Work Text:
Felicity Smoak hated waiting.
Her knee bounced in a rapid, involuntary jitter as she sat on the wooden bench. A long breath spilled through her lips, warm against the chill of her skin, billowing out in a white cloud that dissipated instantly. In their fleece gloves, her hands twisted together on her lap, over the laptop bag resting precariously on her shaking knees.
She watched for the train with the others milling about on the platform, glad she snagged one of the few seats even as she looked for anyone else who might need it more. For now, she could sit and watch the sparse flurries of snow flutter down onto the tracks, onto the shoulders and wool hats and uncovered hair of those standing beyond the overhang. The flakes evaporated almost instantly, leaving nothing but a cold damp behind.
Everyone seemed calm, bored, familiar… clutching paper cups of coffee in their hands, earbud cords dangling over their shoulders, heads bent towards their phones. Nothing out of place, nothing unusual.
So why did she feel like the train must be late? Why was her stomach churning and clenching beneath the layers of her jacket and sweater? Why were her eyes watering behind her glasses, as she angrily wiped away the tears that leaked from the corners—it wasn’t that cold, was it?
Taking a deep breath that froze the insides of her nostrils, Felicity pulled her phone from her bag with a jerky motion, determined to shake off this strange feeling she was getting lost in. She felt like she was tangled up in a heavy blanket, unable to find the edges to emerge back into the open air. Normally, she could sleepwalk through her phone’s system, as simple as it was… and yet…
Something was off. Her photos were sparse and scattered across the dates, entire months missing… though she couldn’t think of any specific photos that should have been there. In fact, when she tried to think of anything that happened in those months, she remembered mundane things like bowls of cereal and yelling at the broken copier at work and boring train rides like the one she was about to take—but as she pushed for more, something in her mind pushed back.
Maybe her life was just that boring; it seemed about right. What was she always telling her mother? That she was terminally single…
It made the reminder she’d programmed into her calendar for Valentine’s Day even more puzzling. There was nothing specific attached to it, no notes or clues as to why she felt like giving herself a heads-up about the “holiday” (a dubious designation at best), just a standard pop-up notice a few days ahead. Valentine’s Day is in 3 days.
Felicity sneered down at her phone, feeling as disgusted with it as she did with the rest of society this time of year. She knows when it is, how could she forget, everyone shoved paper hearts and stupid flying babies and chocolates… well, okay, the chocolates could stay. But everything else could be shoved up everyone else’s asses instead of into her face.
The bitterness that rose in her throat was stronger than other years, for some reason, and it came with a vicious aftertaste that had her blinking rapidly against the moisture in her eyes again. What was happening to her; was she PMSing? She couldn’t really remember her last period, that strange feeling teasing at her memories again as she tried to count back from her usual time of the month.
And on that, her phone’s calendar was silent, of course. Something that might actually be helpful…
Felicity pressed her fingertips against her eyes, the fleece of her gloves no doubt smearing her make-up, but the angry headache wasn’t easing. It wasn’t like her, even on these cold winter mornings waiting to head into a thankless job in IT, to be so moody and bitter. Sure, she was single, but she didn’t need anyone to make her life worthwhile.
When had that sentence stopped being a proud battle cry and started sounding like some jaded consolation prize? This wasn’t her.
With the infernal train still not arriving, Felicity started poking into her phone’s backlogs, into its trash, trying to find a backdoor into what had to be missing, because something was. She yanked off her gloves so her small fingers could move more quickly over the screen, ignoring the crowd around her starting to come to attention as a train approached. All she could think about was getting the answers to a mystery she hadn’t even known was there.
Then the message popped up, blinking up at her just as she was about to undo some sort of mass data erasure from two days before.
<Don’t. You wanted this.>
Felicity stared down at the words, the arrangement of pixels on her screen supposedly meant to make her understand… but she didn’t. The train pulled up along the platform, the crowd surging forward in a single motion towards the doors, the mechanical voice ringing through the speakers announcing the arrival of the train. Her train.
But she didn’t move.
*
“He… he what?”
“He wasn’t doing well, Felicity. With everything that happened, he just… He couldn’t get past it. We thought he might… Well, anyway, someone thought of this and… it helped. He’s back to work, he’s getting out, he’s… happy, I guess. I’m sorry.”
