet as Oliver's, though not as low: he couldn't manage that level of torture - smiling a dead smile at his ex. "I didn't want you to see how hard this has been… moving on." It was a mockery of the word. "I've been less than successful in that department, not that you've noticed." Inclining his head at Laurel who had the look of someone told too much, too soon, Tommy's voice became weighed down by the all the little whispers inside his head. The doubts. The misery. "So, I invited Felicity out for dinner… as my friend." And oh, that sounded hard for him to say. "A sort of re-integration into my once and future dating life: Stella needed to get his groove back! We've been getting coffee and lunch and man, but I'd forgotten how fun that can be when it's with someone who gets it, you know?" This was passed to Oliver like one would an ice cream, here; have a lick of Felicity. She tastes good. "There's no judgement for being angry. She doesn't get frustrated at me for being too depressed to see straight. I needed that. There's something to be said about people knowing too much about you so, maybe it was because she hadn't known me before… And I don't know, recently I- I've wanted more for myself. But I needed some support that didn't come with baggage, so I asked Felicity out on a date," bunny ears, "in order to get back into the swing of things."

It just sounding more and more like she'd just been used. As opposed to an actual friendship.

It was an odd sensation, to feel your heart begin to cry.

She kept her gaze fixed on her bracelet: otherwise… she didn't know. She just felt supremely inadequate here. Computers. She knew computers and technology, electronics and any subset of engineering. But there was a reason beyond time as to why she hadn't been in a serious relationship in almost two years.

Pain was one part of it.

"But I did not know you two would be here!" Shaking his head, a wistful sigh escaped him. "Of all the restaurants, in all the world… And you look beautiful." Laurel, who didn't look so much moved by that as she was astonished, before gesturing to Oliver with both hands raised. "And you… you."

Effortlessly attractive. Unattainable. Heroic. Sad. A hot mess.

Hands dropping, Tommy pressed his lips together. His gaze fell to the table. "And like a selfish prick," the breath he released was so full of ego, of pretence, of everything he'd built up over the last few months… letting it start to leave him, "when Felicity walked into the bar - looking like a goddess - I thought it would be the absolute greatest if you both thought we were living our best lives while you stand there, pretending you are."

And there was the rub: the truth for Oliver and Laurel to see for themselves. Yes, Tommy had been vindictive; yes, he'd been petty. But he'd been so done with the two of them and their inability to be - because one of the three had to at least pretend to move on so that the others could follow - he'd done the idiotic.

He'd done it, because the pristine perfection that Oliver and Laurel portrayed on the daily was a lie and he'd managed to sniff it out.

…Instead of dealing with it appropriately, he'd turned it into a competition.

"I'm sorry." Turning his face towards her, Tommy touched her shoulder; admitting. "You were only here because I asked, and I took it too far."

That was it: her limit.

The genuine regret felt like pity now. Thirty minutes was all it had taken to pull each other to pieces. She'd been sure that when he apologised, she'd feel better. She didn't. She just wanted… cookie dough. Ice cream. TV. All three didn't judge. And if she was preferring that to this then…

"That's not enough." Oliver spoke her thoughts in an undertone, arms on the table.

It doesn't matter.

It wasn't that she didn't understand Tommy's pain, but this was first time, for her, in 18 months, that she'd accepted a date. That she'd attempted to be brave. That she'd thought she'd enjoy herself outside of the violence of her nightlife. And she'd secretly looked forward to it: to wearing a dress that felt out of her league, to feeling this hope.

Another louder breath left Tommy; he was practically sagging in his seat. "I know."

It is for me. Enough for one night.

"Felicity-"

Her eyes met his. Oliver's. I can't. She could put herself out there for friends, that was fine. But she'd allowed herself to… imagine. She'd done herself the disservice. And now she simply felt unnecessary. They'd fixed themselves, her duty was over.

Whatever he saw on her face, silenced him.

He saw her, and it hurt him to see.

LIMIT. REACHED.

Holding her clutch, Felicity quietly gathered her dress about her. "I think it's time for me to go."

A miserable sound left Tommy. "No, please; let me just- I can fix this." Reaching with an earnest hand, Tommy's fingers slid down her arm. "I'm sorry, I-"

"One more sorry and you will be." She softly sang; her smile wobbly, her eyes too bright. "Tommy, I get it. You needed someone on your side. But so did I."

She watched him swallow.

"Then I'm leaving too." Laurel announced; anger a never-ending current alongside the weariness in her tone. "There's just- I can't do this. I can't eat and talk about this like everything's alright now that… that it's over." She sounded small and her eyes flitted to Oliver, as if expecting a comment. A dispute. Something. "You're not even looking at me." She whispered.

