She had repeated his name at least three or four times until he had registered her presence. She had told him to calm down, that they were there, that he didn't need to be afraid, but it had been no use. She had looked at Diggle and had asked him what they should do, because Felicity wasn't good with this, with staying calm in un-calm situations, but Diggle was all soldier when it came to moments like these. Suddenly Oliver moved and caught her completely by surprise. He clung to her, pressed her to his shaking body so hard and so long she was sure he had cracked one of her ribs. She was not even joking. He held on so tight, she hadn't been able to move, and he hadn't let go.
After one minute that had turned really awkward.
Diggle had decided that they needed to get Oliver to hospital. They moved Oliver to the car and into his business-suit. He moved like he was on autopilot with their help, his movements were off and from time to time he flexed his muscles like he was getting ready for a fight. But before he had managed to strike her or Diggle he seemed to notice it was them. Diggle had hinted at Oliver's self-restraint then, and Felicity knew that he was right; a lesser man wouldn't have survived what Oliver was going through, let alone hold himself back from lashing out.
By that time Felicity had a pretty good idea what had really been behind this alleged mass suicide.
Thinking back to it now, it seemed like an unreal memory, like a bad dream, like this couldn't have possibly happened, like she couldn't have possibly seen Oliver like this, so unlike himself, so haunted. Right now he looked so peaceful, as he lay in the hospital bed with the spotless white sheets. His breathing was even, his face was relaxed, he was sleeping calmly, his eyes were no longer moving erratically behind his closed eyelids like they had hours ago. He was no longer restrained, because his self-restraint had ended when they had reached the hospital. Felicity wasn't exactly sure what had trigged it, but once they had entered the clinic Oliver had started lashing out. Against which inner demon he had fought then – Felicity didn't know. Still, Diggle had kept the doctors from adding an antipsychotic to whatever other drug was cycling through Oliver's veins.
They had invented a story about how Diggle had found Oliver in the garage of QC, completely out of it. Diggle had sworn up and down that it wasn't like Oliver Queen to be drugged up, and the doctor had ordered a blood screening, which had left the experts baffled and helpless. Felicity had taken the hint and contacted Star Labs, who had the Vertigo formula and the blood sample from the autopsy long enough to have come up with something. Luckily, they already had working a hypothesis and were willing to support the doctors to develop a treatment. Sadly, it had taken them three hours to come up with anything they felt was save enough to try on an actual human who was supposed to survive. But by then they would have been willing to try almost anything, because by then it had been pretty obvious that the effects wouldn't dissipate by themselves. It had been horrible to watch Oliver like this, but Felicity hadn't been able to bring herself to leave his side. He had asked her to stay with him – or rather; he had told her to stay with him in that no-nonsense voice he had perfected. But there has also been something else there, a certain desperation in the way he had held her that was so uncharacteristic of him; she just couldn't leave his side.
And nobody had asked her to.
The visit to the hospital had been the first time that the fake engagement had come in handy. Nobody questioned her right to be there, to sit with him. She had called Moira, who had come and brought Thea with her immediately. Thea had been especially worked up by what she saw, and Felicity knew that Thea understood that what she was witnessing were the answers to every question she had ever had about the island and why her brother had returned a different man. It wasn't Ollie, it was Oliver fighting against the restraints, one moment threatening to kill some invisible foe, calling him a psychopath, only to become completely still in the next and shed silent tears. It had been when Oliver had yelled a “DAD! NO!” that Thea had fled the room, and Moira had lost the cool facade she was always sporting.
It had been so intense that Felicity couldn't think straight – or un-straight as her normal thought-process was. All she could do was sit there and wait for things to get better.
That had happened around four a.m., when whatever the doctors had given him had finally taken effect. The blood tests they had run every hour were improving, Oliver was calming down until he finally fell asleep. Felicity thought this would be a good moment to pee. “I'll get a coffee, do you want some?” she asked Moira and Thea, who were sitting on chairs next to each other.
Thea wordlessly shook her head, but Moira nodded. “Thank you, Felicity.” She was talking about more than the coffee, Felicity understood that clearly, and despite this crappy situation it felt really nice.
Felicity tried a small smile. “I'll be right back.” She left the room and her eyes instantly landed on John Diggle, who sat on a plastic chair in the hall. He should not be sitting out here; he should be in there with all of them.