“But this isn’t even possible! He can’t do this, he can’t just…”
“He already did.”
*
She didn’t undo the deletions either. She just stared at her phone a few minutes longer, until the train had pulled away and the platform was left almost empty, and the early arrivals for the next train hurried to take up the seats vacated by the departed.
Waiting for a clarity that wasn’t coming, she looked down at her own message, as though the letters might rearrange themselves into something that made sense. Yet they remained as impenetrable as ever, taunting her with that simple commandment: Don’t. And the even more puzzling echo of a self she didn’t know: You wanted this.
What was “this”?
Felicity looked up with a jolt and finally noticed that she’d missed her train, that she was going to be late for work… and an even deeper jolt flooded through her when she realized she didn’t care about that at all. Instead, she stood up from the bench, wandering off with slow steps and leaving the platform behind her as she walked back down the city streets. She didn’t head back home.
A strange sense of impulsiveness hovered inside her as she walked, feeling aimless at first, dodging between the herds of people hurrying to escape the cold. The strap of her laptop bag dug into her shoulder, as her scarf trapped her breath in the thick yarn that she tugged up over the tip of her nose. Her boot heels clicked against the pavement as her feet led her through the streets, seemingly towards nothing but away… except somehow it also felt like towards.
She didn’t feel like working today, she told herself. She didn’t feel like anything. It was just one of those days.
Except she’d never had a day quite like this.
So when she reached an intersection where everything seemed to just stop, she didn’t think; she just stopped with it. The street was quieter, a side street with a busy rush of traffic visible a couple blocks ahead; to one side was a park with ice clinging to bare tree branches and a few pigeons rooting around for scattered crumbs on the ground. Horns and sirens and shouted voices echoed in the distance, but here everything was insulated and still.
Felicity waited for something to reveal itself, for whatever mystery she’d chased here to unravel, but nothing happened. A few people glanced at her where she stood on the curb, and a taxi slowed down as it passed to watch for her signal, but she just stood there with her arms wrapped around herself… waiting.
Finally, as her teeth started to chatter even behind the scarf, she felt foolish and reckless and cold. Deciding she should probably call into work and just go home, she turned back to return the way she’d come—and saw the coffee shop on the corner. Might as well warm herself up first, she thought, as she opened the glass door and stepped into the blissfully heated, fragrant atmosphere.
This time of day, as the morning rush was fading into the late morning lull of people who didn’t have to work (or were skipping out, like her), the place wasn’t too crowded. A handful of tables, mostly taken by single people staring fixedly at their laptops, and a broad counter lined with a couple unoccupied stools.
Well, almost unoccupied. One man sat on the stool at the end, hunched over the cup of coffee in his hands, elbows resting on the edge.
When the door closed behind her, the whoosh of cold air dispelling into the warmth, he looked up.
*
She paces back and forth, because maybe if she keeps moving, she can keep the quivering in her stomach and lips and hands from claiming her entire body. If she starts falling apart, if she collapses, she’ll let him catch her, she knows it. And she won’t have the strength to fight him anymore.
Yet the fight is all she has left—all that he left her with. She will not give in.
“I can’t keep doing this,” she says, hating that her voice shakes. That’s not the image she’s trying to project. “It’s done. We’re done.”
“I will do anything, Felicity, I’m so-”
“No, do not say it again.” Her loud voice echoes through the loft. “Where was this when you were lying to me, for months? When you stopped trusting me, when you led an entirely separate life without me in it, when you betrayed me over and over again—and now I’m just supposed to pretend like… No. No more.”
“Felicity…” he says, so quietly, the sound of her name spilling effortlessly from his lips, following the path they’ve taken a thousand times.The path that usually leads to her falling towards him like gravity.
This time, her heart just plummets to her feet, and she knows. It’s really over.
So she grabs the last box in her arms, holding it like a shield between them, as she meets his tear-filled eyes and says calmly, “I never want to see you again.”
And walks out the door.
*
The man’s eyes skated briefly over her, and she couldn’t help the impulse to do the same. His features were chiseled and strong, lightly arched brows over piercing blue eyes and a strong jaw shadowed with stubble—and a body that was all broad shoulders and solid muscle, beneath the sweater that clung to the lines of his arms and back. She knew she must look like a mess, wind-reddened cheeks and snot glistening beneath her nose and hair loose from her ponytail…
But for just a moment, their gazes met and they considered each other… just a second longer than appropriate for stranger eye contact. Then, swallowing thickly and feeling a flush in her cheeks, Felicity looked away, taking refuge in the menu board; when she peeked back at him, he’d returned to contemplating his coffee.
