And here it is! The conclusion to my little tale (or so I think at the moment). I sort of lost my muse over the holiday so I apologize for the delay in getting this posted. The reviews on this story have seriously warmed my heart (and make me want to write a lot more here). I am a writer by day so getting to come home and indulge my inner Oliciter makes up for all the professional writing I do during the day.

So onward, I hope this fulfills our angsty needs for today. Enjoy!

She knew he would come. He was Oliver after all. And if there was one thing she could count on with Oliver was his predictability. That often translated into his ridiculous guilt complex, but she saw the larger theme of dependability. Stability. His desire to be there and to take care of those in his life, no matter the cost.

And she chose to take Oliver in his entirety, guilt, demons and all.

Because of that, she knew he would come eventually. To check on her, make sure her windows were locked, that her alarm system was functioning. To make sure she was still here and hadn't run off to another city, away from the weight of his secret and his mission. Away from him. He would also come to assuage his own guilt. To see the pain in her face and let it add to the mantle he already carried around his neck each day.

Truthfully, she wished he would stay away for the very same reason. But she knew he would come.

So she washed her face of the tears that had stubbornly fallen. She smoothed her hair back into a neat ponytail. She even took the time to brush her teeth, though she didn't know why. Anything that made her feel put together added a layer of brick to the wall she needed to keep high while he was there. A part of her wanted, no needed, to crash and burn in his arms. To cry, to let herself feel the pain that had been bubbling under the surface. But not with him here. She couldn't.

Clenching her fists around her bathroom counter, she took in her appearance in the mirror. The tender tissue beneath her eyes was darker than concealer could effectively cover, clear evidence of the nightmares that haunted her dreams. The bruises she tried so hard to cover were visible along her arms and peeking out above the neckline of her tank top. Her breasts were black and blue, and dressing that week had been tortuous as a result. Thankfully, that was easy to hide from Oliver and Diggle, but the bruises on her arms a little less so. Tonight, they seemed to take on a life all their own, taunting her. She could feel the nerve endings beneath them still firing, remembering the slimy, cold hands that made them.

With a hiss, she shook her head sharply. Stop it. He does not have power over you. He's dead. You survived. You ARE a survivor Felicity Smoak. Her internal monologue had been the same all week. She was intelligent enough to know that the assault was not her fault, that she had put herself in a position of risk, yes. But that she was not at fault for what had happened. For what the Count had done. In the corner of her brain, she knew that she was being too logical, too rational about this. But what option did she have? Felicity Smoak did not fall apart. She did not crumble into anyone's arms, but especially not Oliver Queen's.

She shuddered, remembering the pain and devastation she had seen in his eyes. She had planned to never tell him, and still inwardly berated herself for being weak. For letting him in. She was an open person with few devastating secrets on a normal day, but this one was damaging to more than her.

While she may be able to compartmentalize the damage to herself, she couldn't hide or even look away as her words inflicted damage to Oliver. She had visibly seen the burden on his shoulders as she spoke, as he realized. She could practically dictate the thoughts that had gone through his mind in that moment. It's my fault. If I had been there faster. I failed her. If not for me, this wouldn't have happened. If I..if I…

For a moment, she joined in, feeling the weight of her own guilt. She had wanted to protect him from this. She may not be able to stop someone from attacking him, though she would always try. She couldn't prevent Isabel from getting under his skin or going after Queen Consolidated, but she tried. But she could prevent Oliver from knowing what had happened that night, from the pain she'd endured, from the nightmares that made insomnia a blessing. And she had failed him.

The weight of that reality followed her as she walked to her couch. She doesn't remember when she opened the bottle of wine on her coffee table but she didn't have any qualms about pouring herself a generous glass and settling back.

Something about the scene made her internally chuckle. Sitting there in the dark, bruised and broken in ways she couldn't begin to think about, alcohol in hand, waiting for Starling City's very own billionaire CEO and vigilante to come wallow in his own guilt. She needed these moments. She needed to build up the arguments she knows she will need. She has to convince him that this isn't his fault. She can't be the one to add to his burden. She had made it part of her mission, part of her goal as his Girl Friday and his friend to alleviate the burden, to take some of his pain.

So she stayed there, shivering a bit in the dark, steeling herself against the pain she refused to acknowledge while preparing to shoulder his.

It was well past midnight and her bottle of cab was half gone when he knocked lightly on the door. With a deep sigh, she rose from the couch, not bothering to set down her glass and padded softly to the front door.

She didn't need to check her peephole to know that he was waiting on the other side of the door. She swung it open, eyes falling to the floor as he came into view.

"Hey."

His gentle tone, much like the one he had used in front of her when he shut the door on their non-existent relationship, drew her attention and she let her eyes trace up his body to his face.

