Chapter Text
Oliver begins to think that something’s wrong the night Felicity tells him she won’t make it to the lair for patrol.
Since Team Arrow scattered to the winds six months ago, she’s been by his side every step of the way. She helped him clean up the lair and rebuild it. She helped him with his first public speech as Mayor of Star City. She’s been with him for every mission: the voice in his ear that he can always depend on. Even after Curtis, Wild Dog, Artemis, and Ragman joined the team, she hasn’t left his side.
He takes the team out on patrol that night without her, and while everything goes fine (they manage to hand six gang members over to the SCPD), Oliver misses the reassuring sound of her voice telling him what to do.
She comes in for patrol the next night as though nothing happened, and when he asks her if she’s feeling okay, she tells him that she’s fine.
But as he looks at her closer, he notices the dark circles under her eyes. He notices the way her clothes hang a bit too loosely on her body. He notices the way her hands tremble just the slightest.
Oliver smiles and tells her that he’s glad she’s back, but as she moves to sit at her computer, he notices the way her shoulders sag, like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her back.
He bites back a curse and mentally kicks himself for not seeing this sooner.
He’s been so busy lately - what with Mayoral duties, being the Green Arrow, attempting to mentor a bunch of rowdy, untrained newbies, and worrying about Thea - that he’s managed to miss the fact that Felicity looks more tired and worndown than he’s seen her since the accident last Christmas.
Something is bothering her, and he’s been so caught up in his own life that he hasn’t even noticed.
As she sits in her chair, taking off her glasses to rub tiredly at her eyes, Oliver vows that that’s going to change.
Now.
He starts by bringing food to the lair with him every night. He brings enough for everyone, hoping to hide his concern for her under the guise of keeping his team well fed and healthy. Except she only eats when he prompts her, and even then it’s not as much as he would like. She insists that she's not hungry, but he knows she's lying. Oliver can't remember the last time the words "I'm not hungry" left Felicity Smoak's mouth.
He tries his hand at making healthy smoothies next, hoping that the nutrients - and the liquid vitamins he adds to her portion - will help. He makes everyone on the team drink them, and when Felicity makes a face at him, he insists that everyone on the team includes her. She drinks half of what the rest of them drink - and again, only when he prompts her - but it makes him feel a bit better nonetheless.
A week after introducing the smoothies into the team’s routine, Oliver notes that Felicity’s less pale and shaky, and her clothes seem to fit her just a bit better than they did before.
But there’s one thing he can’t help her with; one thing that really starts to take a toll on her late in October.
She’s not sleeping.
He knows all the signs; he’s experienced them himself. The circles under her eyes that she tries to hide with more and more makeup. The way she drinks coffee like its water, and how hard she shakes sometimes because she’s had too much. The way her eyelids droop when she stares at her computer screen for too long.
She moves slower, and talks slower, and on rare occasion her reaction time is so slow that it borders on dangerous. On one particularly bad night, Oliver just barely manages to not drive his Ducati into the side of a truck because she can’t give him directions fast enough.
When he gets back to the lair that night he’s fully prepared to yell at her; he could’ve died on that mission. But when she looks at him with tears in her eyes he just can’t do it.
Instead he says:
“Go home, Felicity. You need to sleep.”
She nods at him and leaves, but not before hugging him tight and telling him she’s sorry.
“I know,” he whispers in her ear, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing as tight as he dares.
God, she’s skinny. When did she get so skinny? Oliver’s heart plummets into his stomach, but he ignores the ache in his chest and stays strong.
“Just do me a favor and get some sleep, okay?” he says gently, stroking her back a few times before pulling away. “If you’re going to be here, I need you awake and alert.”
“Okay,” she agrees.
When she comes in the next night, she’s more alert than he’s seen her in awhile, and he thinks that maybe he'll be able to help her.
But then things only get worse.
On top of losing weight and being tired, she begins losing her temper with everyone.
She starts by snapping at him for one thing or another, but Oliver lets it go, because he knows it's merely a symptom of a larger problem.
But then she snaps at Curtis because he still can’t figure out how to do the salmon ladder.