The moment was over.
The barista gave her a bit of an odd look as she approached the counter, her eyes darting over towards the man with something that looked like nervous anticipation,but she said nothing other than the forced polite greeting. So Felicity ordered her usual, and seeing no other open tables, slid onto the stool on the opposite end of the counter from the man to wait.
There was something peacefully familiar about coffee shops, the humming of the machines and the rattling of the milk steamer and the buzz of conversation over the vague strains of inoffensive music. This wasn’t one of the chains, but it had a cozy similarity that settled over Felicity as she set her phone on the counter and shed her coat and bag into a little pile on the floor.
She absentmindedly checked the notifications on her phone (none new), but didn’t feel like prodding its secrets once again. Something—maybe that odd message echoing in her thoughts—stayed her hand.
Without turning her head, she eyed the man again in her peripheral vision. He stared straight ahead, fingers twitching against the lip of his unlidded cup.
*
“Is this true?” she asks, too quietly. He expects the loud voice, she can see it in the bracing of his shoulders and expression, and the quiet makes him flinch.
But he says nothing—and everything, all at once.
She squeezes her eyes shut, as though that can stop the sudden rise of hot tears flooding her vision, as though she can stop the tightening of a sob caught in her throat through sheer willpower. “You have a son,” she whispers. “Every time you went to Central City… for… for months…”
She opens her eyes so she can see him deny it, uncaring that a few tears escape to dribble down her cheeks, carving a burning path across her paled skin.
His fingers twitch at his side, and she knows if he reaches out to her, she won’t playfully smack him away and listen for his little muttered, “Ow.” There’s nothing playful in her now.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice low and rough, and he’s about to say more. Maybe he thinks there’s an excuse that makes this okay… maybe there is.
Or maybe it was always going to end like this.
She can barely look at him, the edges of him blurring as more tears well up in her eyes. “When did we stop being a team?”
*
Felicity turned back to her phone, checking it again and seeing the time—her boss would just about be expecting her. Deciding that just not showing up would be worse than a fake sick day, she sighed and found the contact for him.
“Um, hi, Chris?” she said, making her voice into a croak. The man at the end of the counter turned to look at her. “It’s Felicity. I’m not going to make it into work today—I’m hacking up phlegm all over the place, it’s like Ghostbusters in here, you know with the green slime and everything? I’m leaking from everywhere—I mean, not everywhere, the normal places to leak when you’re—yep, I’ll see what I can do from home. Thank you.”
She put down her phone just as the barista handed over her coffee, unable to resist meeting the man’s curious stare with a bit of a wince. This wasn’t her best moment.
“Just having one of those days, you know?” she said, saluting with her coffee cup, and then feeling silly for it. But he was smiling at her…
It was a really nice smile, softening his blue eyes and bringing out dimples in his cheeks. He really shouldn’t be allowed to have a smile like that, not while already carrying around that body—and Felicity should definitely not be thinking about his body. Hard to do when she could practically see his rigid abs curling beneath his tight-fitting sweater, as he twisted slightly towards her.
“Yeah,” he said, with a surprisingly soft voice. Then his smile edged into something sad and humorless, before falling away. “Me too.”
There were two empty stools between them; Felicity had the sudden urge to close the distance. Instead, she lifted her non-fat latte, extra sugar, to her lips and took a long sip. When she set it back down, he was still watching her, looking… interested.
*
“So how’s the wedding planning going?” John asks, with a bit of a smirk, since he knows she just got off the phone with her mother and how could they talk about anything else these days? The ring still feels new, the weight of it on her finger still slightly unbalanced as she types, the way it catches the light still drawing her eye far too often.
She still can’t quite believe this is her life.
“We haven’t really gotten much started, with him traveling so much,” she says. John already knows how much he’s been gone, given that he’s a mutual friend, having done security at family events for years and even consulting at the club. “Something about opening a franchise in Central City.”