And he wasn't. "What else is there to say?" Oliver's eyes were on Felicity. "We haven't exactly put our best foot forward: if you don't want to start now, I won't stop you from leaving." As if in a rush, he said with a single breath: tone almost absent-minded, but his brow line was beyond soft. All heart and understanding being presented to her free of charge. Potent. "Felicity…"

It didn't really matter.

Felicity pushed out her chair: twisting up-

"Hey." And he spoke as he would to a frightened animal, a no, don't do that and utterly heartfelt. Inviting. "Wait, please."

Standing straight, she looked from one to the other. "Don't you understand what you all have?" She said, head tilted just so; her smile marred by the slow tear from her left eye. "Love is love." And they were silent, each of them. "You're all so fortunate to have that… even if it's not the love you were hoping for."

That she'd dared to say it wasn't something she could consider, but it was spoken specifically to Laurel; because if there was one thing Laurel didn't know, it was that she had at least two men in her life who loved her in ways Felicity had never been loved.

Laurel's expression blanked.

Well, it's not like I'm here to make her feel better. No, she'd been there to be Tommy's friend and have a good time. Then she'd been demoted to making Tommy look good and since that had failed…

Why had she even bought this dress?

Sniffling - keep it together - blinking to erase the dampness in her eyes - ice cream beckons - she stepped out of her seat and turned away; her dress falling elegantly behind her - like a joke - as she moved carefully through the few tables close by; uncaring of how it looked, or whether it was rude.

Until she heard a very contained, "Felicity," not too far behind her.

Frack. She sped up.

Ducking right into a white washed corridor - see no evil, hear no evil: maybe if she wasn't in proximity, they could figure each other out; except they hadn't for months, not thinking about it - she flung open a side door and twisted around…

Just in time to catch a glimpse of a very purposefully striding Oliver Queen, making his way towards her stealthily between the Su Chefs; his expression a mix of resolution and care.

Her mouth was open in an, oh.

Nope. Can't handle.

The door clicked shut, locking her inside one of the restaurant's bathrooms and her back hit the cold surface of it.

There was a downside to the man she loved being a clandestine vigilante. She'd never, ever be able to get away from him.

Her breath left her in a rush. "A drawback, surely." Except it felt anything but. It felt tempting… or normally it would. "This is a disaster." Hand going to her forehead, Felicity took one, two, three deep, shuddering inhales: eyes closing.

It was a lot.

The three of them, the buried feelings inside her, Oliver-

"Why did he follow me?" She whispered into the closed off space.

The evening was over, everything had been aired: what was left?

Felicity wasn't Laurel or Tommy: what reason did he have to follow her?

I'm his friend. They'd survived a hellish time together with Diggle. 'If you're not leaving, I'm not leaving'. Maybe that was why. Maybe he'd said too much and didn't want her to make it the wrong way. Strictly business between us Miss Smoak. Or maybe he was just a really nice guy.

Whichever it was, she felt like such a fool for even considering that he'd shown more concern, more heart and heat for her just now than he had the last half hour for Laurel. "I'm awful." Learn Felicity. She was allowed to wonder, but it didn't do well to dwell on dreams. Not that she ever did. But tonight, I tried… tonight she'd tried. She shouldn't have.

And she'd cried. "Ngh." Mortifying, really. It wasn't anything to do with her but somehow, she'd still managed to cry. "Of course, I did." She grumbled into her hands.

Get it together.

Taking a breath, her hands dropped, and immediately caught her face in the ornate mirror overlooking the pristine sink. Oh. Right. She was in a bathroom. Not that she needed to use the facilities, but it was wonderfully silent and empty, and she took a moment for herself.

Tonight, should have been a success for Tommy. It should have helped him see that not only was it time to live his life again, it was time to let go of old demons and the constraints of the past without having them shoved in his face… which was exactly what happened.

It wasn't- it isn't about me.

It was about how Tommy was still far from ready to move past the last three months. It was about how Oliver being honest with the two people he was closest to, even if that honesty hurt them. It was how Laurel had missed so much, had gleamed so little and assumed too much to a degree that she'd caused herself pain.

It was about how Felicity's presence had been the catalyst and why she needed to leave.

"Okay," letting out a breath, she took stock of her appearance…

She didn't look too bad: her eyes were slightly red but for the most part, people wouldn't be able to tell she'd cried. Or that she'd been at the most uncomfortable dinner date this century: I can do this. She could walk out of the restaurant; head held high… through the back exit-

"Felicity?"

Her hands smacked into the porcelain sink, he's still outside?

And why was she washing her hands?

And why is he still outside?!

"You were quiet…" Through the door, Oliver sounded so unlike himself (somewhat timid) it made her stop and listen. "I'm sorry Felicity: I'm sorry for how… this was supposed to be a good evening for you, and we ruined it." And kind, he was so very kind.

He was perfect.

"Can you come out?" He gently asked, and her mind went back to their time in the foundry, when he'd never had to speak to her like this. How odd it must be for him. "I'll understand if you want me to go away... but I need to see that you're okay. Please?"

