Chapter 1

Hi - quick topnote: not sure if 'doona' translates for all. It's like a quilt, or comforter. Awesome, snuggly word though - Grey.

He just wanted to kiss her. It was all he could think about, really.

He'd tried to get it out - extract it with punches, excise it with arrows, dispel it with gut-blowing running, wood-shattering pummelling, merciless sparring.

The criminals of Starling were not having a good week; a side effect of the determination, the single-minded focus, of not trying to think about kissing her.

But each time the adrenaline ebbed, each time he walked up the Foundry steps to go home to the mansion, it came at him like a gale.

He'd officially pandora-boxed himself. Fuck.

He was screwed.

Guilty.

Self-flagellating.

Knew nothing could ever come from it.

Excited.

Fuck.

And he hadn't even seen her.

Felicity pulled her cloud-covered doona up under her chin, and reached for another tissue. Red nose, greasy hair roots, two day old pajamas. Couch as her day-bed. Early season 3 of The West Wing her companion.

Stupid Josh. Why wouldn't he just admit how he felt about Donna. Stupid men.

Felicity's nose blow turned into a hacking, rib shuddering series of coughs. Stupid cold.

Felicity's epiphanic moment of 'perhaps I'm not the cheeriest sick person' was cut short by her doorbell.

Of-friggin-course. Could she just not be left alone to die in misery? Was it too much to ask?

Self-pityingly sighing as she sat up, head a little swimmy, then steadying. She pushed herself to standing, doona sliding off her small frame, pink pajamas sticking where she had sweated through.

Daisy fresh, she thought, as she stumbled to her front door.

If this was Oliver, she'd already decided she would slam the door in his face and go back to couchland. Three days since - the incident - and not one word.

She'd texted the next morning to let him know she was sick, and had received a pedestrian, 'okay, feel better.'

Okay, feel better?! Not a 'sorry I kissed you.' Or a 'we really need to talk.' Or a 'you've probably got some questions about what the hell's going on with me and why I kissed you on your front porch and then walked away and drove off into the night?'

Fury broke through her fogged consciousness as she yanked open her front door.

To find the wrong Queen.

'Oh for fuck's sake,' Felicity muttered under her breath. More audibly, 'Not now, Thea.'

Thea's mouth dropped open, spilling her planned upbeat greeting.

'Geez, what side of bed did you fall out of? Not my brother's, obviously.'

Felicity, arm barring entry, glared through smudged glasses. She really was feeling disgusting. She should probably take a shower. Eh, effort she rather expend on glaring at the mischief-maker and architect of her current condition.

Thea rallied, addicted to having her own way.

'I brought soup,' she said, indicating the covered earthenware bowl in her slender, manicured hands.

'Uh-huh.'

'Raisa made it for you. It's her old family recipe. Made with love.'

Felicity blinked her un-impressedness, but in her heart, was touched by Raisa's mothering.

'Uh-huh.'

'Said I wasn't to leave until you'd finished every last drop. Would make you feel better in no time.'

Felicity sighed. Standing draining her energy. Scratch that, Thea draining her energy.

'Fine, come in. Just don't say or do anything to piss me off, because I'm sick, and cranky, and in no mood for Queens.'

Thea's face reflected fake trepidation as she walked past Felicity and into the apartment, perusing colourful, obscure objects as she passed.

'So what did Oliver do?'

'The-a,' sounded in warning, as Felicity padded back to her couch and fell into her spot, hoisting her safety doona back over her.

'No, seriously. I mean, I know why you're pissed at me, because of the whole locked you on the roof in the rain and now you're sick and in dire need of personal hygiene. But why are you mad at Ollie? I thought you'd forgiven him for the protecting-of-your-virtue-from-Bruce-Wayne thing?'

'My virtue did not need protect-...nothing happened with Bruce, and your brother and I are fine.'

'But you just said-'

'Thea! Just pour me the damn soup so I can eat it and go back to dying,' Felicity croaked.

Thea smiled. 'Fine, but this conversation isn't over.'

Felicity groaned and pulled the doona over her head, as Thea bounced into the kitchen and pinged open the microwave.

'So, what are you wearing to my party on Saturday?' Thea yelled from the kitchen.

Doona was dramatically folded down from face in a puffed oomph.

'What?'

'My birthday party. On Saturday. What are you coming as?'

'Thea, I know I'm hallucinatory right now, but I have no idea what you are talking about,' Felicity's voice cracking at the end.

Silence. Then end ping.

Thea, with oven mitts cradling the hot bowl as she came back into the living room, spoon rising from the deep red-orange soup.

'Birthday party. Saturday. You told me you were coming a few days ago.'

'When?' Felicity, truly confused.

'When I invited Bruce. You said you were coming. He can't make it, but you said you would.' If tone could be puppy-dog eyes.

'Thea, I'm sick.'

'You'll be right by Saturday,' Thea pollyanna'd. 'My costume is awesome, by the way!'

'It's costumed?'

'Of course!' Thea reached into her purse and flounced out a flame-cut invitation.

Felicity took the proffered card and looked at it in bemusement.

'Too Hot to Handle?'