“Expanding Verdant? To Central City?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
*
It had been a long time since she’d flirted with anyone… She realized she couldn’t really remember how long. All she could think of was endless stretches of working and take-out and box-sets of Doctor Who, and not much else.
So staring at this ridiculously good-looking stranger was making her feel very rusty.
“Are you also avoiding work?” she asked, encouraged to keep making conversation by the way he kept looking at her. She didn’t recognize him, and it seemed like he didn’t know her either, but there was something safe in the way he looked at her. Something that felt… right.
“No, I work more at night,” he said.
“Are you like a stripper or a gigolo or something? Because you definitely look like you could be,” she blurted out, and then she clenched her eyes shut, like a child who believed it was that easy to disappear from sight. “Oh God, please tell me I did not just say that out loud.”
She heard him huff out a breath of laughter, and opened her eyes with a grimace to see him grinning. And… wow.
“I meant that as a compliment, just to be clear,” she added quickly, as his grin widened. “Because you look… you know, I’m going to stop myself and not finish that sentence. Can you tell I’m rusty at this? Aaaand I just told you how long it’s been since I flirted with anyone—and that I’m flirting, oh my God, Felicity, stop talking.”
“Felicity,” he said in a gently amused tone, sounding out her name as though he was exploring the shape of it… and she finally fell silent. Because she’d never heard anything quite as amazing as the sound of her name on his lips. “It’s okay.”
She wasn’t sure if he meant the stripper comment or her awkward rambling, but looking at the smile warming his blue eyes, she felt like somehow everything was okay. That everything would be okay for as long as she was with him.
As she ran her hand along the back of her neck, still wincing in the wake of that verbal trainwreck, he held out his own in the space between them. Slowly, she put her hand in his, regretting the chipped mint green polish on her fingernails. But his grip was somehow strong and soft at the same time, and she didn’t want to let go.
His hand squeezed hers in a small spasm. “I’m Oliver.”
*
“Felicity Smoak… will you make me the happiest man on the face of the earth?”
He kneels on the floor, even with her now since she’s sitting on the couch in her pajamas, staring at him with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth. Her hair isn’t even brushed, no make-up on, and he’s doing this now? Sure, she’d found the ring in the decorations, and couldn’t help but ask him if he’d changed his mind since they’d gotten back from their vacation (because she hadn’t just imagined that last night with the souffles)—but she didn’t mean he had to ask her now, on a quiet Saturday morning just after Hanukkah, when she has coffee breath and just asked him if he would pour her a bowl of corn flakes.
That doesn’t mean there is any other answer to give him.
“Yes,” she says, almost soundlessly at first, then repeating herself at nearly a shriek. “Yes! Of course, yes.”
She’s leaning forward and they collide in the space between, his hands coming up to frame her face as she winds her arms around his shoulders. When he tries to pull back, she just squeezes him closer, and for a second they just hold each other, faces buried in each other’s necks. She takes deep breaths against the collar of his henley, the scent full of woodsy body wash and fabric softener, feeling the scratch of his stubble just beneath her ear.
Then, gently, he leans back and pulls her arms away, so he can hold her hand within his own as his other hand reaches into the pocket of his jeans. He slides the ring onto her finger with exquisite slowness, and looks up at her with a lightly trembling smile. He doesn’t let go of her hand.
She’s glad to see this one go. She can’t take another moment with this image in her mind, taunting her—the sight of his worshipful smile (with the lie already waiting behind his eyes)… and the ache in her own grin, cheeks stretched taut with unbearable happiness.
*
“Hi, Oliver,” she said, and reluctantly she slid her hand out of his grasp, as she had to stretch forward a little awkwardly to reach. “So… come here often? Wait—that was way too cheesy.”
He grinned again, ducking his head to glance at the coffee cup in his hands. She hadn’t even realized he’d turned on his stool to face her fully, his muscular thighs dangling off the edge.
“No, I don’t,” he answered, looking back up at her with a more serious expression; he was actually responding to her ridiculous pick-up line. “I used to come here all the time, it’s not far from my club—but I stopped at some point, I think. I can’t remember the last time I was here.” He shrugged. “How about you?”
“Nope, never been here before—I don’t even know the name.” She looked over at the paper cup sitting beside her phone on the counter. “Oh, Jitters. Hmm, never heard of it.”