See? Perfect.

And he needed at least one of them to be okay tonight, because he'd surely take the full blame upon himself and that was a no, no. If anything, he was the least culpable tonight: Laurel had let herself be swept away by her dreams, enough to presume and Tommy- let's not go through that again. The very least Oliver deserved was to feel like he hadn't been rejected by each friend at the table, even if it was a table she'd never belonged at.

So be a big girl and head outside.

Except-

But then his eyes flared, tracing over every inch of her dress swiftly and he put a hand to his chest. Like he'd felt something there. A foot in front of her, he came to a stop and opened his mouth to speak-

That.

They could just… do what they'd always done after an odd moment. A charged moment. They' could ignore it. He'd already close-to admitted that the reason why he'd pulled away before was because he hadn't wanted to invite curiosity or questions from Laurel and Tommy about him. Since his date with her, hadn't been. Since his relationship with Tommy wasn't the golden paradise they'd all pretended it had been. It was enough.

"Enough." She whispered at her reflection; dabbing the skin under her eyes before rinsing her hands off. Breathing in deep.

Pulling open the door.

Back against the opposing wall, Oliver's head immediately came up; eyes clearing at the sight of her. "Felicity." A universe of meaning in a name. How does he do that? Make her mind empty and her body still.

His body came off the wall in that easy way of his; his hands pulling away from where they'd been at the sides of his neck and face, like he'd been taking the deepest of breaths as his fingers pressed into his skin.

They went into his black trouser pockets.

Taking a moment while she looked at him - unsure where to start - he cleared his throat. "Hey."

She managed a weak smile. "Hi." Fingers interlocking, she stepped fully out from the doorway; feeling every area of her exposed skin as she came fully into view. Pulling in her lip, she tried to think of a way to… well, escape. "About that just now," where she near-ran away, "Oliver-"

"I'm sorry." He reiterated; watching her hands fidget, watching her watch him with his unveiled hope: his face haunted by all the things just said. "This was not… tonight was not supposed to go like this." And he looked so, so regretful. So earnest and appealing.

And in that suit, with that hair and those eyes; a lethal weapon.

"Considering that tonight was supposed to be the night you explain to Laurel," she careful, quietly, said, "that what you have isn't really what she thought it was, how well did you think tonight was going to go, exactly?" And the smile she added to the end of that, softened what might have been a blow.

"God, I…" he shook his head. "I don't know." Why was his gaze so beseeching? As if what he needed from her just then, was to hear him out… and believe him. Not think badly of him. "Good point." That small, breathy laugh was particularly exquisite to hear after everything. "I think I thought it be here. I thought it would be easier to tell her. I thought she'd understand." A lot of thoughts there. "For so long, all I wanted was to come home and right my father's wrongs and… maybe I could be different." Eyes falling, they saw something she couldn't. "Turns out being different made things worse, not better."

So how could he win when his past-self had ruined things and his present-self wasn't welcome at the table?

It made her ask. "Are you okay?" Tentatively.

A sigh with what felt like the weight of planets, left him. "Not really."

Nodding, lips pressed together, Felicity didn't know what to say.

When his gaze lifted off the floor, the way he looked at her made her tremble. "I was going to ask you that question."

She blinked at him. "I kind of gathered that."

"You weren't here because of history; you were here for a friend." Lips pressing together, she saw his jaw tighten and clench. "It was unfair of us to bring you into that, especially that way…"

Except he wasn't the one who'd done that.

"It's okay." It wasn't his fault and she couldn't hold it against Laurel or Tommy either. Sometimes feeling too much led to this kind of thing. She just couldn't sit there anymore and subject herself to it, when being there hadn't helped nor would it help anyone.

"It's not." A direct, steady gaze added to that statement. "I'm sorry-"

"Please stop apologising." And if it was a demand, it was a small, quiet plea because she wasn't sure she could take an Oliver Queen this achingly neglected, comfort wise. They all were, but after five years Oliver could be taken by surprise by a simple brush of her hand and frequently was at that. "These things happen." With half a shrug, a head tilt and part a smile, she spoke again. "Believe it or not, this isn't the worst date I've ever been on. Even a fake one."

All the negatives of one though, and not a single advantage.

And he nodded, as if seeing it written in the lines of her face. "Okay." Maybe okay was becoming their word. That, and hey. And each other's names. This is getting beyond complicated. Then he exhaled, and it came from somewhere deep. "So, is this where you try to make your escape?"

A sound escaped her; something along the lines of uh, um, no?

"I don't blame you." His tone was full of understanding. "We didn't exactly put our best foot forward."

"Well, neither did I." Far from fleeing, she stepped closer. "I started the evening lying to you." Please don't be mad. "Not exactly a great start for me."