He had forgone the tux for jeans and a sweater, looking surprisingly at ease in her doorway, especially considering the state he had been in when she left him at the mansion. The faint light from the hallway illuminated his face, showing the red around his eyes and the ticking muscle in his jaw.

Without a word, she gestured for him to come in, waiting until he had passed to close and lock the door, before retreating back to her perch on the couch. The chill she had been unable to shake settled over the room as she felt his eyes on her from the entryway. With a sigh, she curled her feet underneath her, spreading the bright orange blanket from the back of the couch over her feet in a hope to cut the chill. As an afterthought, she moved aside the throw pillows on the couch, making room for him and offering an invitation without a word.

He seemed to understand her unspoken cue and sat by her, leaving a few inches between his leg and her curled up feet. Despite the distance, the heat of his body filled the space and she had to resist curling closer to it. For a moment, her resolve weakened, and the cold, tired, exhausted side of her wanted nothing more than to lean against his side and rest. And maybe cry. To enjoy the feeling of safety that was inherently Oliver. But she knew that wasn't an option. She couldn't be that girl. The stronger she was, the more she was able to hide the pain. And the less pain he saw, the better.

The silences between them had never been uncomfortable, and she wouldn't say this one was either. It was heavy however. And she found his steady gaze towards her in an effort to break it. But what she saw there stopped anything she had planned to say.

His eyes were clear and somehow soft. But determined. The anger was still there, but it was more tempered than it had been before. There was a layer of something else. Something she couldn't define or maybe, was afraid to. Hopeful to. It was a look she never expected he would favor her with. Worry, concern, trepidation, yes. But tenderness? That was something she never expected. And she found that in the wake of her realization, she had nothing to say.

He wanted to break the silence, but he honestly didn't know how. So he watched her, hoping to cue in on what she was feeling or thinking in that moment, anything to keep him from saying the wrong thing.

What had been covered by makeup for the last few days was plain to see now and he felt nauseous looking at the bruises on her arms. He silently hoped that was the extent of it, praying in his mind that her body was not marked by the Count the way her soul had.

She was too good for this. Dig had pointed that out to him in a way he couldn't ignore. Realizing the extent of her selflessness, not just towards their mission as a team, but to him, as a person, as her friend, floored him and honestly stole his breath. He couldn't remember the last time, if ever, someone had shown that kind of deep regard for him. Much less someone who knew all of him – deep, dark, scary, and all. No, only Felicity.

Observing her now, he couldn't help but feel the sucker punch of what that regard had cost her hit him in the chest. But as quickly as it struck him, he pushed it aside. What Dig had said about her taking care of him had made him sick only because it was so true, so accurate. Why else would she hide something so damaging, so terrifying. Why else would she try to walk through it alone.

She truly was remarkable.

She must have read his thoughts, eyes lifting hesitantly to meet his. For a moment, he gazed back at her, trying with all his might to communicate the emotions he knew he had trouble expressing. His admiration of her. His commitment to be there, to come for her, to look after her. His anger at what she had suffered. But most importantly, his focus on her. She stared at him, narrowing her eyes. He knew she was looking for the guilt, waiting for it. And even though the apology was on the tip of his tongue, he held it back, biting back the words that would raise her wall even higher. Knowing that in that moment, he had to be her friend. Not the Arrow. Not even Oliver Queen, her boss. But Oliver, her friend. Her friend that was terrified for her. Heartbroken over the trauma she had endured. He had to see that she could let him in.

If she has to do it much longer, she's going to break.

Dig's warning echoed in his mind, reminding him yet again of the urgency, of his purpose. It was time to take care of her. To be strong for her. To save her like she saved him day after day. To bring her in from the cold.

Locked eye to eye, he reached out a hesitant hand for hers, not touching it until she opened her palm to him. As soon as his large fingers called around hers, his eyes shot down in shock. Her hands were ice cold, despite the relative warmth of the room. His concern must've shown on his face as he looked back to her.

"I haven't been able to get warm. Not since I got home that night. It's just…cold," her voice wavered a bit as she spoke, making Oliver's chest ache. She instinctively pulled her blanket closer and started to pull her hand back.

He surprised her and himself by keeping a hold of it, rubbing it between both of his hands gently to stimulate circulation and hopefully warm her up a bit. Enclosed in both of his hands, he noticed how delicate hers was. It struck a chord within him and he felt the primal urge to protect the woman in front of him, to guard her from all harm, to look after her.

But you already failed.

Clenching his eyes shut, he fought against the thought. He had. He knew he had. He would be beating himself up for the rest of his life for not saving her from this. But tonight, he had the chance to do what he could do. However small it was.

When his eyes opened again, she had looked away, the tension in her neck noticeable as she fixed her gaze across the room. He resisted the urge to knead the tight muscle, knowing that would cross more lines than he could redraw, and could likely push her further behind the wall he was trying to climb.