The huge man got up from his seat and walked toward her. “How is he?”
“The results of the last blood tests are good. The drug is nearly gone.”
Diggle nodded, relieved. “Detective Lance was here, wanted to talk to you. I told him you'd call him later, when Oliver has woken up. He told me that he already checked the security tapes of the garage, but they were offline at the time.” He tried a small smile. “Well done.”
“Please,” Felicity huffed, “if I couldn't manipulate QC security tapes, I should just go and start waiting on tables with my mom.” She frowned as she contemplated a sudden thought, “Is it even considered hacking, if I installed all the security protocols myself?” She looked at Diggle, “Probably not.”
“No, probably not,” the small smile was still on his face, “you should be more upset when you talk to Lance. Remember, somebody got into your system.”
“Yeah, sure.”
This short answer caused Diggle to stop smiling. “You've been here all night. You should get some sleep.”
“I can't leave, John,” Felicity looked at her friend, “you know I can't.”
He did know; the understanding visible on his face made that clear. He understood all the different reasons she had for wanting to be there when he woke up. Because her being one of the first people Oliver saw when he opened his eyes would sent an unspoken message. And Felicity needed to tell him many things without actually saying them.
The most important one was that she didn't want space. She had been too worked up when she had said that she did. She had freaked out over nothing, over the most harmless kiss, she felt stupid for that now. She needed to show him that they could work things out, go back to their sides and start being platonic friends again. She could work that out, because the scare he had given her when she had feared that he wouldn't survive had showed her that she would rather be separated by an invisible line than being completely without him.
She knew that it was weak and slightly pitiful, but for now she would just have to live with the fact that Oliver Queen was her ultimate weakness.
“But you should go home, Digg,” Felicity said. “It's wrong that you're sitting out here on your own, especially, when the room is so nice. I guess that's the advantage when you donate enough money to build a whole hospital wing – best treatment possible. I know I should find that offensive, but it did come in handy tonight.”
“It really did.” Diggle scratched his neck. “But if you say things are looking up in there, I'll head home and catch a few hours of sleep.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “You'll call me, if you need anything, right?”
“I promise.”
They said their goodbyes, and Felicity hurried to the nearest restroom. When she washed her hands after exiting the bathroom stall, she made the mistake of glancing into the mirror. It wasn't a pretty sight. The rain had washed her make-up away, her mascara was smeared around her eyes intensifying the dark circles that worry and the lack of sleep had created. She tried to wipe the traces away and fixed her ponytail. Neither helped much. Deciding that she had more important things to worry about, she left the bathroom, got two coffees, one for Moira and one for herself, from the machine in the hall and went back to the room.
Oliver was still sleeping. She handed a plastic cup to Moira, who silently thanked her with a nod and sat down on her own chair. Glancing at the Queens, who sat on the other side of the bed, Felicity took a sip of her coffee – and immediately put the cup on the hospital nightstand next to the bed. It was awful! Worse than the swill they called coffee at QC – and that was really saying something. This company had everything, except a decent fix for your caffeine addiction. When Felicity had still been at the IT-department she had been the only one who cared, because to the other tech-geeks it didn't matter what their coffee tasted like as long as it was black and strong enough to make the hair on your chest grow. Not that any male member of the IT-department had chest-hair. All of these were the reasons she preferred the latte from the corner-café.
And with that her wandering thoughts travelled back to Oliver. Her eyes followed her thoughts – and in the next moment she couldn't help herself, she reached for his hand that was resting next to him on the white sheet. The rules had not been formally reinstated yet, the line was still blurred, and she would use that to her advantage for as long as she could. She cradled his hand in hers. His hand was rough; hardened by fights and the callus you get from drawing a bow over and over again or from pulling yourself up the salmon ladder. Her fingertips moved over the palm of his hand as she looked at his relaxed face.
Silence was engulfing in the room, only disturbed by the damn beeping of the heart monitor. Oliver was sleeping and none of the three women felt like talking as they were all lost in their own thoughts. The next time Felicity glanced at the clock, it was two p.m. That explained why she felt so utterly exhausted. She couldn't remember even feeling this tired, not even during the study-marathons she had pulled for her exams at MIT. She had been awake for nearly twenty six hours now, and before that she had only gotten four hours of unruly sleep, because she had spent the previous night, which had followed her leaving Oliver behind at Queen mansion, crying and telling her mother half-truths about her relationship with Oliver; a relationship that in reality had never been more than a friendship.