Head slowly moving, Oliver gave her the kind of look that made her want to lean into him, to feel him against her: it wasn't even a hot look. Yes, his eyes were starting to get that melty quality, but it was more loving than heated and- loving. It was loving. "You weren't really lying. Tommy didn't exactly leave room for choice." Looking at his shoes, like an innocent schoolboy once again - and knowing what he did at night, made the sight a precious one she'd take with her - he near-scuffed a shoe against the floor. "I'm… I was actually pretty glad that it wasn't a date. Between you two, I mean." It was hurried, the addition.

Heart suddenly hammering, her mouth opened, oh.

"Tommy isn't ready." And the way his eyes wrote the words this is for you made her certain that his words weren't spoken as an excuse or as a way to say she wasn't enough. "He loves Laurel in a way that…" he couldn't finish that loaded sentence. "And I didn't want that for you: to play second string like that. You deserve more." Head ducking, his smile was all kinds of sweet and gentle. "I saw your face when he told us you two were together: it was obvious that it bothered you. I put two and two together."

"It bothered you too." It took her three full, long seconds to realise how that sounded… but she didn't quite care. Everyone else had been brutally, selfishly honest tonight; maybe it was high time she was too. Especially if the surprised, soft look in his eyes was her reward. "You read me like a book."

"Likewise." Did he have to sound so breathy? "Thank you."

Her eyes side-lined. "For reading you like a book?"

"No." Still smiling, his brow-line shifted; his focus intent. "For… seeing something else in me. Whether it's there or not."

Translation: thank you for not thinking I'm a waste of space or a constant screw up, even if it isn't the truth.

"You're too hard on yourself."

The surety in her voice wasn't lost on him - his eyes widening just a tad - but he didn't say a word. And it wasn't because he agreed or disagreed: it was because if he spoke, it might go away. The idea that he really was better than he - and others - thought him to be.

It added to the already heady atmosphere.

"So, what's the plan now?" She asked instead; he wasn't ready for the rest. I might not be either. "Are you going back in there…?"

To eat and play merry? To be real and… I don't know.

His mouth opened a tad and stayed that way for a few seconds. "I… hadn't thought that far ahead yet. I was more worried about you."

As if he'd lassoed her, she took another small step; bringing her roughly to two feet in front of him. "That's nice to hear."

As in, she was beyond touched and deeply taken by this moment and the man before her.

"It's the truth." He murmured, looking at her with such tender compassion that she wanted to touch his cheek again. "Like I said; you deserve better than what happened tonight."

"So do you."

He watched at her with a near blank look before this irrepressible warmth seeped into him. "You really believe that, don't you?"

Nodding, she smiled. "I do."

Something about that silenced him.

"Plus, if I don't; you won't. And I think someone should." Someone who loves you. And maybe if she said it, proved it enough, Oliver would begin to believe it too. "So." She repeated with a little nervous titter of her own because, since when were they this open with each other? "The plan?"

Eyes shutting tight, he made a sound at the back of his throat. "Right." They re-opened and he looked about like he could see through the walls in front of him. "We've convinced the restaurant we're the perfect double date: I'm not sure how this can end without drawing a circus."

"Yeah, I saw the paparazzi." Thumb popping to her left, she spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "What are the chances they're waiting out back too?"

He responded in kind and coming from Oliver - the little lean forward, the upturn of his mouth, the slight narrowing of his gaze - it was pretty sensational. "I'd say it's a fifty-fifty chance."

Mischief looked good on him. Shocker.

She clicked her fingers. "Fudge."

His smile was beatific: his husky laugh, a dream. "Still think you've had worse dates?"

"Yes." Her immediate answer made him blink. "I'll tell you sometime."

"I look forward to it." And he sounded like he genuinely would.

It made her ask. "So, what is it you want from a first date?"

The question seemed to throw him. "Uh…" Air puffed out of his lips. "For it to go well?"

Oh, Oliver. "Whoa." The sound - word? - was meant to tease instead of ridicule and the way his cheeks reddened told her, mission accomplished. "Way to set the bar high."

Another modest laugh from him made her stomach clench. "I think getting a date should come first."

Gesticulating towards the whole of him - every single inch - Felicity stopped and started through words. "-I-I don't think you'll have a problem in that department. I mean," she started when her cheeks blossomed a new shade of pink as Oliver stilled; as his eyes traced over her face, reading all the invisible words she hadn't meant to display and not finding a thing wrong there, "what did you major in at school? Charm?" Mouth dry, she continued because, a babbling Smoak wasn't to be underestimated- and the expression on Oliver's face was growing more and more- "And you know you're handsome," he better; she'd told him herself, "so you have that part covered."

Friendly flirting: that was their thing, right?

This painfully unhurried widening of his smile erased the lingering sadness on his face; it was tinged with gratitude and as soft as it had ever been. Like watching the sun rise: he lit up. "If only I wasn't dressing up in green leather at night."