'I know - isn't it great? And everything will be fire-themed.' Thea's arm arced, conjuring. 'The decorations, the entertainment, all the guests - I've even found a way to light the fountains!'

'You're turning water to fire?' Felicity shook her head, smiling despite herself. Trust nature itself to bend to Thea's will. Honestly, what hope did she have? 'I'll see how I go. But, I can't promise I'll be better, Thea.'

'You'll be fine. And Raisa's a miracle worker when it comes to her soup. You'll feel better in no time.'

Felicity took the bowl and gently eased back into the cushions of the couch. Petered.

Thea allowed Felicity two spoonfuls before she fired off again. 'So, what's gone on with you and my brother? I've barely seen him the last few days.'

'Thea, nothing has gone on. I'm sick and he's busy. End of story.' Felicity slurped loudly as an extra full stop.

'Uh-huh.'

'Keep going and I'll cough on you.'

'Well, aren't you Miss threats-alot lately? Although catching your cold pales in comparison to the other day. It was both cruel and unusual for you to threaten to post all my old love emails to Justin Bieber online.'

Felicity laugh-coughed soup. 'Yeah, well, you deserved it. Locking me and Oliver up on the roof. What were you thinking?'

'I was twelve!'

'It was three days ago.'

'I mean, during my love-struck phase that shall never be mentioned.'

'Don't worry, we all have our unmentionables, Thea. I mean, not the underwear, I mean, we do have those, but-'

'Who was yours?'

'Not telling.' Felicity's mouth clamped over her spoon.

'C'mmmoonn.'

'Nope.' Cough. Sip.

Barriers significantly down, Thea approached a different front.

'So, has Ollie been here to check on you?'

Felicity felt an uneasy heart lurch, a slight flush. Thea's question a bit too close for home, about the man who hadn't come close to her home.

'No, he's been busy, like I said.'

'Hmmmn, interesting.'

'Why is that interesting?'

'Just that, I thought he may have, since he can't normally seem to operate without you. I mean, you guys are always together.'

Hanging innuendo.

Felicity not taking the hook. 'Thea. Enough.'

'Okay, okay.' Thea huffed her end of efforts and shoved herself back into the cushions on the other side of the couch, grabbing for doona end.

'What are we watching?'

'Thea, I don't want you to get sick.'

'Oh, don't worry, I rarely do. And I told you, Raisa's soup is a cure-all. Sooo?'

'The West Wing. Season 3.'

'Ooohh - good Josh and Donna vibing, right?'

'You've seen it?'

'Where do you think I've been? Trapped on an island for five years?'

'Tell me you don't say that to your brother,' Felicity half-heartedly admonished, all too aware of what her own comment had precipitated that rainy night. Falling into the memory of the kiss again.

'Well, if we don't laugh, we cry, right?' Thea's voice flickering through.

'Right.' Felicity pressed play on the remote, and the two girls snuggled in, pinioned by doona, balancing ends of the couch.

Dig winced and pressed a tentative two fingers to his temple.

Rising slowly from his kneeled position on the mats, using the long fighting stick as a staff like an old, weary traveller.

'Seriously, Oliver?'

The chest-heaving, sweat-cloaked blonde man looked across the blue mat, knowing his wrongdoing, belligerent anyway.

The older warrior was having none of it. 'Oliver, man, we're just sparring. You're acting like you're in a match to the death.'

Oliver regarded his friend, blinked, and notched down.

'Sorry.'

Dig sighed, and leaned his bulk on the staff, deciding it was time.

'So what happened?'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

Kind face nodding, deep brown eyes brooking no quarter.

'Oliver, you've been off since the night of the storm. And I know Felicity hasn't been around-'

'I don't want to talk about it.' Oliver walking away, placing the weaponed stick back in its stand.

Dig looked to Oliver's feet, smiling wryly.

'So. What happened?'

'I kissed her, okay!' A blast of guilt, a shield of indignation.

'And?' Dig-chilled.

Oliver turned around, a half dervish.

'I. Kissed. Her. I kissed Felicity.'

'Yeah, Oliver, about time.' Unsurprised. A fact of nature. 'What are you going to do about it?'

Oliver looked at Dig, noncomprehending how his friend couldn't see.

'I've ruined everything.'

'Or, you've started something,' Dig's sonorous, calm voice.

'I can't, Dig. Not living the life that I lead.'

'That's bullshit Oliver. Felicity is already part of this life. And you obviously feel something for her. So if you ask me, the only thing that will ruin...this team...is for you to go on pretending like everything is in your control, and ignoring how you feel about her.'

'I'm trying to protect her Dig.'

'By staying away? By drilling yourself to the bone? It's been three days and you're exhausted. How long do you think you can keep this up?'

'For as long as it takes.' Helmut down on his rusted suit of armour.

Dig stood to full height, regarding the determined man he chose to follow, knowing he couldn't lead him. Oliver would have to find his own way through.

Dig sighed. He knew it wouldn't be a simple way.

'Okay man,' he said, walking over to stand his own stick. 'I'm heading home.'

Oliver nodded a wordless goodbye. Dig's words echoing, scraping his own patched-over concern.

Just how long could he keep this up?