Oh, God! Her mother! She needed to call her. She had forgotten about her. How awful. In Felicity's defense, she was simply not used to having her mother around. Normally, it was just her and-
“Felicity.”
The hoarse voice caused her eyes to snap back to the bed. Subconsciously, she tightened the grip on his hand which she still hadn't let go. “Oliver.” She sat up straighter on her chair, leaned a little closer to him. She just looked at him, for once not knowing what else to say, letting her eyes do the talking, getting the silent communication going she had thought about before.
Oliver's tongue was heavy as he said, “You're here.”
“Of course.” Felicity looked at him and into his eyes for a moment and found a sparkle that caused a happy shiver to run through her. She allowed herself to enjoy that for a moment while Moira and Thea, who had jumped up from their seats, caught Oliver's attention.
“Ollie,” Thea's voice was shaking as she now said, “you really scared us!”
Felicity couldn't help but feel like this was the understatement of year.
You should not wake up and feel tired. That seemed completely wrong but, still, it was happening right now to Felicity. Groggily, she rolled onto her back and blinked up at the ceiling. She hadn't bothered to close the blinds when she had returned home, had apologize to her mother for staying away the whole night without saying a word. The apology had made her feel like a teenager... Or rather like she guessed normal teenagers would feel, because Felicity hadn't been the type of teenager to just stay out the whole night. Even though, she could have been. Donna Smoak had worked night shifts as long as Felicity could remember. Her mom would never have noticed an all-nighter. Anyway, Felicity had apologized and fallen into her bed. She had barely managed to take off her clothes and change into her pajamas. Now the passing cars were casting lights against the walls and the ceiling and the streetlamp was shining into her bedroom unblocked. Both gave her hints at the time; it couldn't be too late. Her body felt heavy as she now rolled onto her side to get a look at the clock standing on the nightstand. It was 9.30 p.m., which meant that there was a good reason why she still felt so exhausted. She had barley slept three hours. But before going to bed she had drunk mass amounts of coffee to keep her eyes open – and that liquid wanted out now.
Heavily, she pushed herself off the bed and headed to the bathroom down the hall. She heard her mother moving in the living-room and remembered that she was scheduled to head back to Vegas tonight. It was time to say goodbye. But, first, Felicity's bladder told her to hurry. Two minutes later she felt very relieved as she stood in front of her bathroom mirror. She glanced into it and, wow, she couldn't help but feel like, if there was a big scarecrow out there, it was her. At least she looked the part. Sighing, she reached for her tooth brush. She had the most disgusting taste in her mouth and needed to get rid off it, before she faced her mother.
As she started brushing her teeth she couldn't help but think that it had been exactly one day ago that Oliver had confronted Crane. Twenty four hours since Oliver had walked into a trap that, looking back to it now, was pretty obvious. She hadn't seen Crane, she hadn't faced him, hadn't stood opposite to him like Oliver had, she had only listened to their conversation via the intercom – and it had been a whole bunch of crazy that had left the psychiatrist's mouth. Felicity hadn't been really worried. That, of course, had rapidly changed when they had suddenly heard Oliver's heavy breathing and when he hadn't answered Diggle. All that had followed had been gasps and sobs and a yell of pain, but by then they were already on their way to the GPS-coordinates the tracker inside his shoe was sending them. Felicity rinsed her mouth, put the tooth brush away and reached for her hair brush. She couldn't go to the living room with the horrible bed head she was sporting. Donna Smoak would never let that go uncommented.
Felicity's thoughts, on the other hand, were still on the Arrow's equipment. Maybe she could include a camera to the communication system also. This idea had first crossed her mind when the bombings had started and the possibility of needing to disarm a bomb had become very likely and with it the necessity that Diggle might have to talk Oliver through it. A camera would help in such a moment. It needed to be tiny, though, and easy to activate and deactivate – and, of course, its quality needed to be better than that of the ordinary security camera. It needed to be hidden, while still allowing a good view of what was going on. She was making a mental list of what was needed, when the ringing of her doorbell interrupted her thoughts.