She yells at Ramirez because he can’t seem to keep his temper under control in the field.
She berates Evelyn because she can’t stop making "goo goo eyes" at Ramirez, and she’s letting her feelings for him distract her.
When Evelyn leaves the room in tears, Oliver can’t keep silent anymore.
"What has gotten into you?” he hisses, turning to glare at Felicity where she sits at the conference room table.
“I’m just telling her what she needs to hear. It’s not my fault you don’t have the balls to say it to her yourself," Felicity retorts, crossing her arms over her chest.
Oliver’s blood starts to boil.
“Excuse me?” he practically growls, taking a step closer to her and crossing his own arms over his chest. “If you have something to say to me then say it, Felicity.”
“I just did!” she snaps, standing up from the table so quickly that her chair crashes to the floor behind her, taking a step toward him. “Weren’t you listening?”
“Yeah, I was!" Oliver shouts, and he’s close enough to her now that he can practically feel her breath against his face. “It sounded like you were accusing me of not knowing how to lead my own team.”
“You’re too soft on them,” she states bluntly, and Oliver can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“You do remember that I put an arrow in Wild Dog’s arm the first night I brought him into the field, right?”
“Yeah, I do. But that was then, Oliver. Now…now it’s like you don’t even care.”
The words are like a punch to Oliver’s gut, and he flinches. He clenches his arms tighter against his chest as though to protect himself.
“Of course I care," he says, trying hard to keep his rapidly growing anger under control.
She shakes her head. “You’re not focused on them anymore, Oliver.”
"You’re right, I’m not!" he shouts. "It’s because I’m too worried about YOU!”
He says the words without thinking, and just like that all the anger floods out of him, like air out of a quickly deflating balloon.
She stares at him in shock.
“You…what?”
Oliver lets out a long, deep sigh, and he uncrosses his arms, dropping them down to his sides. The desire to touch her, to hold her, is unbearable; a physical ache.
“I’m worried about you,” he repeats, softer this time. He wants her - no, needs her - to listen to him; to talk to him.
She stares at him, and for one glorious moment he thinks she might be willing to open up.
But then-
“Well, don’t be. I’m fine, Oliver. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She pushes past him, heading up to the comm center to collect her things.
She’s hiding something important from him, and it’s more clear now than it ever was before.
What she can’t hide from him is the quiet sob that escapes her as she flies past him on her way out of the lair.
Oliver stares down at his feet, at a complete loss.
In the end, he takes out his frustrations on the training dummies, punching and kicking until his muscles are sore and his knuckles are bruised.
The pain in his body is nothing compared to the pain he feels in his soul.
He tries his best to get her to talk to him about what’s going on with her, but every time he asks her if she’s okay, she says that she’s fine. Every time he asks her if she wants to talk, she insists there’s nothing to talk about. Every time he tries to get her to open up, she pushes him away.
At first, her reticence to talk to him just makes him sad. But his sadness quickly gives way to anger and frustration.
Oliver doesn't blame Felicity for breaking up with him. He kept an important part of his life a secret from her, and he failed to include her in his decision to let William go. She had every right to be upset with him; to feel like she couldn't trust him.
But another part of the reason she broke up with him was because he wouldn’t lean on her. She was worried that he would always revert to the man on the island; that he would always do things alone. She wanted him to ask for help, and to not just do things on his own. She wanted him to learn to open up.
And now he has learned to do all of those things.
He let her help him put together a new team, and he’s letting that team help him fight…and all because she asked him to.
He’s opened up to Felicity, too. He’s talked to her about his struggle with trying to be a good mayor, and about his constant fight to balance being Mayor with being the Green Arrow.
He’s talked to her about his doubts, and he’s talked to her about his hopes.
But she won’t do the same thing for him.
Rationally, he knows there’s a difference. They’re not in a relationship anymore, and he has no right to expect her to hold herself to the same standards she expected of him when they were together.
And yet…Oliver assumed they were still friends. Friends talked to each other, didn’t they? Friends shared things, and opened up to each other, and asked for help.
He’s been willing to do those things with her, but she won’t do the same for him, and it frustrates Oliver to no end because he knows something is bothering her. He knows Felicity so well; better than he knows himself. She’s hurting…and she won’t let him help her.