"Oh, I think that's definitely part of your appeal." It wasn't a murmur; more a quietly uttered factoid.

The way his eyes fluttered, you think she'd just given him his happy ever after. "You took my breath away."

"I-I'm sorry, what?"

Slowly, he took that last step until only inches stood between them. "When I saw you at the bar…"

"You told me I was stunning." She whispered.

"And beautiful." He reminded her: as if he wasn't saying things that had the power to pull her in and change her forever. Make her helpless against him. Exposed to heartache. "It's too small a word. You left me breathless."

It took everything she had not to press in, not to kiss him. "I…" What could she even say? Her exhale was a little uneven. "I guess I passed that pre-requisite."

"I don't have a list." And maybe he was affected by her closeness too: god knew they'd been this close before, almost refusing to speak any other way but face to face. Head to head. Toe to toe. "But if I did, you passed it when we first met."

For too long, she just looked at him: her smile fragile because she couldn't decide whether to speak, to laugh, to cry, to act. There was a pressure on her skin now; an awareness of the space between them and how easy it would be to cross it. "You're doing a very good job of making me forget about the last half hour."

Because, that's what he was doing, right?

But he didn't say anything: his eyes on her felt like a literal presence on her- over her. Welcome, unassuming, and… desiring.

"You should have it all, you know?" She floundered into the silence, hoping to dispel the heavy-hot air between them by a single a fraction. He'd just take it all back later. He wasn't ready for more. He wasn't. "Butterflies on your stomach, heart pounding, flutters in her chest, can't catch-"

"Can't catch my breath?" He finished for her, purposely.

Her lips mouthed the word, yes.

And his were on hers a second later.

Her mind blanked, blinded by shock. Every inch of her focusing shark-like on the surprising pillow-softness of his mouth - his kiss - how his lips barely touched hers. It was simple, sweet, innocent… full of heart.

Oliver Queen was kissing her.

It lasted too long to be called a peck, but it couldn't be named anything else: as if their mouths had chosen to remain right where they were after brushing against each other. With any other man, this would be the obvious progressive point for a couple on a date, whose chemistry was as flawlessly intense as theirs had been this night.

With Oliver it was - had been until this moment - unthinkable.

But then it was all over because he pulled back.

Though not far… not far at all.

His eyes - lips - were so close. In her peripheral, she could see that his hands were still in his pockets, but his fingers and knuckles were so tightly fisted, she could see each protruding. He'd bent over at the waist and hadn't had to travel very far: she'd been a half foot away after all.

Restraint.

"Felicity," she'd be lying if she said she didn't feel that on her spine. Eyes still closed, Oliver licked his lips; tasting her there… his throat moved: swallowing her down. Then they opened, were hooded and it was all there for her to see: a cacophony of wants, needs, fears and feeling. They took in the light and remaking it into a blue lava flow.

The whole while she remained speechless.

"I'm…" another breath. "I'm sorry." He whispered, and she couldn't tell if it was because he truly was or whether he was responding to her lack of a reaction. "I-"

Whatever he was or wasn't, her body made a decision.

Pressing up on her tip toes - pushing aside all her doubts as her hands lifted to his chest - heart pounding in her ears, eyes closing at the very last second - catching his own watching her draw close; dark and anticipating, his pupils blown wide open - her mouth demanded another taste of his, especially if it was to be taken away forever.

And when she reached her target, it made her tremble; his warmth in her grasp, Oliver's lips wilfully moving with hers this time-

Then touch of his fingertips against her cheeks made her breath stutter; his arms bracketing hers as his body moved in, face to thighs. Connected.

Oliver.

Was she dreaming?

Like a 1950's Hollywood starlet, she allowed herself to be contained in his arms, his tie tight in her grasp - when did that happen? - with his hands now fully cupping her face because it felt so good, even though what she wanted with a desperation that worried her, was feel the scruff of his jaw against her own fingers… on her neck. Between the valley of her breasts.

Further down.

But to move would be to disrupt this slow kiss…

And it was slow; as if they were savouring the feel of the other. Enjoying a good kiss in a way she hadn't in a very long time.

Then Oliver's head tilted just so; his lips manipulating hers to open, asking for permission as he waited with bated breath.

She gave in so easily.

She gave in to the Hood.

To her partner.

Her friend.

Her Oliver.

Her head titling back, mouth opening in a way that made his lips capture one of her own, he made a surprised sound that had the muscles deep inside her abdomen, tightening. When his tongue swept in, she was lost. God, he could kiss. Long, languid strokes made a mess of her; with every gradual slide over her own, a jolt of electricity shot down. His hands slid towards her hair as her own dragged down his chest without pulling away from how tightly her breasts were now compressed against his pectorals. As they circled around his back, holding him close as they settled between his shoulder blades.