She put the brush down and left the bathroom. Barefoot and in her sleepwear Felicity walked down the hall toward the front door, when she realized that her mother had already opened it and let whoever had been ringing into the house. Felicity heard her voice come from the living room, “So, you think you can just show up here and all is forgotten?” It was her mother's snappy voice, Felicity realized now. And she was snapping at...
“No, I don't.”
Oliver. This realization rooted Felicity to the spot. As she stood there in the dark hall glancing toward where light was coming from the living room, she couldn't help but think that she had just known he'd get out of this hospital whether the doctors thought it was wise or not.
A part of her reasoned that she shouldn't stand here and listen in to other people's conversation, but it lost the majority vote. The bigger part of Felicity wanted to hear what these two would talk about.
Strangely, it was Oliver and not her wordy mother continuing the conversation, “what's with the suitcase?”
“I need to go back to Vegas. I've been here ten days. How much vacation do you think a waitress gets?”
Felicity frowned. That was a surprisingly normal conversation. Felicity had to admit, she had expected more out of this eavesdropping.
“But I still have some time left to tell you that our last conversation is not forgotten. I still think you're a dickhead. A handsome dickhead, but a dickhead nonetheless.”
There it was! This was more like what Felicity had expected of her mother. She had no idea when this 'last conversation' had happened, but she felt like now was the right time to interfere with this one. She made one more step toward the living room, when Oliver spoke up again. “I don't need you to tell me that again.”
“Oh, then you realized that I was right?”
“I did.”
That stopped Felicity again. What? That didn't sound right. That didn't sound like Oliver. Was he still high?
But Oliver didn't elaborate, instead he changed the subject. “So, you're leaving?”
“Yeah, you'll be rid of me soon.”
“Felicity was sure you'd ask me for money. She'll be happy to know that you didn't.”
He was right, that did make her happy. She started to smile against the darkness of the hall. Maybe, she had misjudged her mother.
“You were planning to ask me for money, weren't you?”
Or maybe she had been absolutely right. Oliver's second statement caused sudden disappointment to rise in Felicity. She should have known: Her mother wouldn't travel across the country, if there wasn't money waiting at the end of the journey – and a billionaire offered more than enough to justify the trouble of travel. She wouldn't have come all this way just to see her daughter. This caused Felicity to regain control of her movement.
“Not anymore,” Donna Smoak snapped now, but fell quiet when Felicity entered the room.
She saw Oliver shift his weight, but her whole attention was on her mother, who stood by the kitchen-counter. Felicity was hurt and angry and cranky due to a serious lack of sleep, and she didn't feel like being polite right now, “And I really had a guilty conscious, because I hadn't told you about Oliver. I should have trusted my gut.”
“Lizzy, you misunderstand.” Donna sighed. “Coming here made me realize that we did grow apart. I don't want his money anymore.”
Felicity didn't know how to feel about this 'anymore.' Because maybe things had really changed. Having her mother around hadn't been half bad, it had been kinda nice actually. The night before last her mother had been there for her and had held her, she had comforted her and that had been nice. Making peace with her mother didn't feel as utterly wrong as it had two weeks ago. Maybe this could be a new start – but first Felicity needed to come to terms with what had happened before. “What did you need money for?”
“Vinny-”
Felicity snapped for air and cut her mother off. “You're back with him? He's a gambler!”
“He has that under control.” Felicity crossed her arms over her chest, saying nothing. This spurred Donna to say more, “Okay, there was a slight setback when the poker championship happened. But in his defense, the chances that this guy had a royal flush were barely existent.”
“Mom, seriously, that guy would gamble away the roof over his head!” She saw the expression on her mother's face and couldn't believe it. “He lost the house? Like, literally?”
“No, he... We can pay 40.000 dollars and everything is fine.”
“Fine? How can everything be fine? I cannot believe that you're still with that loser!”
“Well, baby, Smoak women always had a knack for falling for the completely wrong guy.”
“At least my guy doesn't have a gambling addiction!” Seconds later Felicity closed her eyes as she wished she could just disappear. Slowly, she turned to look at Oliver who she had very successfully ignored till now. “Not to say that you're the wrong guy. Or my guy at all. I mean, you're my guy, like I'm your girl.” She wished she would just stop talking, but somehow she didn't. “I don't mean that like your my guy and I'm your girl. I know that those are the same words, but they mean something different in my head.”
