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It had only been two weeks since Oliver had moved into 141 Verdant Street, and already he’d had the most interesting experience of his entire life.
And seeing as he’d been stranded on a deserted island for five years, that was seriously saying something.
Moving into his own house on the outskirts of Starling had been a massive change. Arriving back from Lian Yu, and having to re-adapt to life in Starling City, had taken a toll on his mental health, and much to Moira, Walter and Thea’s dismay, Oliver’s psychiatrist had recommended that he move out of the mansion and get his own place to help deal with the reintegration process. It was something to do with PTSD and anxiety, and reduced pressure and increased space - Oliver didn’t care, all he knew was that buying his own place meant that it would be a lot easier to perform his duties as the Hood, coming and going as he pleased.
The house had been expensive - very expensive - but it was a miniscule amount once Oliver had access to his trust fund again. Located on the edge of the city, only five miles from the Queen mansion, the street on which the house was placed was quiet and safe, with a lot of families as his neighbours. The house itself was spacious: it had four bedrooms, the largest main one with an en-suite bathroom attached; a grand kitchen and living room, and a ventilated basement, that would be perfect to transform into a home gym. Oliver had only had to look around for ten minutes before signing the paperwork. He moved in immediately, Tommy helping him move his belongings and Thea taking him furniture shopping. The archer knew that the little things, like the colour and style of the couch and photos on coffee tables, meant a lot more to his family than they would him, but he found that he liked the touches that his sister and best friend made.
It was nearing Halloween by the time Oliver finished moving in, so that meant that his house stood out hugely against the others on the streets; meaning, all the other houses were incredibly decorated with skeletons and fake gravestones and who knew what else. Thea offered to decorate for him, but he declined. The archer had gone for a run early one morning, before the sun came up, and had almost destroyed somebody’s fence when he had thought somebody was attacking him, when it turned out it had just been a zombie scarecrow. Having one of those things on his own porch would not be a good idea.
The strange experience occurred on a normal evening, three nights before Halloween. Humming quietly, Oliver was preparing chicken cordon bleu for himself. Cooking had become his stress-relief activity and hobby, since he’d needed one to impress his psychiatrist with, and he didn’t think shooting arrows into criminal one-percenters would cut it. He was just beginning to slice some cheddar when a horrified scream pierced through the peaceful silence.
Immediately, the archer grabbed his knife and raised it in defence, tensing in instinct. The scream continued for two more seconds before dying off abruptly. It sounded as if somebody had been stabbed. Heart beat thudding in his ears, Oliver snagged his house keys and locked up, knife still held tightly in one hand, before heading over to where he thought the scream had come from. Which happened to be the house directly next to him.
He knocked gently and waited. Five seconds later, the door flew open and a frazzled looking blonde stared back at him, breathing rather heavily as she questioned, “Yes?”
Oliver blinked at her, running his eyes warily up and down her form. She was beautiful - even with her blonde hair looking like a bird’s nest, drawn up in a messy bun with strands flying across her face, and her glasses lopsided, she was very pretty. The archer swallowed as she refused to break eye contact with him defiantly, her own stunningly blue eyes gazing into his. She was dressed in casual jeans and a t-shirt with a police box on it, which he guessed was some kind of reference to a movie or TV show, all of her clothes slightly covered in dust.
“Hi,” he said hesitantly.
“Yes, hello,” the blonde said impatiently. “What is it? Is this about Mrs Ferdinand’s cat again? Because I haven’t seen her cat. I have not kidnapped her cat. I hate that feline, and it hates me back equally as much.”
Oliver cut through her rant by clearing his throat gently. “Yeah, uh, I came to investigate someone screaming next door.”
“Next door -?” The woman’s eyes widened in realisation. “Oh. Shit. You’re the new neighbour. And you meant me. I screamed. So you thought you’d -”
“Is everything okay?” the archer interrupted again, looking past her worriedly. The blonde didn’t look injured or hurt in any way, and there wasn’t any sign of her having a partner in the house that could be abusive.
