AN: Guys - I'm so sorry about how long this chapter has taken. I have a four month old son and my husband is away for work (and will be for a while longer) so my time really isn't my own. But anyway - your support for this story and continued interest has been wonderful and astounding, and I love you all for it! Buckle in, dearies!

"I don't feel right, leaving you."

"You don't have much of a choice, Ky," she responds. "You have a job and a life somewhere else."

"Well, what if I moved back to the city?"

Felicity's hand stops halfway to her mouth, a hearty bite of Cheerios perched haphazardly on the spoon; Kylie returns her gaze openly from across the table. She's too shocked to make an immediate reply.

"But you hate the city," she finally manages.

"I don't hate it," her friend corrects. "And even if I did, that wouldn't matter. You need me, Lis."

"Kylie …"

"Don't try to deny it. And I want to be here for you, all the time, not just when I can take time off work to make the drive."

Felicity drops her spoon back into the bowl without taking the prepared bite. This was not a conversation she was expecting to have, and she can't immediately decide what she thinks about Kylie's proposal. She misses her friend, of course, and would love to slip back into the daily camaraderie that comes from such close proximity with friends; therein, however, lays the problem. Part of the reason she has been able to keep Oliver's identity – and her involvement with his vigilante persona – a secret is because her life is so insulated from everyone else. Kylie is the only person with whom Felicity is close enough to notice the strange hours she keeps, or how decidedly little time she spends at home; if she moves back to the city, how will she balance the two halves of her work?

This train of thought takes her back to a night that feels like a lifetime ago, when she was trying on shoes for a date that had never happened. She remembers professing to Oliver that she wasn't sure that she should even attempt to start a new relationship when so much of her life is cast in shadow, and must remain that way: how much more difficult will it be if the relationship is not a new one, but a long standing one? Would it even be possible to keep such a secret from Kylie? The woman is a genius, and even if by some stroke of extreme luck she didn't find out, Felicity doesn't see how their relationship wouldn't undergo the huge strain required to keep such a secret.

"Lis?"

Kylie's question pulls her from the chaos of her thoughts.

"You don't look very happy about it," the other woman muses.

"It's not that, Ky; of course I'd love to have you close again! It's just … the idea of you uprooting your life just for me makes me feel … guilty. And what about your job? You love your job!"

"It's just a job, Lis, I can get another one. I can't get another you."

Touched, Felicity gives her friend a lopsided smile and reaches across the table to take one of her friend's slim hands in hers.

"I'm …" She'd been about to say 'not going anywhere', but it occurs to her how very false those words are, so she redirects. "It's a lot to give up for one person, Ky."

"No it's not," she answers firmly. "I haven't made an absolute decision yet, it's just something I've been thinking about. I just wanted to see what you thought about it."

"I think you should think it over some more, and if – after rational, intense thought – you still want to do it, then I will gladly help you apartment hunt."

Kylie smiles, and Felicity thinks it looks a little something like relief. "Good. Now finish your soggy cereal."

They lapse into a comfortable silence, but Felicity's thoughts are roiling: only moments ago she had been deliberating over the current state (or non-state) of her relationship with Oliver, and now those thoughts are fighting for room in the presence of Kylie's lately shared idea. How is one person to be expected to juggle such a mess of opposing elements? She has stepped into a grey area with Oliver that hides somewhere between the lines of lovers and friends; she still works for his family company during the day and moonlights as one of his sidekicks at night; and now, if Kylie moves back to Starling City, she will have to juggle all of those things with maintaining the secret of what she does with most of her nights from the person who is closest to her in the world.

Well, perhaps it's more accurate to say one of the people closest to her, because she has to admit that Oliver has been getting closer (and she doesn't think he's going to stop now). This must be a little like what Oliver feels with the two halves of his life, and she wonders that he hasn't gone certifiably insane yet.

"Where's Ollie?" Kylie asks then, as if clairvoyant.

"Gone. He had to take care of some orders for the club or something."

Which, surprisingly, is true.

"Damn, I didn't get to say goodbye. Tell him for me?"

"Course."

Felicity releases a silent sigh and gives up on finishing her cereal. Today is, unfortunately, Monday: she's going back to work, and Kylie has officially run out of paid leave and is returning home. While she will miss her friend, she's also a little glad to finally be able to return to the foundry and feel like she's useful again. She's also not upset to be going back to work, because she does miss her computers and her quiet little office. Her boss has been very gracious and understanding in the face of current events, but it will do Felicity good to go back to work and slip into a routine once again.

Although she does hate the 'up-before-six-so-she-can-be-to-work-by-eight' part of the routine.

Kylie follows her upstairs so they can chat as Felicity prepares for the day, helping her pick out a nice outfit to wear that she insists will make the pretty blonde in the IT department the talk of the office; Felicity grins and goes with it, because it certainly can't hurt if she can cover a little of her still present anxiety with clothes that will help her feel confident. She pulls her hair back into the low ponytail that she hasn't worn in many days and then spends one long, drawn out moment trying to decide what to do for her vision; with a determined sort of sigh she picks up her glasses and slides them on for the first time since that night in her apartment.