The faintest smile was playing around his mouth. “Don't worry, Felicity, I'm your guy.”
Wait! What? Did he mean he was her guy or he was her guy? Because there was a difference and that was important!
She couldn't inquire about that – thank God –, because her mother was talking. “I'm sorry, Lizzy. I admit, I came here for the wrong reasons, but, believe me, I stayed for the right ones. We can figure this out. Please, can we figure this out?”
Felicity saw how serious her mother was and knew that now was the time to make peace. “Yeah, mom. Sure.”
Mother and daughter looked at each other for a moment, and Felicity could see and feel it right then; they would figure things out. It would all be okay.
“Felicity has your bank details, I assume.”
The two Smoak women looked at Oliver, who dared to shrug as if the fact that he had just indirectly said that he'd give Donna 40.000 dollars was nothing. For him it probably was. But for the two females it was a lot. “Oliver-,” Felicity started.
But he cut her off right there, “Felicity, we have so many things that are impossible to fix. This is an easy fix, let me do this.”
She knew everything he was referring to and didn't dare to object. She also didn't dare to object, because she knew that the money would really help her mother, make things easier – and Donna Smoak never had it easy. She turned to her mother with her index finger raised. “This is a onetime thing! This will never happen again. And we will talk more often and tell each other more stuff.”
Donna Smoak nodded so forcefully, her blonde hair was flowing around her face. She swallowed heavily, “I promise!” And then she rushed to Felicity with her arms spread wide and pulled her into a hug that reminded Felicity that Oliver had probably really cracked a rib. But she still hugged her mother back who now whispered in her ear, “I love you, baby.”
“Love you, too, mom.”
The women let go, and Donna awkwardly turned to Oliver, “I guess I need to apo-”
“No.” Oliver looked at her, “you don't. It's all good.”
The older woman nodded, “Well, thank you.” In that moment the doorbell rang again. Donna motioned toward the hall, “That's my taxi. They sure took their time, I was expecting it when Oliver rang.”
Felicity looked at her mom, “You wanted to leave without saying goodbye?”
Her mother motioned toward the coffee table, “You needed sleep, and I left a note.”
Felicity just nodded and went to open the door, followed by her mother who was dragging her suitcase behind herself. The women hugged again. “Thanks, mom, for coming and being here.”
Donna still held on to her daughter. “Thank you for everything. I will call you when I'm back home.”
“Yes, please, do.”
Felicity could practically feel her mother smile as she now whispered, “That guy in your living-room is not the right one for you. So I wish you all the best. You'll figure this out.”
Felicity didn't know what to say to this, so she just nodded. The taxi driver used this moment to honk and the two women finally let go. “I'll call you,” Donna promised again, before she called toward the living-room. “Bye, Oliver.” And then Donna Smoak picked up her suitcase and headed down the stairs to the taxi. Felicity waited until the car was moving, sent her mother one last wave and headed back into the living-room.
Strangely, it was this moment that Felicity realized that there was Oliver Queen standing in her living room and really grasped what that meant. He had never been here before. But now he was, and she stood there in her pajama bottoms – blue with white clouds –, a white tank top and her feet bare. Thank God, she had at least brushed her hair. Still, suddenly she felt self-conscious.
“I'm sorry to just drop by here.” Oliver said now.
“Well, you said you would. But then I thought you were still high.” She realized how this must sound in the light of all that happened in the last twenty four hours and hurried to add, “I mean not the fun kind of high that ends with having the munches and giggling at the word cock-tail.” She frowned and said more to herself than to him. “That really wasn't one of my prouder moments...” She looked back at him, “I just meant that you said and did a lot of things that weren't exactly the normal you...” She trailed off.
He hesitated for a moment, then he nodded. “True.” That was all he said to this. Silence fell between them as they stood on the wooden floor of Felicity's living-room with quite a few steps separating them, creating a distance between them that was very fitting.
She swallowed and tried to dissolve some of the tension she was feeling by starting something that resembled a normal conversation, “Did the doctor clear you to go?”