And truth be told, he’s had about as much of it as he can bear.
They have yet another argument when Oliver asks her why she won’t eat the food he cooked for the team.
“I’m not hungry, Oliver. I’ve told you that a million times," she responds with exasperation. Her fingers continue to fly over her keyboard, as though the conversation just isn't important.
But it is important to Oliver.
“Felicity, you haven’t eaten anything I’ve cooked in two weeks,” he says carefully.
He's doing a miraculous job of keeping his anger in check.
Unfortunately, the same can't be said for her.
“Yes, because like I’ve told you: I’m. Not. Hungry.”
She stands suddenly from her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, and she’s in his face now.
“Believe it or not, I don’t need you to take care of me, Oliver. I can take care of myself.”
“I know that,” Oliver insists, biting his tongue to keep himself from yelling. “It’s just-“
“Do you really want to know the truth?”
Oliver’s heart skips a beat, then proceeds to pound hard and fast against his ribcage.
“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” he responds, trying to keep the eagerness from his voice.
“I have a boyfriend.”
It’s the last thing he expected to hear, quite frankly, and it feels like the bottom has just fallen out of his world.
“You…you have a boyfriend?” he asks, taking a step back from her. It feels like she’s stabbed him in the gut, and he hates the sense of betrayal he feels washing over him.
“Yes.”
“For…for how long?” he asks, and his heart is beating wildly now, his lungs struggling for air.
“Three months.”
“Three…three months?” Oliver’s chest grows tight, and he feels a rising sense of panic. He takes a long, deep breath, trying to keep himself from falling apart. “Why…why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, and he’s terrified of the answer but he needs to hear it anyway.
“I didn’t think it was important.”
It’s a lie, and they both know it.
Oliver doesn’t understand why she'd felt the need to keep this from him, or how she'd been able to keep it a secret in the first place…but all the questions he has will have to wait, because there’s one question that’s more important than all of them.
“Is he hurting you?” Oliver asks gently, unable to keep his voice from shaking.
She uncrosses her arms, letting them fall to her sides.
“What?” she asks, clearly taken aback by the question.
“I’m not blind, Felicity," he says sadly. "You’re not sleeping, and despite what you might be telling me, I know you’re not eating. You’re cranky and exhausted and I can’t remember the last time I saw you smile.”
She looks away from him, and he notes the way she rubs her fingers together: the same nervous tic she picked up from him.
“He’s not hurting me, Oliver. I promise.” Her voice is softer than he’s heard it all night, and he can tell she’s being honest with him – for once. “He’s good to me. Maybe too good.”
He files away the “too good” comment for later, because this is the first time she’s opened up to him in months and he needs more; he’s not going to let this chance get away from him.
“Then what’s bothering you?” he prompts gently, and without thinking he closes the distance between them and grabs both of her hands in his.
She flinches under his touch, pulling her hands away from his, and he knows he’s gone too far.
“Felicity-”
“I have to go,” she says, voice trembling. “You’ll have to patrol tonight without me.” She turns from him and grabs her purse and jacket from where she dropped them on her desk.
“Felicity, please don’t go,” he pleads, his voice breaking on her name.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles as she brushes past him, and Oliver shuts his eyes tight, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
When he hears the elevator doors close, he kicks her chair over and screams.
The next two weeks are awkward. Painfully awkward. Oliver can’t remember the last time things were this weird between them. At least after she gave him the ring back for the second time, Oliver knew where they stood.
But now?
He’s not upset that she has a boyfriend.
Well, okay, maybe he’s a little upset. But that’s not the source of his frustration.
Because it’s clear to him that the boyfriend is not the only secret she's hiding.
She’s starting to fall apart, and she won’t let him help her.
She stops putting on makeup, and between the bags under her eyes and the pasty color of her skin he knows she’s not taking care of herself.
She wears nothing but sweatpants, baggy shirts, and sneakers, and her usually neat ponytail looks messy and unwashed.
She’s still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, but every day she looks less and less like his Felicity and more and more like someone he doesn’t know.