One of his dropped to the back of her neck, holding her close.

Then they kissed - smooched - like they'd been doing it for years. A tidal wave of longing and hope washing over them both, so that when they finally stopped - when they had to for the sake of oxygen - they didn't draw back. Their lips kept touching; their hot breaths mixing together. Scotch, whiskey, wine and them. Her eyes were closed but whether or not his were, his thumb was brushing against that patch of skin beneath her ear that made her purr when done right and oh, he knows the language of me already.

It was perfection. It was everything. It was exactly what they both had needed to sweep this night under a-

"Uhhhhhh… Ollie?"

It was the oddest thing.

Her head bowed down from his mouth - dislodging his hand - eyes flying open, gaze landing on his throat, expecting him to pull away at any moment like he'd been scalded because that was Tommy's voice and earlier, he'd done exactly that…

But he didn't.

Instead, she felt his chest rumble to life, where his heart was beating awfully fast, like gun fire. "Tommy?" A question. A question?

Like, what is it man?

And true, his hands slid from their positions - brushing over her shoulders in the lightest, most tentative way, and she wondered if he thought he'd overstepped or if he was trying to bring some emotional distance between them - but he didn't move his body away from her.

Her own had dropped off the moment Ollie destroyed the happy haze she'd been enjoying.

"Are…" Voice high, Tommy coughed. "I'm guessing you're not going back to the table?"

Her chest squeezed tight. The table. Where Laurel sat. A Lance sister.

Oliver's voice sounded like he'd had a shot of absinthe and was looking to sin again: low toned, thoroughly affected by the kiss, he… didn't sound remotely regretful. "I'm not sure what's happening yet." He swallowed, and she felt that too. "Or… what Felicity wants to do."

She wanted, very much, to continue the kissing. All the kissing. Except, she also wanted to rewind time to before Tommy arrived where she could have pulled Oliver outside.

Or maybe just escape alone through the bathroom window like she'd seen women, and some men, do in movies.

"Right." Sounding unbelievably thrown, Tommy added. "Laurel left though." Maybe start with that next time. Why did she leave? "I didn't want you to come back and find her seat empty… but maybe you wouldn't be bothered by that at all."

Oh no. Not again. She hadn't been looking at him - couldn't - but at this, her head swung around to see him and-

"I didn't know how you could be so chill about when we were talking about my history with Laurel, but I kept thinking…" And Tommy looked so sheepish, so unlike the cocky idiot who'd helped ruin the evening, that Felicity took a large step away from the torrent of babbling she'd been about to embark on. "You've never looked at Laurel the way you've been looking at Felicity tonight." No, he didn't look angry. Or heartbroken. Or anything other than weary and repentant. "It's not a bad thing Ollie. I don't know about you, but I about had a heart attack when I saw her tonight."

His hand pointed towards the dress and everything else.

Hands trailing down her arms, making her shiver, they paused at her elbows before Oliver said. "It has nothing to do with how she looks tonight."

"I don't have a list… But if I did, you passed it when we first met."

"It better not be just about that, but at least smell the bouquet Oliver." Finally, Tommy looked her in the eye. "You do look beautiful."

What does one say when she'd just been caught making out with Oliver Queen and her actual date had just caught them? "Thank you…"

It hit her. She'd just been caught with Oliver Queen. Her stomach took another tumble. She thought of all they did together for the city and wondered for the very first time, what might happen should this one amazing kiss, become something more. Would it be a good thing?

Would it be bad?

"I owe you more than an apology for what I did tonight." Tommy soldiered on. "For what I said… and didn't mean." It was a pointed remark. "I was an asshole in so many ways."

Nodding at him felt like the better alternative to squeaking.

"Why did Laurel leave?" Oliver asked.

At which point, Tommy looked like he was feeling one too many things. "She, ah… she said any apology to Felicity would feel trite, which feels more like an excuse than anything else." He added in a mutter as Oliver released what sounded like a deeply unhappy sigh. "But she also said that she needs to think about all this and what it means for her. She doesn't know what to say to you yet." This he said to Oliver. "It's not an easy thing realising you're not the one for the person you love, especially when you didn't stick around." When he followed Felicity. "No one was chasing her. So, she left. No, sorry," he lifted a hand. "She finished her wine, and Felicity's-"

"My Domaine?" Helpless against a good wine, this felt numbing. "She drank it?"

Grimacing, "I'm afraid so." Tommy pressed his lips together, watching as she drooped. "Then she left." He winced. "That's not good is it?"

"I don't think it is." Felicity offered, quietly as she mourned the loss of that beautiful glass of shimmering red.

"Give her some time." Oliver said. "Tonight was… a lot. I think we could all use some distance."

She stilled. Does that include me?

The stroke of his thumbs on her arms unfroze her.

Not me then.