“No, he didn't.”
“I didn't think so.” She could feel her plan failing and the tension growing, and she couldn't keep herself from asking, “Oliver, why are you here?”
“I needed to make sure you're okay. The chance that Crane hears that Oliver Queen was rushed to hospital because of a panic attack and puts two and two together aren't slim. He might come after you.”
She sighed. “Don't make Digg sit in front of my house all night again. The poor guy has suffered enough today.”
A small smile showed on his face for the fraction of a second, but disappeared instantly. He was the serious and tense version of himself when he said, “I planned on taking the watch myself, if you let me.”
“You want to take position outside? Do you think that's wise after everything you've been through today?”
“I hoped you'd let me in.”
That was such a strange phrasing. “Let you in?”
“Yes.” He took one step toward her, just one. “Because I was a coward before.”
What was he saying here? There was only one logical explanation: He was still high. “Oliver, you're not making any sense. I don't know anybody who's braver than you.”
“No. Not when it comes to the things that matter.”
“Things that matter? Like what?”
“Like you.”
“Oh.”
She probably should tell him that he had phrased that poorly, because she wasn't a thing. But that would be being petty, when the bottom-line of his statement was that she mattered to him – and that was a nice thing for him to say. More than nice, actually. And it was a surprising thing for him so say. It was so surprising that it left her speechless.
Luckily, Oliver was ready to fill the gap in conversation. He took another step toward her. “I told myself that I was protecting you, when I was only protecting myself. I was afraid, really afraid. But after last night, I'm done with that.” Felicity swallowed heavily, and Oliver took another step toward her and said, his voice determined, “I like the blurred lines.” He took a fourth step and was finally close to her, “I want to wipe them away for good.”
Felicity just started up at him.
He smirked, “And, no, I'm not still high. I am serious.”
She swallowed again, even though, her mouth was dry. One million things she could say flew through her head and one million questions. Questions like: really? But she neither said nor asked anything. Instead, she dared to take him seriously. Because Oliver wouldn't be here doing this, saying this, if he wasn't serious. She trusted Oliver more than enough to believe that he wouldn't play with her like this. It may be stupid, but he was her ultimate weakness.
Her eyes were glued to his as he now brought his face closer to hers. His breath brushed her skin as he said, “I want us to be together.” It wasn't a request, it was a statement.
Felicity looked into his eyes, she felt his closeness, she could smell his scent that was so uniquely him that she couldn't even begin to describe it. It filled her senses completely, and an excited tingle rushed through her. His voice was serious and soft as he now said, “I know I'm damaged goods, Felicity. I know I probably am the wrong guy, and it's okay, if you don't wa-”
“I want us to be together, too.” There, she had ruined the moment and blurted it out. When he had said it, it had sounded so amazing, but she made it sound dorky, she thought. But Oliver didn't seem to mind her awkwardness at all. Instead, she saw a smile appear on his face – one of the real ones, one of the honest ones she loved so much.
He brought his right hand up and cupped her cheek, his fingertips tracing her neck. He was still smiling, “Then we should just do that.”
That sounded so strangely simple so suddenly, but the sudden simplicity made her smile, too. “Okay.” For once, Felicity felt like one simple word was enough.
They were still gazing at each other intensely, studying each other in a way that was unfamiliar. She was looking at Oliver in a way she would have never dared before. His face was so close to hers, his right hand was on her cheek, and then she felt his lips on hers. It was a soft kiss, a gentle kiss; that caused the tingle inside Felicity to grow into a spark. She felt warm and oh so good. But she knew that a sweet kiss wouldn't do. It was a nice start, but it just wasn't enough to do justice to what she was feeling right now. She brought her hands up to his chest, let them travel down and to his sides while she brought her own body closer to his. This was his cue to bring his left up too, to cup her face in both hands and deepen the kiss.
Felicity could get lost in this, in feeling him this close, in his lips on hers, in tasting him, and right in this moment she did. When they broke the kiss, Felicity knew her cheeks were flushed, but didn't care at all. Oliver let go of her face and brought his arms around her, pulling her to his body. His breath brushed the shell of her ear as he now said, “It's not smart to do this now, with Crane and everything, but I realized that there's no time to waste.”
Wow! He had sure wasted at lot of time to realize that.