“It’s good.” He took a sip from his cup, tongue darting out to wipe the lingering coffee from his lips, and Felicity took a deep breath.
“Yeah,” she breathed, reminded to take a drink of her own, letting the hot liquid searing down the back of her throat wake her up a bit more—though she no longer needed it for warmth. In fact, she wondered if she should exchange it for an iced coffee.
“May I ask what job you’re escaping from today?” He tapped a fingertip against the side of his cup, seeming nonchalant—and yet she’d never felt such an intense focus on herself before.
“IT,” she said. “Mostly just erasing viruses from people who open porn links and stuff.”
“Then maybe you could help me with my computer,” he said flatly, and when she blinked, half his mouth twisted into a fleeting smirk. “Kidding.”
She laughed, feeling even more heat twisting inside her at the thought of this guy and porn in the same sentence. “Right,” she said, going for casual playing along. “You probably don’t even need porn, you can just have sex whenever you want, I mean who wouldn’t jump right into bed with…” She ran her hand across her forehead, skimming it over the top of her head, feeling all the loose wisps of hair that the wind tore free of her ponytail. Here she was, basically propositioning the guy, and he was probably just being nice to the mess of a girl at the coffee shop. “I’m just going to stop talking entirely.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.” His voice and his smile were soft. “It was just starting to get interesting.”
Now she narrowed her eyes at him, sensing a bit of potential frat boy creeping in; it shouldn’t have surprised her, given how he looked—and she thought he had said something about a club, working nights…
“I mean I was just getting to know you,” he added, as if able to read her distaste. The sincerity in his voice, in the slightly vulnerable curl of his shoulders… It didn’t fit at all with his gorgeous face and body, but she found herself trusting it implicitly.
“Oh, well, that’s… Maybe I should…” She pointed vaguely towards the stools between them, since talking across the empty stools was getting a bit awkward. And a few new customers had entered, eyeing the vacant seats.
He stood from his stool at the same instant as she rose from hers, and in a simultaneous motion that neither had planned and yet was as fluid as a dance, they slid onto the two stools in the middle.
Her knees brushed against his, and her toes curled inside her boots.
*
The air whips her hair wildly around her, making her wish she’d worn her usual ponytail, but somehow she just can’t stop smiling. All she can smell is the sea breeze as it lifts the loose strands of blonde hair to tickle across her upturned face, catching in her lipstick as she grins; all she can see is the orange and purple light of sunset crossing the sky towards the horizon.
She reaches out and places a hand on his leg, feels the muscles relaxing beneath her touch as he leans back into the driver’s seat, eyes on the road ahead but attention definitely on her. As it always is. One of his arms rests along the top of the door, the other casually gripping the steering wheel. She strokes her hand gently up and down his thigh; his fist tightens until the leather of the wheel creaks.
Laughing at the clenching of his jaw, she takes pity on him and pulls her hand away—but his hand snatches hers in mid-air, as he lifts his other arm from the door to take the wheel. With a smile at her that twists something deep in her stomach, he tangles their fingers together over the gear shift.
The road curves along the edge of the cliffs, the ocean stretching out in blue eternity beyond, and she feels like this moment could last forever. As his thumb skims back and forth across her knuckles, she has never wanted anything more. They’ve only just left on their trip, and she’s already the happiest she has ever been.
“Where are we going?” she asks, for the dozenth time.
“It’s a surprise,” he says, still smiling. He smiles so much more now than when she first met him. “Is that okay?”
She tips her head back against the headrest, gripping his hand tighter between them. “I’d go anywhere with you.”
Wait… this is one of her happiest memories. She can still feel the way the air slowly cooled as they kept driving into the evening, the headlights of the convertible cutting through the darkness ahead, going through a Big Belly Burger drive-thru so they could just keep going.
She realizes she already can’t remember where they ended up.
Is she… making a mistake in letting them go?
Wait.
*
“So I hope your girlfriend won’t mind that you’re talking to strange girls in coffee shops,” Felicity said, with all the subtlety of a slap to the face, but Oliver’s eyes crinkled as he saw right through her pathetic fumbling of the meet-cute protocol.
“Only as much as your boyfriend will,” he said. He rested one elbow against the edge of the counter, coffee cup in hand on the surface, his other arm hanging down against his thigh. Felicity kept her knees together, placed within the bracket of his legs, only just brushing against each other with the barest whisper of his denim against her leggings. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, other than curling them up in her lap and playing with the hem of her long sweater.