"Except, all we've had the last few months is distance Oliver." Tommy. "I needed it, but not talking was stupid."

The simple way he summarised it made them all smile.

"I'm not… ready to talk about some things, but I need you to know." Pausing, Tommy took in his best friend, uncaring of how close he was to his date and Felicity didn't have the guts to look Oliver in the face just yet. "I don't blame you for being with Laurel. I mean, when I thought you were with her. Heck, I don't even blame you for my father."

But at this, she did look up. Did search Oliver's eyes. Did see the sheen there, the way Malcolm Merlyn's death haunted him and the hope he still possessed of ever being forgiven by his once best friend.

"You did the right thing." Finally. Thank you, Tommy. "I've just had a hard time accepting what the right thing really was. Not everyone can do what has to be done but you did and I… I punished you for it." He took a moment, a breath, before coming a little closer-

To which Felicity took a step away.

And Oliver's head jerked back, following her.

For the first time, she got a good look at him and what their kiss had done. He looked exactly the same, except his tie was a bit skewed, ahem, and his lips were puffier. His eyes were asking her why she was moving at all. Golly.

She told him without saying a word that now was the time for him to set things straight with Tommy.

His stare asked her why she couldn't be part of that.

Oh.

Looking between them, Tommy didn't miss it. "It is so the wrong time to talk about this here, isn't it?"

Brow furrowing, Felicity moved to denial. "No…"

"Maybe." Oliver breathed, still confused and curious by, oh, everything she does and says.

"Listen," and the impish caution in Tommy's voice had klaxons blaring in Felicity's head, "why don't you both go back in there. No, listen." He cut Felicity off as her mouth opened. "I cancelled my order and Laurel's, but I didn't cancel your French Laundry." This smile erupted across his jaw and he sent Oliver such a dude look, Felicity almost cried with joy. "That sounds so fucking dirty."

And to see Oliver's hand come up to scrub across his mouth, to see the bashful, very male smirk flare into existence as it screamed yes, I know it does and that's why I like it, was something to savour… and have her jaw drop for.

His eyes flickered to her briefly, almost shamefully.

"Hey," she shrugged, her smile was wide, "I was the one who chose it."

The boyish laugh that came from him sounded like bubbles.

"Anyway," Tommy added through his own grin, "I thought maybe you'd both enjoy the meal without misery one and two sitting next to you."

"No, Tommy we-"

Tommy's hand lifted again. "It's the truth and it's alright. I have been miserable but tonight I was also cruel, and I need to find a way to make up for that." His hands clasped together, rubbing palm against palm. "So, make me feel better and eat the food you ordered."

As in, her and Oliver: eating at a table for two instead of four? Ending the evening the exact opposite to how they'd started it?

Could they do that?

There was a pause where she wondered just what Oliver would say: she'd been so ready to escape before, but now, after that kiss, she couldn't honestly say she wanted to leave him.

But that might be in the same place he was.

He'd kissed her, sure. But he'd also apologised for it. He might not want to sit with her and eat what she'd hoped would be amazing food, in an extremely romantic environment-

"You guys decide between you!" Backing off, like this had been his plan from the very start, Tommy took long, cautious steps towards the main floor. "The table we were supposed to have?" He threw at Felicity who was reeling from his transition from eternally heartbroken, to weary and repentant, to wicked. "It's free! So, they've moved you over." He chuckled, and it sounded strained. "It's on a different level… it may or may not be overlooking the entirety of the restaurant."

"Tommy…" Oliver exhaled.

"I'm shit-stirring but I mean well." And Tommy's grin accounted for that: there were still a thousand things wrong between him, Oliver and Laurel, but this was a start. A moment free of animosity, judgement and tears. Until the next time, or maybe not. Maybe they could see tomorrow with a new set of eyes. "Guys…" he lost some of his energy and it was clear then, that it was all for show. He needed them to have a nice time because he'd lied.

He'd lied to Felicity about needing to get his groove back. He'd lied to Laurel about his feelings, about his reasons. He'd lied to Oliver about the same, punishing him because Tommy hadn't made a difference in any area of his life.

Oliver had.

Exhaling, Felicity didn't speak, but she nodded at him. Agreeing to consider it.

Oliver chose to be verbal: an unusual reversal between him and her. "Okay Tommy."

After he was gone, it was as if his absence created a vacuum. Suddenly she was wordless: they both were. What had been heady, brand new and wonderful became a hum of nervous energy, of tension and questions and words left unsaid in lieu of their kiss.

All at once, her fears hit her full on: we work together. We work together, and we KISSED. This is bad; this is all the bad because Oliver- the man was insufferable. He'll pull back, probably date some rich socialite like Helena and I'll have to watch like one of those garden gnomes with unparalleled IT skills as we fight crime together, living long hours, pretending this never happened and I can't do that. I'm sorry, I can't. I won't. If he so much as thinks about telling me 'we'll talk later', like he did with Laurel, he's going to discover a less than appealing side to me; a side where I talk, and he listens-

"I think we should stay."