"Felicity," his voice was a little firmer now, gentle but insistent. She turned towards him then, still allowing him to hold her hand in his. "I need to know. Are you hurt? Physically?" He hated to ask, but he knew that if she was injured, she wouldn't have said anything to him.

She inhaled sharply, jerking her eyes from him. "I'm fine," she ground out, stiffening her spine even tighter. With an imperceptible shake of his head, he tugged on her hand again. He couldn't let her shake this off.

"Felicity, you're not fine. Please don't lie to me," his soft tone betrayed the anguish he was feeling.

She sighed deeply, trying to hide the slight hitch he heard in her throat as she did so. "Just bruises, Oliver."

Those words carried a weight that filled the room. She tried to minimize it, but he could see the emotions playing across her face, knowing that she remember each bruise as it happened. That each bruise was a touch she had not permitted. That had been forced on her.

The rage he had barely kept in check earlier filled his veins to capacity and he had to consciously keep his hold on her hand soft, for fear of breaking the precious bones in his anger. He had tried to suppress the thought, the image, of the Count touching her, knowing that it would send him over the edge, but as he let his gaze drop to Felicity, he was unable to stop them.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the small container of ointment he had stopped to grab on the way. It seemed like such an insignificant thing, a band-aid on a gunshot wound, so to speak. Yet, something told him it was necessary. She had put the same cream on him so many times, reminding him that bruises still hurt, even if they faded quickly. Looking at her now, his heart broke knowing that those bruises cut deeper into her than he could see, and would carry scars long after they faded away.

He opened the cap and squeezed a small amount on his finger, warming it slightly between his fingers before looking up to her. With a calm and reassuring gaze, he spoke softly, "Felicity, can I touch you?"

The words seemed so ridiculous, so out of place, especially with this woman who thrived on giving and receiving affection. But he had read before coming here that it was what he needed to do, he needed to let things happen on her terms. To give her back a sense of control.

She looked anxiously from his hands to her arms where the bruises took on the foreboding shape of fingertips before nodding. He scooted a bit closer and gently took her arm in his grasp, rubbing the ointment over her bruises as softly as he could with the other hand. Her skin was so cold beneath his, and he noticed the goosebumps that rose as soon as he touched her. Catching her eyes, he smiled a reassuring smile and inwardly relaxed a bit when the tension in her arm released, softening in his grasp. He knew she wasn't afraid of him, that much was obvious after the week they had had. But he didn't want to push her. Didn't want her to feel anything but care from him. He repeated his ministrations silently, looking up at her at regular intervals to reassure her. Her eyes never left his face, searching. Waiting for something. Not untrusting, but unsure. He moved quietly to her other arm, noticing that the bruises were darker on this side, more pronounced. She hissed softly as he rubbed over a particularly dark one, roughly the size of a tennis ball with trails of yellow and green marring the flesh. Her soft noise of pain was like a knife in his heart and he had to take a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

While he was focused on taking care of her, the intimacy of the moment was not lost on him and it scared him to the core. On one hand, he was afraid to hurt her, to add to her trauma, to somehow trigger the pain she was keeping so tightly coiled inside her. On the other hand, he was terrified to end it. To step out of this bubble where it was just him, a man, Oliver – not a billionaire CEO or even a crime-fighting vigilante – but a man. Taking care of a woman he cared for. More deeply than he was willing to admit. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to replace the feelings of fear and pain she was trying to hide from him with security and even…love. He wanted to tear down the wall she was hiding behind and make her feel safe there with him.

He was afraid this was all clear in his eyes as they lifted to meet hers. "Is there anywhere else?" He resisted the urge to stroke her cheek then, seeing how delicate and vulnerable she looked sitting in front of him. In the same moment, she reminded him of her strength, steeling herself as he watched and withdrawing a bit. She self-consciously tugged on her shirt, pulling the blanket higher, but not before Oliver caught a glimpse of the skin above her neckline.

"Felicity…" he regretted the gasp that came out as his eyes took in the black and blue marbling across her chest and running beneath the soft border of her tank top. He didn't let his eyes follow the progression of the bruises but his mind filled in the rest, sending white hot anger into his veins. Moving his hands to his sides, he clenched them for a moment, trying desperately to cool his rage before turning back to her. She needed him. Not angry him. But him. He had to cool down now.

She had tried to cover the bruising but knew it was too late. Oliver had seen the bruises and more than likely had imagined how extensive they were. She watched as he turned away slightly, trying to calm the anger she had seen flash through his eyes. The gentle calm in the room broken, she leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. She knew him, she knew what was going through his mind right now.

"Oliver, please. This isn't your fault. Please-" Her voice came out much weaker than she would have liked, but stronger than he expected considering the soft haze she had fallen into who while he took care of her arms.