Slowly but surely, she thinks, she is making progress.

Well, progress on this front, anyway; she still hasn't made any progress on the Oliver front, and perhaps it is the comfort of slipping back into a routine that makes her boldly promise herself, then and there, that she is going to have a very serious conversation with Oliver – tonight. She is tired of being in limbo and they can't keep living this way, so she has decided that they will come to a decision, no matter what sort it is.

She is an adult and so is Oliver, and she doesn't think she's been imagining the way he watches her or the decidedly possessive way he holds her at night; a relationship between them would certainly be chaotic, she knows, but she is coming to understand that chaos is the very nature of life. Perhaps he still has feelings for Laurel, but if he wants a relationship with her enough – if his feelings for her are strong enough – to make him (basically) choose her instead, then Felicity is ready to dive in as well. There is every possibility that things will end badly, or at least less than happy, but there is also the possibility that they will be spectacular together. She wants the chance to find out, either way, and she has spent far too long trying to convince herself that going after what she wants is a bad idea; she refuses to be afraid of the possibility of happiness any longer.

That's the crux of the problem, she has come to realize: she is not afraid of what will happen if a relationship doesn't work between them, but what will happen if it does. No more: she will face the chaos of it all and, no matter the outcome, she will survive.

When she says goodbye to Kylie not long after and promises to call her soon, Felicity makes her way into work with a determination and clarity of purpose that burns brightly in her breast.

She wants Oliver, and she wants him enough to go after him.

Digg's footsteps ring against the metal stairs as he makes his way out of the basement. She listens as he disappears and then lets out a quiet sigh when she can't hear him anymore; it was nice to see Digg again after what feels like ages, but her mind is full of thoughts that she can't shake, and would rather not share. At least, not with Digg.

Oliver is still out in the city, probably looking for some trace of the man responsible for the attacks on her life, but she has a feeling that there's nothing to be found. His words, the conviction in his voice when he'd practically sworn that he would find that man … she knows that he won't give up, just like she knows that he won't find anything. Whoever this Lord Tennyson person is, he is well hidden and has apparently chosen to back off from his search for her and the little book – at least for now. The idea of him terrifies her: knowing that there is someone out there with as much power as he obviously has, and that said person wants something from her … she's not sure how to deal with that knowledge. The thing that she's come to understand, however, is that she not only has to deal with it, she now has to live with it. She has to accept the facts and find a way to move on with her life, while she still can … while she still has a life.

Felicity is staring at the computer screens in front of her, but she's not seeing the images and information displayed there: she's seeing the events of her life of the last few weeks, watching as everything around her becomes impossibly complicated and tangled and … confusing. She can remember that night she'd stood outside Verdant, Oliver's pulse steady beneath her fingers and his breath warm against her cheeks … the sound of the bat striking her attacker's head … the taste of ice cream on Oliver's tongue and his broad hand cradling her head. All of it seems disconnected, as if each event was a separate dream from years ago that she's just beginning to remember, and yet she understands how each moment was drawing her forward – no, catapulting her into the future that has now become the present. These are the moments and memories that are not tinged with the fear of death, of nothingness; these, and those like them, are what she has to remind her that she is still alive. Oliver, Digg, Kylie … these are the people that matter most to her now, the people that form the pillars of support that she has leaned so heavily upon in the last weeks.

In a strange way, the man who ordered the hits on her – because what else could they have been? – has changed her life in ways that she would never have expected; he has had a very profound effect on her, and one that she's certain wasn't intended. Yes, she is having to learn how to live with the constant and uncomfortable fear of dying, but that same fear is also making her realize a truth that she's not certain she would have come to otherwise: she does not want to be one of those people who dies before they are dead. Her fear of death does not make it any less of a certainty – everyone dies – but in the last few days, she has come to realize that there is something more terrifying than the thought of no longer existing: the thought of not living while she's alive.

"Digg gone for the night?"

It really is her fault for being so entrenched in her thoughts that she didn't hear him, but that doesn't stop her from squeaking in surprise and springing away from the desk, the chair skittering away from her to collapse on the floor somewhere behind her.

Oliver is standing not far behind her – well, in front of her now that she's spun around to face him – and there is a light in his eyes that she knows is laughter, even if his face is impassive. The hand pressed over her heart can feel the way it's racing, and it takes her a moment to catch her breath.

"I think you like making me squeal," she accuses. She doesn't think anything of the comment until one of his blonde eyebrows arch in a look that she can't (or won't) name, and then she realizes how suggestive it sounded and she's blushing against her will. "Hand me one of your arrows."

"Why?"

"So I can smack you with it."

To her surprise, Oliver smiles and shakes his head in bemusement. He places his bow and quiver carefully on one of the long metal tables and then goes about pulling off his gloves. "Digg?" he reminds her.

"Yes, he went home," she answers. She's across the room retrieving the chair and has just bent to pick it up when something glints against the artificial lighting, catching her eye. Curious, she reaches underneath the nearest table and grasps something cool and metal. When she pulls out her hand, there's nothing to do but laugh.

"What?"