“No… no boyfriend,” she said, a bit hesitantly as she stared at him. Was she really doing this? He was just so… much. And yet she couldn’t imagine walking away right now. “Single as always—especially around Valentine’s Day. It’s practically a curse.”
Felicity wanted to take back the words immediately, given that bringing up the approaching Valentine’s Day in a first meeting screamed of desperation and cheesy expectations—especially when Oliver’s eyebrows drew down in a frown.
But his eyes were far away, clearly thinking intently about something, before he shook his head and said, “I don’t have a lot of Valentine’s Day memories, other than when I was younger and it was… an event.” There was a tinge of guilt in his eyes as he glanced away, lips tightening.
“Yeah, I bet,” she said, seeing the ghost of that frat boy back again—but it was clearly just a ghost. Maybe she was being naïve, drawn in by the tricks of the trade, but there was something about the man sitting before her that felt solid and mature and… experienced. Not in the way of overconfident sleazebags, but in the way of people who had been through a lot and changed. She wanted to reach out and run her hand down his arm, but she held back.
“Not anymore, though,” he said, all too serious as he looked at her. “I’m not like that anymore.”
“It’s okay, really—you don’t owe me any explanations, Oliver.” Now she did reach out, almost without thinking, gripping his forearm through the soft sleeve and letting her thumb sweep back and forth above his wrist. She felt the muscles jerk under her touch, but he didn’t move or pull away.
His face kept its slightly stern expression, his eyes searching hers. “I feel like I do.”
“We don’t even know each other,” she said, trying for a light tone and failing.
“Yet,” he said, and there was no mistaking what he meant… what this was.
Her heart began to beat faster, pounding in her ears.
*
Felicity takes a deep, gasping breath, her heartbeat racing, sweat trickling along her skin as her body relaxes into the sheets. Her hair is tousled in a damp, stringy mess, but his fingers dare to comb through it as he slides his hand along her jaw to tug her into a kiss. She moans against his lips, feeling sensitive and lightly sore and pleasantly exhausted all over.
“This may be the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had,” she breathes out as she flings an arm above her head, letting it fall limp against the pillow.
“Mmm.” He makes the sound low in his throat, and it stirs the fading embers back into a living heat inside of her. He trails kisses along her collarbone. “I can do better.”
“No… I mean, yes, please, but not now. Let me rest.” Playfully, she pushes at his forehead, but without any strength behind it. He heaves an exaggerated sigh, spilling warm breath across her skin, before turning to settle his cheek against her shoulder. She drags her fingernails through his hair, against his scalp, and he makes another satisfied sound that rumbles through his chest.
Okay, so maybe they won’t wait that long for round two.
“I meant I can do more for the whole day,” he says, as she strokes her hand up and down the back of his neck. “Next year—flowers, fancy dinner, scavenger hunt, all of it.”
“You know you already got me into bed, right?”
“And I’d like to keep you here.” He gives a little growl as he nips at the side of her neck, while she laughs and tries to shove him away. But he stays, lifting up onto his elbows, smiling softly down at her. “But I mean it. Next year. Be ready.”
“Maybe I’m ready now,” she says, one eyebrow raised, tracing her finger down the center of his chest and across his stomach.
His lips twist into a smirk, but then he pauses, hovering over her with a suddenly serious expression on his face. “I love you.”
She pulls him down into a kiss, then shrieks with laughter as he rolls their bodies so that she’s sprawled across him, the sheets tangled up between their feet. His arms band tightly across her back, holding her to him, and she can feel their heartbeats echoing one another where their chests are pressed against each other.
“I love you, too,” she says breathlessly.
No, wait. Stop this, she thinks as she feels him beginning to slip away from her grasp, as his heartbeat goes eerily silent beneath her. Soon he’ll be gone, and it will be like this moment never existed, this little piece of bliss cocooned in an afternoon.
“I don’t want to lose this,” she says out loud, still within the memory’s grasp, and she stares frantically down at his face as she clings to his shoulders. “Don’t go.”
“You’re erasing me,” he says sadly.