“Fine,” she replied breathlessly. “I’m Felicity, by the way. Felicity Smoak. Your crazy neighbour who occasionally will interrupt your evening by screaming randomly.”
He shook her held out hand, nodding. “Oliver Queen,” he offered cautiously, before wincing, not knowing what kind of reaction that would get.
“I know, you’re Mr Queen,” Felicity smiled.
“Ah, no,” he shook his head. “Just Oliver, please. Mr Queen was my father.”
“Right, but he's dead,” Felicity said, bracing herself against her doorframe. Her jaw dropped at what she just said, and she hurried on, obviously trying to fix it but epically failing. “I mean, he drowned. But you didn't, which means you could come to my house and listen to me babble. Which will end. In 3... 2... 1.”
Oliver couldn’t help the small smile that graced his lips. It was probably the most honest, genuine smile he’d made since returning from the island. The blonde caught onto it, and beamed back at him. “I just wanted to make sure that everything was alright. I’ll go now, but it was, uh, nice to meet you.”
He turned away to walk back to his own house, but doing so revealed the kitchen knife he had been trying to hide behind his back.
“Is that a knife in your hand?” Felicity asked, alarmed.
He froze. “No.”
“I can literally see the knife in your hand,” Felicity pointed.
Oliver looked down at the knife before looking back up at her. “I was cutting chicken,” he said. “For dinner.”
“Right,” she murmured, looking confused. “And you decided to bring the knife with you?”
Oliver tensed defensively, shooting back coldly, “You screamed, for all I knew somebody was being murdered. I brought the knife instinctively. You would have been glad I did if you were really in trouble.” There was a beat of frigid silence, in which Felicity gazed at him quietly with an unreadable expression. Realising he’d been rude, the archer grimaced, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t appropriate. It was nice to meet you Miss Smoak, I apologise for interrupting your evening.”
He strode off again, fully intending to keep on moving until he reached his couch so he could face-plant into the cushions there, but once again he was stopped by a small delicate hand wrapping around his wrist. As soon as skin on skin contact was made, Oliver’s body jolted, adrenalin surging through his blood as instinct took over. Memories of painful, burning touches flooded his mind. Without even thinking about it, he wheeled around and backed his attacker up to one of the walls of the house, knife branded threateningly.
“Whoa, dude!” Felicity yelped, looking seriously alarmed and freaked out. Her panicked eyes flitted over his form, and seeming to realise that his actions were of an instinctive nature, due to a paranoia born out of fear, her gaze softened and she stopped calmly, calming under his tight grip. “Hey, Oliver, it's okay. You’re safe. Can you, uh, please put the knife down?”
Oliver forced himself back into reality by flipping the knife around in his hand and digging the flat of the cold blade into his palm, hard and deep enough to bruise. The throbbing pain helped him focus, and the sharp memories faded away until he was left gazing steadily into Felicity’s stunningly blue eyes. He inhaled sharply, exhaling with a shudder; she looked completely unafraid of him, standing up straight with her hands resting loosely on his forearms.
He dropped the knife. It clattered to the ground. “I’m so sorry,” he managed to choke out, stumbling back slightly and wrapping his arms around himself, as if he could try and contain the darkness within his torso, keep it from infecting her.
“Shh,” Felicity hushed him gently, taking a step towards him as if wanting to try and soothe him, but pausing with her hands held in the surrender position as if trying to calm a wild animal when he flinched. “It's alright, Oliver. It was my fault, okay, I startled you, and you reacted instinctively.” She glanced over his shoulder, and her eyes fixed on a point behind him, she murmured, “Come inside?”
Oliver hesitated. The monster inside of him, brought out by Waller and the Bratva, had already almost killed her. Was he really willing to risk Felicity’s life again? But then, the thought process died; Felicity had slipped both her hands into his and squeezed them, looking at him carefully as she tried to ground him. With a small nod, the archer allowed the blonde into her house.