It was polarising: like being dunked in cold water. "What?"

"We should stay." And he was just staring at her, like he could do it all day and immediately she was remembering the soft prickle of his beard against her chin and how his eyes were smoky now; as if he was remembering the same thing. "We should…" he swallowed, "eat. Dinner. Together." A flash of something free and easy in his eyes, made a ripple of breathy laughter escape him. "You can tell I don't do this often. Laurel planned tonight, in case you hadn't noticed."

Is he- was Oliver feeling insecure?

"I know it's strange." He was speaking in stops and starts, as if afraid of each and every word and what they may imply. "I know we don't do this. We don't usually do out for the evening at restaurants that make us both uncomfortable…"

"We don't usually kiss either."

A rush of air left him. "No, we don't." Gaze dropping to her lips, Oliver advanced a step towards her. "Not sure why at the moment."

Did he just say that? "I don't think," it was her turn to sound breathy and undone, "you were interested that way." Was but one of the many reasons they hadn't-

"It was less a matter of interest, more…" he searched for the right word just as his eyes looked into hers. "The timing was wrong. I didn't want you pulled into my history, not when you didn't have to be."

Not when she hadn't lived it. No thank you.

"I don't know what this is." He admitted, and she was glad for it; for the honesty and how he sounded exactly like she felt. In brand new territory. "It could be nothing. We could go upstairs and find that we're no different from before; that there's nothing there. We could just eat and have a nice dinner." He licked his lips and there was this light in his eyes that infiltrated the places where her doubts could roam. "Or we could go upstairs and realise that maybe there's something there worth fighting for." Worth eating at the Lamont, paying through the nose and dressing in a way that makes her mouth dry. "Something that makes this night…" something stopped him, made his brow furrow. "No, that's wrong."

She shook her head, what?

"I was going to say, 'something that makes this night worth it', but we kissed so… it already is." He spoke like he was holding his breath. "Either way, Felicity Smoak… you asked me what I want?" Each pause was hurting her chest. "I want you to have dinner with me. That's it."

His smile was something out of a fairy tale.

Nodding - vigorously, I am with you 100% - bringing a hand to her breastbone because wow; this evening wasn't going at all how she thought it would, Felicity looked him directly. No avoidance. No running away. This could be terrible. It could be nothing.

"…Let's go eat."

He held out a hand.

And she took it.

One hour later.

Two hours later.

Three.

FIVE.

It wasn't nothing.

"Tommy," she whisper-hissed into her phone, her elbow holding her weight on the bed, "now is not a good time-"

"Why, because you're in bed with Oliver?"

Mouth open, it mouthed soundlessly into the void.

"Wait, I was joking." And this here was exactly why her friendship with Tommy was always kind of dangerous: the man was excitable and likely to shout her sex life from the rooftops that- "Holy shit!"

Ngh. Tommy. The bridge of her nose creased, her eyes closing. "Can we table this conversation until the morning hours?" That were only two hours away. "I don't want to wake him up."

Him being the man over her shoulder, deep asleep. Under the covers, WITH HER, in the bed.

Naked.

He'd been a busy boy, after all. It's earned. Her cheeks coloured at the memory. Boy was it.

"No, no, no, no, you can't go! You've got to tell me. Details. Just pretend I'm not a man for a moment: did he make you come? Did he pay attention? Was it good for you too?"

If she and Oliver hadn't represented perfectly the 69 of legend just 93 minutes ago, her cheeks would be aflame right now. "Yes, yes and yes. Satisfied? Can I go to sleep now?"

"No and no."

"Goodnight Tommy."

"Call me in the morning."

"That's two hours away."

"Nu uh, my morning starts at ten."

Of course it did: no wonder his secretary hated him. "I'm turning my phone off."

And she did before he could say another word.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she gently placed her phone down. He doesn't sleep much as it is. Muscles sore - the good kind of sore - her very tired body refused to focus on the dizzy joy her brain couldn't currently handle and chose to, instead, slowly turn back into her mattress. Snuggle under her duvet…

And allow the strong arm that reached for her, bring her close to join him.

"Was that Tommy?" He murmured sleepily into the skin of her throat.

Her heart fluttered as the rest of her relaxed into his warmth. Utterly sated. Happy. "Yeah."

"Does he do that a lot?"

"Hm?"

"Does he call at 4am a lot?"

"It depends." On whether he needed her to stop him from drinking himself into a coma. Or dwelling. "Once or twice a week."

"…Oh." Unable to draw the will to make a bog deal out of what was bothering him, Oliver simply added. "Thank you for being there for him."

And he felt her smile against his brow, his hand tightening on the skin just above her backside.

It was everything.