“You erased me first,” she replies. She’s jolted by the idea that this is the first time she’s really talked to him in months—long, agonizing months of crying and pain. And the obvious follows quickly after, that she’s only really talking to a figment of herself, wearing his voice.
“I didn’t know how to let you go without letting go of all of this—without forgetting that I ever had it,” he says.
“I thought that’s what I wanted, too—I thought I just wanted to stop feeling. But I want to keep this feeling, just for a little longer.” She lifts her head to look at the ceiling of the loft bedroom, though there’s nothing there, no sign of the technicians at work clearing away the debris of… him. “Do you hear me!? I want to keep this one.”
A soft sigh escapes his throat, and it sears a pang of misery within her, nothing like the roiling heat of earlier. She didn’t realize she still remembered every single one of his little noises—or how much it hurts when she tries to remember the others, and can’t anymore.
He draws his fingertips slowly across her cheek, but she can’t feel them.
“It’s already gone,” he says.
*
“This is… I usually don’t do things like this,” Felicity said, cheeks heated as she squirmed beneath his piercing gaze. She slid her hand slowly off of his arm, but his hand moved to grab hers and hold it between them.
“I don’t either—not like this,” he said, and she believed him. She didn’t know why, but she believed him. Everything in her wanted to keep holding his hand, while every logical thought in her mind told her this was ridiculous, this was just chatter in a coffee shop, this wasn’t… real.
“You don’t know me,” she said, though it was only a half-hearted protest.
“I’d like to.”
“Oliver…” She broke the eye contact, because she had to, but it left her looking down at his hand gently wrapped around hers. Why did holding hands with a complete stranger feel so… right? “Maybe… Maybe I should go.”
“Please… don’t,” he said softly. He frowned, and released her hand; her fingers curled in on themselves, instantly cold. “Or at least, I’ll go, if I’m making you uncomfortable.”
“No, it’s not that, really,” she said. “It’s just…”
It felt like too much—it felt like so much more than it was, and she didn’t know why.
Why was she here?
*
She waits, checking her phone every few seconds, feet swinging where they dangle off the side of the stool. He’s late, and he was the one that wanted to meet at this random out of the way coffee shop, and now she doesn’t know whether to order a coffee or hold off until he gets here. It’s not a great start to their first date, that she didn’t even want to go on in the first place.
The man at the end of the counter looks her way when she sighs for the third time, but he says nothing. She can’t help peeking in his direction, when she hears his fingers clattering against the keys, so she can scope him out undetected because he’s gorgeous. But she must not be as subtle as she hopes, because when she glances over his dimples are showing on his (unbelievable) profile, and occasionally they’ve made awkward eye contact.
He has beautiful blue eyes, and even when she looks rapidly away, she just wants to keep staring into them. Instead, she tries to focus on her phone, glaring down at it.
Then she hears the man curse and jerk back from the counter; his coffee cup is knocked over on its side, spilling hot dark liquid over his laptop keyboard.
The IT Girl in her awakens as though summoned by the bat signal. She leaps up from her stool, grabbing napkins and shoving them into his useless, hovering hands as she turns to the poor computer.
“Poor baby, what has he done to you?” she mutters. As he watches, bewildered, she lifts the laptop from the sopping wet counter and yanks out the power cord, then flips it to remove the battery. With it held upside down, a steady rain of dark droplets splatters over the tile floor, draining from the keyboard’s crevices.
She gets a good look at the specs and brand of the machine, setting it back on a cleaner section of the counter as she grabs a few more napkins to dab up the remaining moisture. “This model’s got a pretty good waterproof keyboard—at worst, it’ll get a bit sticky and you may need to replace the keyboard. But if you have any problems, take it to someone; you can sometimes find someone who knows what they’re doing at a Tech Village.”
Felicity finally looks up from examining the laptop to find the man staring at her—she’s torn between just staring back, and feeling a bit awkward for having lunged at him.
Then he smiles, and… yep, he should keep doing that, and she’ll keep staring.
“Thank you,” he says. “You’re a hero.”
“No, I just can’t help intervening when I see such blatant technology abuse.” She finds herself smiling back at him, even as she glares teasingly.
He holds up his hands in surrender. “It was an accident, I swear.”
“You’re just lucky I was here to rescue her.”