The decor perfectly represented Felicity’s personality: bright colours and mismatched furniture, belongings strewn over the place to make the space feel lived in and homely. It was the complete opposite to Oliver’s house, which due to Thea, was styled to be modern and fashionable, with sharp diamond white, black and crimson. The archer remained silent, his hands trembling as Felicity led him to sit on the couch, before vanishing into the next room.
The blonde re-appeared minutes later with a mug and she gently pressed it into his hands before taking a seat beside him, making sure that they weren’t touching, but she was close enough to provide a comforting physical presence.
“It's chamomile tea,” she told him softly. “It should help calm you down.” Pausing, the IT girl questioned tenderly, “Was it a flashback?”
Oliver shook his head, refusing to answer. His hands tightened around the mug, and he was reluctant to drink, but he took a small sip just so that he had an excuse to avoid her gaze. Being diagnosed with severe chronic PTSD was entirely different than accepting it. He knew that he was still pointlessly denying it. Saying aloud that he suffered from flashbacks was too overwhelming.
“It’s okay,” Felicity reassured quietly, taking his silence as reluctance to respond. “I’m sorry about bringing you inside without a proper invitation, it’s just, well, Mrs Deverell was staring at us. She lives across the street and she’s honestly the nosiest old hag. I thought you’d want to avoid a scene.”
“Thank you,” he finally replied.
She flashed him a brilliant smile. “You’re welcome. Are you feeling better?”
“I’ve never had chamomile tea before,” was what he answered instead. Pausing for a moment, he licked his lips before questioning warily, “Why are you covered in dust?”
The blonde blinked at him, surprised by the random question, but then she adjusted her glasses and laughed nervously. “Funny story. I was trying to find some spare computer parts in my basement, and instead, fell onto a massive dust bunny.”
“Oh.” Oliver took another sip of his chamomile tea. “Is that why you screamed?”
The crimson blush that spread across the blonde’s cheeks only made Oliver’s abrupt fondness for her grow. “Uh, not exactly,” she mumbled, seemingly embarrassed.
Oliver frowned. “So what…?” he trailed off, confused.
Felicity’s eyes widened suddenly. “Yes,” she said excitedly, leaping to her feet and clapping her hands, “Yes, you’re perfect. Big, strapping, handsome, muscular man like you - you’re perfect.”
The archer had no clue what she was going on about. “Perfect for what?”
Felicity didn’t say anything more though, only offering her hand urgently, her eyes pleading. His brow furrowing, Oliver stood hesitantly and took her hand with caution, allowing the IT girl to lead him through her house and to the entrance door of her basement. She opened it and motioned for him to step inside. Now more wary than before, the archer took a step back, his eyes flying between the dark doorway and the blonde in concern.
“I need you to go down for me,” Felicity said.
“Why?”
The blonde gave him a sheepish grin. “There’s something growling down there, could you, uh… check it out for me?”
“Growling?” the archer repeated.
“Yes,” Felicity nodded.
“That’s what caused you to scream,” he deduced.
She looked annoyed. “It startled me! It could have been a bear! Or a coyote! Or a wolf!”
Amused, Oliver told her, “There aren’t any wolves around here, Felicity.”
“Coyote then!”
“They have fences around the neighbourhood to keep them out. Same for bears,” he added, when she opened her mouth, obviously about to respond with that option.
“Oliverrrr,” she whined. Oliver smirked. She looked like she wanted to stomp her foot on the floor and pout. “Please? I don’t like growly things. Once, one of my co-workers brought a cat into QC and it attacked me so they had to taze it. It smelt like burnt fur in my office for weeks.”
Sighing, he fixed a look on her, which basically translated as, are you serious? The grim expression she responded with let him know that Felicity was completely serious. Rolling his eyes, Oliver walked to the basement door again. He would have liked to have a combat knife or his bow with him, but he knew that quickly running back to his own house to grab his favourite weapon and coming back to face Felicity with a full quiver would result in questions.