On more than one occasion, he catches her falling asleep while running searches on her computer. He tries to convince her to go home, but she always just shakes her head and goes to grab herself another cup of coffee.
One night in mid November, Oliver comes back to the lair after a mission to find her asleep at her computer. He kneels down next to her and shakes her shoulders gently to wake her up.
She jerks awake with a gasp, body tensing under his touch.
“Hey, it’s okay, it’s just me,” he soothes, rubbing her shoulders gently. “It’s Oliver.”
She stares at him like she doesn’t recognize him, eyes wide and filled with terror, and his blood runs cold.
After some of the longest seconds of Oliver’s life, she closes her eyes, and when she reopens them her eyes are calm and bright blue again.
“Oliver,” she says, like she’s testing his name, and he relaxes just a bit.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he assures her. He continues to massage her shoulders, and when she doesn’t pull away from him he feels a spark of hope light up in his chest. "Did you have a bad dream?” he asks carefully.
He gazes at her patiently, silently willing her to talk to him.
Felicity shakes her head and laughs, but the laugh sounds forced. “Just a bunch of kangaroos chasing me. You know, that stupid dream I have from time to time. It was nothing,” she answers with a smile.
Except the smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
She’s lying to him.
Again.
He wants to shake her, wants to scream, wants to find a way to make her talk to him, but he’s terrified that if he pushes her too hard he’ll push her away for good.
“Let me take you home,” he says, squeezing her shoulders firmly as he stands.
“I’m fine, Oliver. I can get home by myself.”
God, is he tired of hearing the words “I’m fine” when it’s clear that she is anything but fine.
“Felicity-”
“I said I can get home by myself, Oliver,” she grits out, and when she stands up, shrugging out from under his touch, it doesn’t escape his attention that her legs are shaking. “I can take care of myself.”
He closes his eyes, lets out a long, deep sigh…and finds that he just can’t be angry. All he wants to do is help her and she won’t let him, and he’s just so tired. He’s not willing to rise to her bait anymore.
“I’m not trying to start another fight, Felicity. I just…I’m worried about you.”
The anger in her eyes dims, and her muscles relax as she visibly softens at his words.
“I’m okay, Oliver,” she says quietly. “Really. I just stayed up too late last night with Adrian.”
He twitches slightly at her boyfriend’s name, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Please go home. Don’t worry about me,” she says.
He does what she asks. Or at least, he tries to. But when he gets home and sits down on his couch and closes his eyes, all he can see is her. She’s tired and small and hurting and he can’t do a damn thing about it.
He breaks two kitchen chairs, smashes half the dishes in the kitchen, and puts his fist through the living room wall before he collapses to the floor and cries.
An hour later, Oliver sets up a Skype call to Diggle in Chechnya, praying that he’s free to talk. When the call connects, he realizes that the pain must be written all over his face, because the first words to leave John Diggle’s mouth are:
“What’s wrong?”
Oliver tells him everything. How he knows that something’s bothering Felicity, but she won’t talk to him. How he’s tried to help her, but she won’t accept his help. How he wants to push, but he’s afraid of pushing her away for good.
“I’m worried, John. More than that, I’m…I’m scared. I’m terrified that she’s going to hurt herself and there’s nothing I can do about it. I…I don’t know what to do.”
Diggle sighs, running a hand over the top of his head in thought. Finally, he looks back up at Oliver, and he smiles sadly.
“Oliver, if there’s anything I’ve learned about Felicity Smoak in the past four years it’s that she has a stubborn streak about as long as yours.”
Oliver laughs.
“Yeah, she does,” he agrees with a shake of his head, and he smiles fondly at the thought of just how stubborn she can be. “But what are you saying?”
“I’m saying it might take some time, but she’ll come around. She needs you, Oliver; even if she doesn’t want to admit it. Just be patient. Let her know you’ll be there for her when she’s ready to talk.”
“Yeah,” Oliver whispers, and he nods his head. “Yeah, okay.”
They talk for a few more minutes about how the team’s coming along, how Oliver’s job as mayor is going…and about when Digg might be thinking of coming home.
“Honestly? I don’t know, man. I think…I just need more time.”