He turned to her with an unreadable look in his eyes, tilting his head to the side. His lips were pressed firmly together and she felt a wave of guilt crash over her as he gazed at her.

He moved to his knees, crouching in front of her, regarding her with a stare of quiet intensity, "Felicity," he choked slightly on her name, and she felt her eyes well as she watched the emotion flick unchecked across his face. "I am…I am so sorry he hurt you." She opened her mouth to speak, but he gripped her hand, pausing the argument she was about to make. "I know you made your choice to stand by me. And what you did going after him alone…" he shook his head, "was stupid. Very brave, but stupid." She dropped her head, losing the battle to the wave of guilt washing over her in the moment. His forefinger appeared in her line of vision, tipping her chin to face him. His eyes softened as he caught sight of the tears threatening to fall. "Felicity, I wish with every piece of me that I had prevented this. That I had saved you from this. That I hadn't been too late. I would go back in a heartbeat and take your place. Take the pain. Keep you safe. I would do anything to take the pain from you right now."

She had stopped trying to hold back the tears, knowing that she had failed her singular goal. She had caused him pain. Inadvertently, yes. But all the same. She felt the cold intensify around her and tried to choke back the sob that was threatening to fall from her lips when she felt his hands on her cheeks, lifting her gaze to his again.

"Felicity, listen to me. I'm sorry I wasn't there, but right now-" he caught her dipping chin, cupping her face softly in his hands, "right now I can't change what happened. Right now, I want to ease your pain. I want to help you. I know you didn't want me to know. You didn't want to add to my pain. But I can't bear to see you like this. This isn't your burden to bear alone, Felicity." His eyes were bright and she could see the sincerity, the urgency in his expression as he lowered his voice, "Please, let me help you. Let me in."

His words proved to be her undoing, combined with the thrill that jumped through her chest at his touch. Her strength faltered and she cracked, the tears pouring from her eyes and body hunching over.

She heard a low keening cry, not even realizing it had come from her until she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her, circling her and tugging her into the place of safety she had purposefully avoided all week. His cheek pressed to her hair, his hands running softly across her back and down her arms, his words softly repeating that she wasn't alone, that she was safe. For the first time in days, she believed it. And the wave she had tried to stay above crashed over her.

Oliver didn't know whether to be terrified or relieved as Felicity collapsed into his arms, shaking and weeping, grasping onto him as if he was the only thing keeping her from drowning. He didn't give himself the moment to over think it, hauling her into his chest and moving to lean against the back of the couch. She buried her face in his neck, laying across his lap as she sobbed. He caught himself pressing reassuring kisses to the crown of her head, whispering that she was safe, that he had her, that he wasn't letting go. He wasn't sure if any of it was penetrating, but he kept telling her, hoping that the words would take root in her soul and begin to replace the fear that had taken up residence there.

Holding her, he felt the emotion of the moment hit him as well and he wasn't surprised to find tears on his own face as his heart broke over the woman in his arms. Her strength and fortitude astounded him, even in this moment. Knowing that she had held all of this inside, for his sake, was a reality that would take him longer than tonight to process. It changed things. How could it not? But in the moment, it served to show the depth of her beauty. Of her devotion to him. Closing his eyes, he could only hold her closer, infusing all the warmth he could into her cold frame, willing his arms to replace the ones that her terrorized her and wounded her. Willing his gentle touch on her arms to erase the bruising grip she felt that night. Willing the overwhelming care that he felt towards her to permeate the walls that had been erected around her heart since the Count battered her soul. He knew he couldn't take her pain, however badly he wanted to, but now, here, he could fight it. He could beat it back. Not with his bow and arrows, or with his brute strength, but with his embrace, with a gentle hand through her hair, with quiet promises of safety in her ear.

And he did. Long after he felt her muscles relax and her body began to collapse tiredly against him. Long after her shuddering sobs turned to whimpers and then to quiet puffs of breath on his neck. Long after she cried herself into an exhausted sleep, plagued by night terrors that rivaled his own. Long after he covered them both with the blanket on her couch, tucking her in to ward off the cold. Long after he fell asleep himself, still wrapped around her tightly.

He would keep beating it back, as long as she would let him.

- Fin -

And there we have it. I hope that was wrapped up to your satisfaction! I adore the dynamic between Oliver and Felicity, and while I'm sure some would have added a declaration of love or even a kiss, I cherish this slow burn we have going on. I think it adds an inherent depth to their relationship that God willing, we will see play out in a beautiful way when we get first kiss, or that first admission of love.

Anyway, thank you all for reading, reviewing, following, and favorite-ing! I've written fanfiction for years but this is my first 'published' story so the feedback and response has been amazing. Now I may just have to write some more :). Thanks all!

-bethygrace