“Thank you thank you thank you,” Felicity rushed out, bouncing up and down nervously.
“Stay behind me, okay?” he requested.
“Yep, I will be right here,” she nodded. “Do we need a fire extinguisher?” Out of nowhere, Felicity seemed to produce one, a small handheld one you’d usually find in an office. She wielded the red bottle of carbon dioxide and foam as if it was a bazooka.
Oliver was confused. “... Is there going to be a fire?”
“Well, no.”
“Then why would we need a fire extinguisher?”
Her face fell. “I just thought -”
“Felicity,” he chuckled. “I promise you, we will not need a fire extinguisher.”
“Oh. Alright.” She popped it back down on the floor.
Oliver took her hand and led her into the basement, at the top of the stairs. He could feel her trembling, so he gently squeezed her hand, shooting back a reassuring look. With that, he closed the door. Felicity squeaked in alarm at being plunged into sudden darkness, fumbling for the light switch with her spare hand, but Oliver wheeled around took hold of both of her wrists, stopping her.
“If it’s an animal, it’ll be more comfortable in the dark,” he whispered. “And easier to catch.”
“What if it’s not an animal?” she murmured.
He was thrown for a few seconds. “Well, you said it’s been growling. What else could it be?”
“A zombie.”
He huffed a laugh. Oliver’s eyes were already adjusting to the darkness, and he kept on blinking until he could see Felicity’s face clearly.
“Don't laugh at me, mister, it's nearly Halloween, maybe a particular early riser decided to come and hunt me for my genius brain.”
“Felicity, zombies don’t exist.”
“Yeah, that’s what the government wants you to think,” Felicity muttered. “What, are you gonna tell me aliens don’t exist next?”
“They don’t.”
“Yes they do!”
“I’m not arguing with my neighbour over this,” he decided, turning back to the stairs and very carefully helping Felicity down them, making sure she didn’t trip.
She kept on stumbling, so obviously her eyesight hadn’t adjusted yet, but Oliver couldn’t blame her for that. The only reason he could get used to darkness so quickly was because on the island, it had either been that, or be jump scared by the wolves living there. Finally, reaching the bottom of the staircase, Oliver ran his eyes over the room searchingly, trying to catch sight of any kind of creature that could be growling. The basement was filled with piled boxes and a thick layer of dust had settled over everything.
“Can you see anything?” Felicity whispered nervously.
“Shh,” he ordered, sweeping his gaze over the room. Pausing in thought, Oliver allowed a snarl to rise up into his throat, one he’d perfected thanks to having to repeatedly deal with the island wolves trying to eat him. It made Felicity jump and squeak beside him, so he halted briefly, murmuring to her, “I’m just trying to intimidate it,” before he resumed his growling.
“I don’t even want to know why you know how to snarl like that,” the blonde muttered.
Oliver rolled his eyes. “That’s probably for the best.”
His growling, however, had caused whatever creature was lurking in Felicity’s basement to start hissing angrily. Frowning, the archer released the blonde’s hand so he could dart forwards, ducking around one of the box piles to pounce on the animal. It screeched in response to him grabbing it around the stomach, but it didn’t take much skill to wrangle it under control. He could hear Felicity’s tense, heavy breathing from across the room; she was probably wondering what the hell was going on.
Her scared whimper of, “Oliver?” prompted him into speaking.
“You can turn on the lights,” he called out, cradling the creature to his chest and walking back towards the stairs.
Felicity quickly sprinted back up to flip the switch and Oliver had to blink in order to re-adjust to being in a light environment as she tripped back down towards him. Her jaw dropped at what she saw in his arms.
“What did you say about not kidnapping a cat?” Oliver questioned dryly.
The gnarled tabby cat in the archer’s arms mewed softly, purring as he stroked two fingers under her chin.