She pulls the chair up and then turns to face Oliver, a small silver spoon in her hand. Chuckling, she waves it lightly through the air, and watches the smile that blooms on Oliver's face as he makes the connection.

"I thought it was lost forever."

"Oh, I dunno, things usually have a way of ending up where they're supposed to be."

She plops ungracefully into the office chair and then looks up to find a very serious Oliver watching her. Something in the way his eyes hold hers brings her back to the thoughts that have occupied her mind all day, and she is oddly nervous. A few hours ago, she'd decided that she wanted to open the door on a relationship with this man; now that he's standing in front of her, she's not sure she has the courage to broach the subject with him. What if she's wrong, and he doesn't want a relationship? What if he's decided that it was too complicated? What if she has missed her chance?

"I have something for you."

His words are so unexpected that she's not sure she heard him correctly. "What?"

Oliver ignores her and moves away. He opens one of his wooden cases that she's never asked about and retrieves something, and when he moves back toward her there is a plain brown package in his hand. Felicity pulls herself to her feet without knowing why, a strange pressure tightening her chest as she catalogs his approach; he doesn't stop until he's close – very close – and then he's handing her his ware without a word.

The object is heavier than she was expecting. She makes herself look away from Oliver and down at the thing in her hands; her mind is blank as she pulls the paper away, and then the thoughts explode across her mind like splashes of paint on a canvas.

The leather is dark brown, scratched in a few places and worn, but smooth and beautiful; one of the top corners is broken and bent inward. The plain paper falls away, but her eyes are on the book: a first edition copy of Great Expectations. Her copy – her last gift from her mother. When she pulls open the cover, she gingerly rifles through the pages: they're all there, although some show the evidence of what they've been through.

"I wasn't sure books could be re-bound," Oliver is saying, his voice soft and close. "Especially ones as damaged as yours was. But I figured it was worth a try, because something …"

She knows there are tears in her eyes, she can feel them just waiting to fall, but she doesn't care. "Oliver."

Her voice is a whisper but it stops him midsentence, and then those intense eyes are staring deep into hers. The words won't come, because there aren't any – not really – that can adequately express what he has done for her. She pushes up onto her toes, leaning into the heat of his chest until she feels the pressure of his lips against hers, and the moment she does the tears start to fall. One step, small, and then she is being folded into big arms and held against him; the hand that is not holding her book snakes around his waist. There is no pulling away from this kiss, from this moment and this man; there isn't a single part of her that wants to try.

A lack of air is what finally drives them apart and she is mildly surprised to find one of his hands on her cheek when they do so. She had no idea it was there.

"Do you remember when I told you that we couldn't be friends?" she asks softly.

"You said it was too complicated."

"Well it doesn't even come close to how complicated this will be – you know that, right? I'm a mess – hell, my whole life is a mess, and yours isn't really all that better. All of this isn't just going to disappear because we want it to, and it isn't going to be any easier now that …"

His lips are an effective silencer when they descend upon hers quite suddenly, but she finds that she doesn't mind this sort of interruption to her rambling. In fact, maybe she'll take to rambling more often if this is the sort of reaction she can expect from now on …

"We have a lot to talk about," he says when he pulls away, punctuating his statement by sneaking another quick peck.

"Like the fact that I need to find a new apartment."

He hums against her lips when she mimics his action and presses a kiss against his lips. "Tomorrow."

"Did you even hear me?" she challenges, but he's wiping the tears from her cheeks and she's already starting to smile.

"Yes. New apartment. We can talk about all of that tomorrow; we can talk about everything. Later. Right now, I'm tired and I'm ready to call it a night."

"You do kind of stink, Mr. Queen."

He glares and immediately steps away from her, but she can see the laughter trying to make its way out of him. She grins innocently, her heart lighter than it has been in weeks. All the hours she'd spent today thinking of a way to broach the subject with him – all the hours she'd spent thinking about the sudden changes in her life – and when the moment had come they'd just sort of fallen into it as if they'd always known it would come. Perhaps, in a way, they had: from the moment they'd realized that they were stuck in that strange limbo – maybe even from the moment he'd found her crouched in that corner – perhaps they had always been headed here.

"You coming?"

Felicity smiles at the tall man standing a few feet away from her, unable to contain the emotion that she'd been named for.

Oh yes, things definitely had a way of ending up exactly where they were supposed to be.

"You know what I have a craving for?" she queries, bumping his shoulder with her own as they make their way toward the door.

"What?"

"Ice cream."

She feels one wide, warm hand wrap itself around her smaller one, fingers interlocking with her own, and smiles again – she had no idea Oliver Queen was the hand-holding type.

Secondary AN: I still have many ideas for our wonderful pair, but I have decided that because of the current state of things - both in the story, and in my daily life - that this would be a good place to end this story. I AM planning on a sequel, and I really will do my best to get it out there, but I can't make any promises on when that will be. Thank you all SO much for your kind reviews and encouragement - I had no idea this story would be so well received, but you've made writing it really rewarding. You've been so fantastic that I PROMISE to do my very best to get the sequel up and running as soon as I can.

What do you say ... one more review? ;P