“I am,” he says, softly and seriously, and Felicity’s smile fades as her heartbeat picks up. Then he seems to process the rest of her sentence, as he huffs out a breath of laughter and says, “Her?”
“She’s one of the fastest, strongest models on the market, well-made and built with a processor that gives her a real kick—she can handle anything, even coffee spills. Of course it’s a ‘her,’” Felicity says, fingers going to the corner of her glasses in nerd reflex.
“You know a lot about computers,” he says, looking impressed.
Feeling a bit silly, she holds out her hand. “Felicity Smoak, IT girl.”
“Oliver Queen,” he says as he takes it, and his hand is warm as it gently squeezes hers. Of course, that could be the spilled coffee.
“You should probably take off your pants,” she says, looking down at the dark stains on his thighs, then freezing as his hand twitches against hers. “I mean, to clean the stains. Not because I want to see you out of your pants—not that it would be a bad sight, clearly you’re very good-looking and if anyone could go naked in public—wait, please tell me I didn’t say that out loud.”
He laughs, and even though she wants to disappear entirely, she also wants to take that laugh with her. Her hand slips from his, since it’s getting awkward, and she curls it in against her chest. But when she glances back up at him, he’s still grinning.
“I’m going to need another coffee,” he says. “Can I buy you one?”
And… that’s a date. This ridiculously good-looking guy just asked her out on a date—after one of her embarrassing babbles.
For a moment, she can only stare at him with wide eyes…
Then her phone chimes with a text. Her date is here, waiting outside to take her straight to the lunch place since he’s already late.
She is so, so tempted to trade one date for another, but that wouldn’t really be fair. When she looks up from her phone, Oliver must see the answer in her eyes, because his smile turns a bit sad.
But his voice is kind as he says, “It was nice meeting you, Felicity.”
She really loves the way he says her name.
“Yeah, it was…” she says, gathering up her things. “Um, bye, Oliver.”
And she walks towards the door.
“I should have stayed,” she says, stopping in the middle of the coffee shop gone quiet, even as the real memory would carry her out the door and onto her unsatisfying date.
“You came back the next day—you found me again,” he says, still sitting on the stool.
“I should have stayed.” She’s not talking about the coffee shop.
“I didn’t give you much of a choice,” he says. “I broke your trust. Forever.”
“Not forever,” she says quietly. “Everything we had… How much I still love you. I had just forgotten, even before all this. I forgot how happy you made me.”
“How happy we made each other—and I destroyed it.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but she can see the guilt he’s struggling with, even as just a figment of her mind. Even though she remembers almost nothing of him, she knows this.
“You broke it,” she says plainly. “But I’ve always been good at fixing things. I should have made us try harder. I should have let you try.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” she says, and now she feels the tears rising. “After this, you’re gone. All of it will just be… gone.”
Now he rises from the stool, crossing the room in a few swift strides. “So find me again,” he says, his hands coming up to cradle her head, tugging her in towards him. He kisses her softly, and whispers against her lips.
“Meet me here.”
When she opens her eyes, there’s nothing there.
And she wakes.
*
She gathered up her coat and bag from the floor, clutching them against her chest, like a shield between her and Oliver. Everything in her wanted to close the distance between them… except the one nagging little voice that told her to leave while she still could. She didn’t even know what that meant.
But as she looked into Oliver’s face, as she saw him quietly bracing himself for her rejection, ready to let her go if that’s what she wanted… Suddenly she knew only one thing in the midst of knowing nothing.
She wanted to stay with him.
“So, um, Oliver—would you like to go to brunch?” she asked, smiling hopefully at him. “I don’t know any places around here but…”
“I do,” he said, looking relieved and... happy. She realizes the bubbly feeling within herself is happiness, too, a feeling she hadn’t even realized she’d been missing so profoundly this morning. “And I would love to.”
For a moment, they just smiled at each other.
Happy.
They bundled up in their coats and scarves, talking about work and where they lived and family, somehow falling into conversation as easily as old friends. The barista watched them with a curious expression, but said nothing as they left the coffee shop together. With her shoulder brushing against his arm, Oliver led her down the street, along a path she didn’t know but that felt like a way home.
Felicity didn’t even question it when he took her hand, their gloves intertwined as they walked, arms swinging between them. When his hand clenched around hers, she just squeezed back.
This time, she wasn’t letting him go.