“I didn’t know it was in here!” Felicity burst out defensively. Cautiously, she reached her hand out to stroke over the cat, but in response, the feline hissed furiously again, fur going on end and bristling, making the IT girl draw back, crossing her arms tightly as she spluttered, “How could a cat even get into my basement anyway?”
“I have no idea,” Oliver chuckled. “But you might want to return her to - Mrs Ferdinand, was it?”
She flushed red, shaking her head. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”
“You thought a cat you trapped in your basement was a zombie trying to eat you,” he laughed.
Huffing, Felicity stormed up the staircase, making sure it clanked loudly as Oliver ascended just behind her, stroking the cat in his arms, grinning at her back as she appeared to refuse to acknowledge him. It was only once they had released the cat into her back yard and watched it clamber gracefully over the fence and out of sight that the blonde IT girl whipped around and smacked the archer in the arm with a scowl.
“I can feel you silently judging me for this,” she accused.
“That poor cat. Who knows how long it was trapped in your dusty basement for?” Oliver teased her, nudging her shoulder as they walked back inside to her living room, brushing himself off. “At least it wasn’t hungry with all the rats down there.”
Felicity squeaked, whipping around to face him with an expression of horror as she repeated, “RATS?”
He grinned. “Kidding.”
She poked him directly in the chest, glaring. “Don’t joke with me like that. I hate rats.”
“And cats, evidently.”
“Stoppp,” the blonde groaned.
“Okay, sorry, sorry,” Oliver chuckled. “No more bringing up animals of any kind.” He halted, taking a breath. Very spontaneously, not even pausing to properly think it through, he added, “Unless it’s chicken.”
She looked adorably confused. “Chicken?”
“Um, yeah.” Oh god, what was he doing. “Chicken. Like… chicken cordon bleu. That I was cooking. For myself. Which… I am now inviting you to come and eat with me.”
He winced. Okay, so Oliver Queen definitely was rusty on the social skills front, but at least he’d managed to get something out that made sense. Due to the nerves that had smacked him in the face after her clarifying question, he had been afraid he wouldn’t be able to form a coherent sentence at all. Especially after she hit him with that cute bemused expression.
Realisation seemed to dawn on the IT girl and she shifted awkwardly in front of him, twisting her hands together as she asked in an uncharacteristically shy manner, “Are you asking me to dinner?”
Biting his lip for a second, Oliver jerked his head in a nod, breathing out, “Yeah.”
She blinked rapidly, trying to process this, before a beaming smile flashed across her face and she replied happily, “Sure. Beats microwavable pizza.”
Disturbed, he questioned, “Can you not cook?”
Shaking her head, Felicity said sheepishly, “I can’t even make an omelette. Usually I just have ready meals or that oven cookable stuff. Or take out. It’s really weird to think that Oliver Queen is going to cook for me.”
“You’re the first person able to say that, by the way.”
“Even better. Lead the way.”
Making the short walk over to his house, ensuring that Felicity locked up behind her and that he quickly slipped the knife he had dropped outside of her door out of sight, Oliver kept his eyes fixed curiously on the blonde as she strode just in front of him, squinting her eyes at his own house and yard. Fumbling for his keys in his pocket, Oliver unlocked the door and shouldered it open, clearing his throat. For some reason, he wanted to impress the blonde. There was a strange wriggling mass inside of his stomach that was making him feel a little weird, and the archer had never really experienced it before, but he knew it was anxiety.
Oliver Queen, the notorious Hood, who had worked for both ARGUS and the Bratva, and faced off against countless criminals, was nervous. Because he had a pretty girl that he legitimately thought he was attracted to coming over to his house so he could make her dinner; because that pretty girl was Felicity Smoak, the clever, empathetic, kind woman who’d comforted him after a panic attack and then asked him to go down to her basement because there was a cat down there that was making growling noises; because she was a person that treated him like a human being, not as if he was broken or a cracked shard of Ollie Queen from the past; because she made him feel like he could be himself.