Oliver nods. “I get that. Take all the time you need, John. We’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.”
Diggle nods, and Oliver’s just about ready to say goodbye when Digg points a finger at him and says:
“Take care of our girl, Oliver.”
Oliver fights back his tears, and his voice trembles when he answers, “Always.”
The next morning, Oliver texts the team and tells them to take the night off. Felicity's running a program that will help them find the location of one Star City’s top gang headquarters. Without that location, there’s not much they can do right now. The city will be fine if they take a night off from their standard patrols.
He lets them all think the night off is for them, when really it’s just an excuse for Felicity. He hopes she uses the opportunity to get a good night’s rest.
But when the sun sets, Oliver finds that he can’t sit still, and he heads for the lair to get in a good workout and let off some steam.
The last thing he expects to find is Felicity sitting in the comm center, staring quietly at her computer screen.
He watches her silently, willing himself to stay calm. She hasn’t noticed him yet; too engrossed in whatever she’s doing.
She told him the program could run fine by itself; that she didn’t need to be there.
So then why is she here?
He watches as she yawns. Oliver’s hands clench into fists at his sides, and he realizes that he’s shaking. He takes a step toward her, fully prepared to pick her up and drag her home kicking and screaming if he has to.
She picks up her coffee mug and frowns down at it. She stands up and turns to the side to head toward the coffeemaker.
It happens suddenly and without warning.
One second she’s standing, and the next she’s falling. Her arms flail behind her as she tries to grip her chair for balance, but she’s still holding the coffee mug in one hand and she can’t grab it. The mug hits the ground and shatters with a noise that pales in comparison to the sound of Felicity’s body hitting the floor.
Oliver’s feet are moving before he’s even aware of telling them to move, and he yells her name without having to think about it.
“Felicity!”
He’s at her side in seconds. She’s lying on her stomach, palms flat out on the floor beside her from where she tried to stop her own fall and failed. He crashes onto his knees next to her and puts his hands carefully on her shoulders. He sighs in relief when he sees that her eyes are open.
“Felicity? Felicity, look at me, honey,” he prompts her, and he uses his left hand to carefully move her hair off of her face. She doesn’t respond, and his relief is quickly replaced by panic. “Look at me,” he says again, and his heart pounds in his chest as she continues to stare blankly off into space.
He doesn’t want to shake her, afraid that he’ll hurt her, but it’s like she’s not even there. Her eyes look glassy and empty and it terrifies him.
“Felicity, please. Come on, baby, look at me.”
He hasn’t called her “baby” in a very long time, and he thinks that’s what finally gets through to her. She stirs, groaning softly as she closes her eyes. When she opens them again she’s back with him, and Oliver lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as she moves to sit up. He puts his hands under her arms to help her.
“Oliver?” she asks, her body shaking hard under his touch. “What happened?”
“You fell,” he answers simply, moving his hands back to her shoulders. He runs his hands along her body carefully, checking her for injuries. For once she doesn’t flinch or push him away, and somehow that scares him even more. He touches her arms, her upper and lower back. He runs his hands along her sides and across her stomach, and he can't help but gasp in surprise as he finally realizes just how thin she's gotten. He bites his lip as he finishes his check, running his hands along her thighs and down her legs.
Everything seems fine…except that she’s trembling.
“Well, that was silly of me,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I must have tripped over the chair leg or something,” she says, smiling that same smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She laughs, but the situation is far from funny.
“Let me help you up,” he says, and he doesn’t give her a chance to argue before he wraps one arm around her back, grips her under her knees, and lifts her up.
She protests by pushing weakly at his shoulders.
“I’m fine, Oliver. Really. I can walk by myself.”
“Not a chance,” he growls, and his tone shocks her into silence.
He carries her back toward the kitchen they’d built just that summer, bringing her over to one of the chairs around the large dining table.
“Stay here,” he orders, and in contrast to his harsh tone, he puts her down gently. He walks over to the sink and pours a glass of water. Then he grabs a plate from the cabinet and heads toward the fridge. He pulls out a premade sandwich, unwraps it, and puts it on the plate.
He brings the water and the sandwich back over to her and puts them both on the table.