Felicity didn’t, however, turn to enter the house after he cleared his throat to attract her attention. Joining him at the door, she was frowning as she asked, “Where are your Halloween decorations?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who decorates for Halloween?” he deadpanned.
“I don’t know,” she squirmed. “But Halloween’s in three days, aren’t you doing to decorate? You have to decorate.”
“Why do I have to decorate?”
She looked at him as if he was insane. “Do you not know what neighbourhood you moved into? Not decorating for the holidays is… sacrilege, here.”
“Why?” he asked, alarmed.
“Because - this is a family area! There are lots of kids! And if you want to avoid being glared at and shunned by the rest of the street for the foreseeable future, you need to decorate for Halloween and give out lots of candy to the kids.” Narrowing her eyes at him, Felicity questioned suspiciously, “You are gonna give candy to the kids, aren’t you?”
“Uh…”
“Dear god, you are gonna get slaughtered at the Christmas party.”
“They have joint Christmas parties?” This was all news to him. And definitely one of the strangest neighbourhood communities he’d ever come across.
“Oh, Oliver.” Felicity shot him a sympathetic look. “You keep going like this, and you’re not going to survive six months here.”
The archer raised an eyebrow. “I survived five years on a deserted island on my own,” he countered dryly. “I think I’m going to be fine, Felicity.”
She laughed. “Ah, it’s so adorable that you think that.” Patting his shoulder gently, the blonde moved past him and inside the house. Ducking his head in a smile, Oliver shut the door behind them and led her into the kitchen, where she hopped into a seat at his dining table and began getting comfortable. “So are you going trick or treating? Going to a Halloween party?”
Pulling the already half prepared chicken out of where he’d quickly stashed it in the fridge before running over to the blonde’s house, Oliver went over to the sink to wash his hands as he shrugged, telling her, “I haven’t really made any plans. Halloween’s not… really my thing.”
“Why not?” Felicity asked curiously, lacing her hands together as she settled back to watch him cook. “It’s a bunch of adorable kids dressing up in silly costumes, and you get a load of free candy. What’s not to like?”
He shrugged again. “People shed their identities and become anonymous, wearing masks and costumes so they become unrecognisable. You can’t read their emotions or anticipate their moves - they become unpredictable. And when you open your door to those strangers to give them candy, you have no idea who half of them are - you make yourself vulnerable to them.” Pausing briefly in his slicing of potatoes for making a rosti dish, he lowered his voice and hunched his shoulders, muttering, “And I don’t like being vulnerable.”
“Wow. I’ve never really thought of it like that.”
“Not to mention that I’m dangerous.” The archer chuckled bitterly. “You saw what I did to you in the middle of the day, even after you showed me that you weren’t a threat - I could have killed you. Can you imagine how I’d react to some kid trying to jump scare me in the dark?”
Felicity didn’t say anything in response, so Oliver risked a glance back at her, but shrivelled when he saw that she was regarding him with a rather pitying look, anger clouding his judgement. “You can’t live in fear like that, Oliver.”
“What else am I supposed to do?” he snapped.
She remained calm, even faced with his fury. And Oliver knew that when he was angry, he was scary. Felicity didn’t seem the least bit afraid. “Why don’t you come over to mine?”
Deflating, every ounce of rage draining out of him all at once, Oliver furrowed his brow in confusion, very nearly dropping the carton of cream he was holding. “What?” he questioned softly.
Felicity seemed to have set her mind on it, because she raised her chin and in a determined tone, she stated, “You’re coming over to my house and we’re going to spend Halloween together. You’re going to drink pumpkin spice cocoa with me and answer the door to give candy apples to the cute kids with me, and you’re going to have a pleasant evening and you’re not going to hide in the basement like some sort of vampire to avoid this holiday.”
“Felicity -”
“No negotiations.”
“We just met.”
“I know.”
“I had a knife, and I nearly could have killed you.”
“Yes, which was my fault, because I startled you and caused a flashback, but then you made up for it by helping me drive out the monster that was stalking my basement.”
“It was a cat.”
“Whatever. Sure, we met today, but we’re practically friends already. We can hang around each other’s houses and spend Halloween together.” Felicity quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t think you’d be able to cope with my festive spirit, Oliver?”
He crossed his arms. “Doesn’t the word ‘festive’ only really relate to Christmas?”
“‘Festive’ can be used to describe any celebratory time,” she replied, drumming her fingers on the table. “So do you accept the challenge? Not - not that spending any sort of time with me would be a challenge. I just mean - you know, accept the challenge of actually enjoying Halloween when you hate it.”
Oliver sighed. She was definitely fixed on this notion for him spending Halloween with me, and to be honest… it sounded nice. He really liked her as a person, and she already knew he would be uncomfortable, so was there actually any point in saying no? He would be able to spend time with a girl he was attracted to and enjoy her company, whilst she happily got him involved in handing out candy to kids. And, well, Oliver could make some pretty amazing toffee and fudge. Finishing the food and popping the rosti into the oven to cook, he uncorked one of his favourite wine bottles and poured her a small glass, opting to go for water himself. She looked like a red wine lover. And seeing the delight in her expression when he came over with the wine glass in hand, he realised that the warm feeling in his chest was self-satisfaction. He was right. She did like red wine.
“Fine,” he accepted, passing over her drink. “I’ll spend Halloween with you.” Her beaming grin made a smile tug at his own lips. “But I’m not wearing a costume.”
“Shame,” Felicity hummed. “You would have looked good in tight leather.”
He almost choked on his water.
“God, sorry. I should never talk.”
Steeling himself and putting on a flat expression to hide his immense humour, Oliver asked her innocently, “And why would I have been wearing leather?”
“Have you not heard?” Felicity raised an eyebrow. “The new hottest and sexiest person to dress up as for Halloween is the Hood.”
Oh my god.
“Well that’s… interesting,” he managed to choke out.
“It’s not really all that surprising,” Felicity continued, sipping her wine as she glanced around the room, which the archer was thankful for, because he was pretty certain that he was blushing. “I mean, have you seen that man’s ass? Nearly every single woman in Starling City wants to tap that. And I only say nearly, because obviously not everybody is straight.”
“Uh huh,” he said in a strangled voice.
“Oh, sorry, this is probably awkward for you,” Felicity realised.
“Why - why would it be awkward for me?”
She blinked at how high his voice had suddenly gone, and internally, Oliver was screaming. “Because I have no brain to mouth filter and normally a woman wouldn’t comment on a guy’s ass like that, aloud? To another man?” She lowered her voice, almost mumbling under her breath, “Even though it’s a spectacular ass.”
Oliver needed a cold shower. Or twenty. “Right.”
Without warning, the blonde gasped, and the sudden sound made Oliver jerk in his seat, instantly becoming agitated and his hands twitching, itching to grab at possible usable weapons. “Oh god, I’m so sorry! I totally forgot about the whole SCPD wrongly accusing you of being the Hood thing. If it’s an uncomfortable subject for you to talk about, we can talk about something else.”
He nodded almost frantically. “I think that would be best.” Yep, definitely needed a cold shower. Checking his watch, he told her, “Dinner’s going to be about another twenty minutes.”
“That’s fine,” she waved dismissively. “We can talk about Halloween plans.”
“What time do you want me around?”
“Um, well, the kids usually start trick or treating around six-ish, especially the younger ones, but the older ones normally stay out there until around nine, half nine, so maybe come over at five? We can order take out pizza or something.”
He shifted in his seat, biting his lip before he asked quietly, “Do you mind if I cook again?”
She looked surprised. “You don’t mind cooking?”
“It, um, it actually really helps with my stress,” he responded, a little shyly.
Felicity finished off her wine with a flourish before smiling and saying, “Sure, if you want to. Now, for the treats for the kids, I was thinking of mini brownie bites.”