“Eat,” he tells her, but she’s already picked up the sandwich and taken a bite.
Oliver stands next to her and watches. She takes a few bites of sandwich, then drinks some water. She pauses, then looks back up at him, but he doesn’t need to say a word. She eats more of the sandwich as Oliver stands silently, gripping the edge of the table. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s squeezing it until his hand starts to cramp.
She finishes the water, and Oliver takes the glass from her and goes to fill it again. When he comes back, she puts down what’s left of the sandwich and stares across the table. She’s eaten all but a few bites, and Oliver’s satisfied.
He pulls out the chair next to her and sits down slowly, taking a deep breath as he does so.
He was ready and willing to take John’s advice. He was ready to be patient; to let her know that he’d be there for her when she was ready to talk.
But that was before he’d watched her collapse to the floor, nearly passing out from hunger. That was before he’d run his hands over her body and realized that the baggy clothes she’d been wearing were hiding just how bad off she really was. That was before he’d looked into her eyes and he hadn’t seen her looking back at him.
He has so many questions for her he doesn’t know where to start. All he knows is that he needs answers – at least some of them – if he wants to have any hope of letting her out of his sight ever again.
“Felicity…what happened tonight?” he asks carefully.
Felicity shakes her head, then looks down at the table, unable to meet his gaze. “I told you, Oliver. I tripped over the chair and I-”
“Don’t,” Oliver bites out, clenching his hands into fists against the table. “Don’t lie to me.”
His tone is harsh, harsher than he’d meant it to be, and he regrets it instantly. She flinches and turns her head away from him, and he clasps his hands in his lap and wills himself to calm down. Losing his temper isn’t going to get her to talk to him…but he's done listening to her lies.
“Fe-li-ci-ty.” He whispers her name gently, drawing out every syllable. It's how he says her name when he wants to comfort her. When he wants her to know that she's special. When he wants her to know that she's loved. “Felicity…you’re scaring me.”
He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but once the words are out he can’t take them back. He can only sit at the table and pray that she listens.
“Oliver….” She looks like she wants to say something, but in the end she doesn’t. She stares down at the table and picks absently at her sandwich.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks quietly. He puts his right hand down on the tabletop, itching to reach across the space between them. “Why are you shutting me out?” He moves his hand slowly across the table, then rests his fingers lightly on top of hers. She flinches, but she doesn’t pull away.
“You’re not sleeping, you’re not eating. I know all the signs, Felicity. I’ve been there myself.” He runs his fingers carefully along the back of her hand, and when she doesn’t pull away he turns her hand over and holds it tight. “You’re in pain.”
Tears rise in her eyes, but with a few quick blinks they’re gone. She tries to pull her hand away from his but he grips it tighter, unwilling to let her go.
“Talk to me, Felicity. Please. Let me help you.”
She shakes her head, pulling harder against his grip, and this time he lets her go.
“I don’t need you coddling me, Oliver. I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself.”
“I’m not…I’m not saying you can’t,” Oliver protests, sliding forward in his chair in an attempt to get closer to her. “I’m just…I’m saying you don’t have to go it alone.”
She scoffs, shaking her head at him again. “Wow. You know, that’s rich coming from you, Oliver Queen.”
Oliver can practically taste the bitterness behind her words, and the sting of them feels like a physical blow.
His mind flashes back to what she said when she gave him back his ring for the first time...and then the second time. She broke up with him because he didn’t know how to lean on her; because he couldn’t ask for help. She’s been telling him he needs to learn to ask for help for a long time now. She’s been begging him not to do things alone; to not be that man on the island.
And now she’s become just like him.
“You’re right,” he agrees. “You’re right. If there’s anyone who knows all about doing things alone, it’s me. But this isn’t about me, Felicity; it’s about you.”
Felicity sighs. She reaches out to grab the glass of water in front of her, and he watches her drink silently. He notes how much her hands are shaking, but he says nothing.
When she finally puts the glass down, she turns to him, and there’s pity in her eyes.
“I don’t have to tell you everything that’s going on in my life, Oliver. We’re not together anymore.”