“That’s a great idea,” he agreed. “I can bake some hazelnut fudge brownies if you -”
“No! No hazelnuts,” Felicity corrected sharply, shaking her head. After a beat of silence, she winced and added apologetically, “Sorry, that was rude. I’m, um, actually severely allergic to nuts.”
“Oh!” That would have been nice to know before he cooked for her. Luckily he hadn’t used his special macadamia nut oil to cook in. “Definitely no hazelnuts then.”
“Yep,” she nodded. “Now the parents in this area, they’re all food aware and that sort of stuff, so we’d have to make little business cards with the ingredients we use in the brownies on them.” At his strange look, she just shook her head. “Don’t ask. It’s a thing now. People are eating less and less gluten, and are vigilant on saturated fat content and additives and stuff and do you smell burning?”
He jumped up and practically ran over to the oven, ripping the door open. He sighed in relief when it just happened to be some oil that had dripped onto the bottom of the shelf from a previous cooking venture that was burning, and not the actual food.
“I knew we would need my fire extinguisher!” Felicity exclaimed.
Laughing, he shut the oven and turned back to her, saying amusedly, “You’re really attached to that fire extinguisher, aren’t you?” He grinned when she rolled her eyes. “It’s fine, it’s just some oil from something I cooked the other day at the bottom of the oven. Not the food.”
“Oh, good. I thought it was the Smoak curse.”
Curious, he snagged the wine bottle and brought it back over to the dining table as they both slipped back into their seats, and he poured her a little more red wine. “The Smoak curse?”
“I kid you not,” she said seriously. “Every single time I have eaten somewhere - my house, a restaurant, anywhere - an oven has died.”
“Died?”
“So far there’s been spontaneous combustion, wiring failure and crockery explosion.”
“Get out,” he said. “You’re not killing my oven, Felicity.”
“It’s not dead yet.”
“I love my oven more than my sister, if it’s going to die with you here, then you need to leave.” He grinned widely to show he was joking.
“Hardy ha ha,” she deadpanned. “So tell me about your sister.”
“Thea? She’s…” There weren’t really words to describe her. “She’s Thea.”
“Well that was enlightening,” Felicity commented dryly.
“I don’t really know what to say,” he told her honestly, looking down at his hands. Swallowing, he continued, “The last time I properly knew her was when she was twelve. She’s seventeen now, she’s grown up and… she’s different. I missed so much of her life when I was stuck on that island that… I don’t really know her anymore.” His voice softened as he finished, “I don’t really know anybody in my family anymore.”
“They’re not the only people that changed,” Felicity offered gently. “I’m sure you’ve changed a lot as well.”
“Not that they’ve accepted that,” he answered stiffly.
“Hey.” He looked up at the blonde, and Felicity had a look of slight concern on her face. Her fingers were fluttering on top of the table around her wine glass as if she wanted to reach out and grab his hand to hold, but she seemed to be holding herself back. “It must be hard for all of you. You came back after a horrific ordeal and they don’t… they can’t understand what that was like for you. There’s bound to be some communication issues.”
“I just feel like… we don’t know each other anymore.”
She watched him quietly, before suggesting softly, “Why don’t you invite Thea to join us on Halloween?”
He was shocked. “Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know her, sure, but if she’s anything like you, she’s going to be a great person, isn’t she? I don’t mind the extra company.”
His heart swelled. She was consciously making a decision to try and make him happy. And she had called him a great person. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He scrambled upwards, realising the time. “Food’s ready.”
“Great! I’m starving.” Leaning forwards, Felicity whispered to him theatrically, “You know, Oliver, I think I’m going to enjoy having you as my neighbour.”
He nodded, smiling. “Me too.” He frowned. “Not - not enjoy having myself as my neighbour. I mean I’m going to enjoy having you… as my neighbour.”
Felicity’s beautiful blue eyes were smiling, filled with warmth and joy.
Oliver knew with certainty, that for the first time in five years, his were too.