She might as well have stabbed him in the chest, because really, he’s had knife wounds that hurt less than her words do.
“I know that,” he says with a sigh. “I know.”
He tries to reach out to her again, and she scoots her chair slightly away from him. He ignores the voice in the back of his head telling him to stop pushing before he pushes her away completely…because he loves her, and he can’t stand to see her like this.
It’s killing him just as much as it’s clearly killing her.
“But I’m still your friend, Felicity. I lo…I care about you.”
Her next words hurt him more than anything else she’s said tonight.
“Well, don’t.”
She pushes her chair away from the table and stands.
"Felicity-"
“Thank you for the food,” she says, her voice almost robotic. “I have a few more adjustments I need to make to the program before I go home. I think you should find somewhere else to train for the night.”
She turns from him and heads out of the kitchen.
Oliver watches her go…and he knows that he can’t do this anymore.
“Don’t,” he bites out, and when she keeps walking, steadier on her feet than she was before but still shaking, Oliver stands and follows her out of the room. “Don’t do this, Felicity.”
Images flash through his mind as he follows her.
Felicity walking away from him after he kissed her for the first time.
“I told you as soon as we talked …it would be over. ”
Felicity walking away from him in the alley after he came back from the dead.
“I don’t want to be a woman that you love.”
Felicity walking away from him in Nanda Parbat.
“We ’re always saying goodbye to each other. You ’d think I ’d be good at it by now. ”
Felicity regaining the ability to walk …and using it to walk out the door.
“I can ’t do this. ”
Felicity walking away from him after giving him back his mother ’s ring.
“I don ’t want to let you go …but I ’m already gone. ”
She’s walked away from him so many times before because he’s pushed her away. And now? Now she’s pushing him away…but he can’t just stand here and let it happen.
“Don’t do what, Oliver?” she asks with exasperation, but she doesn’t stop moving.
“Don’t walk away from me.”
She stops, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.
“I don’t need your help, Oliver. I don’t need anyone’s help. I’m fine.”
She spits the words out through clenched teeth, and Oliver gets the distinct impression that she’s said these words out loud many times before, and not just to him. Maybe to Adrian, maybe just to herself. It’s a mantra. She doesn’t just want to convince him that it’s true…she wants to convince herself.
“You’re not fine, Felicity. You’re not.”
Her shoulders tense suddenly, and she moves her hands under her glasses, pressing her fingers against her eyelids.
“Make it stop,” she whispers, so quietly he has to strain to hear her.
Oliver’s heart skips a beat, then starts pounding in his chest.
“Make what stop?” he asks tentatively, and he steps toward her slowly, moving around to her left side.
“Stop, stop, stop,” she chants.
“Felicity, what’s wrong?” he asks, stepping closer, and he can see that she’s trembling hard now.
“Leave me alone,” she moans.
It’s like she can’t even hear him; like she’s somewhere else. He’s never seen her like this before and it’s terrifying. He fights down his rising sense of panic, desperate to get through to her; to bring her back from whatever horrors she’s seeing when she closes her eyes.
“It’s okay,” he whispers soothingly. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I said LEAVE ME ALONE!”
Without warning, she turns to him and smacks him hard across the face.
Oliver gasps, clutching at his cheek, and the sting of rejection hurts more than the sting of her hit ever could.
She glares at him, unmoving....
And then something in him just…breaks.
“Fine,” he answers through clenched teeth, still clutching his face where she hit him. “You win, Felicity. If you want me to go, I’ll go.”
“I do,” she responds firmly, and Oliver nods his head.
“Okay. Okay, then. I’ll go.” He takes a step back from her, then another, eyes never leaving hers. “Just…just do me a favor, okay?” he asks, voice breaking against his will.
Felicity stares at him silently, but she nods.
“Call me when you get home.”
He turns and he leaves without another word.
He leaves so quickly that he misses the way her shoulders slump, her anger quickly leaving her.
He misses the look of regret in her eyes.
He punches the button on the elevator and walks inside, blood pounding in his ears so loudly that he misses her calling his name.
He buries his face in his hands, and he doesn’t look back as the doors close behind him….
And he misses her asking him not to go.
...tbc...