Felicity was pretending to work in the Foundry, as if her eyes hadn't been on the clock for the past hour as her stomach twisted itself in knots. She absently pressed keys and monitored the city, but tonight all was quiet; the others were at home and she had nothing with which to distract herself from the fact she was so actively avoiding – that Oliver was with Malcolm Merlyn again.

Two weeks on, and what had happened still felt unreal to her. Oliver telling her the deal he had struck with Merlyn was distant, like a dream. Walking away from him felt like a nightmare.

"Felicity?"

At the sound of her name, she jumped in her seat, one hand flying to her heart before she settled, seeing Oliver standing behind her. The exhaustion on his face was no lie, the slick sheen of sweat glistening there reminding her that he had been doing God knows what for hours. With Merlyn. The thought made her sick.

But looking in his eyes even for a fraction of a second when she glanced over to him, Felicity saw the pain lingering there. No matter what he said or did, no matter how hard he trained to fight Ra's Al Ghul, Oliver couldn't hide his emotions, not from her. The heart sewn onto his sleeve might have been hidden and protected under all that leather, but his eyes told the truth even now.

"I -" she started then stopped, eyes narrowing as they focused on something on his neck, piercing him like a laser beam. "Is that blood?"

"What?" Oliver straightened, flustered. Although he swiped at the spot of red on his neck, it had long dried and remained stubbornly visible as Felicity got to her feet and stomped towards him, aiming for a better look. He tried to brush her off, "It's nothing. I'm fine."

"Then whose blood is it?"

"I don't know."

"It must be someone's," Felicity frowned, reaching out to touch it herself before thinking better of the action and withdrawing her hand hesitantly, letting it fall to her side. Her mouth fell open as she shook her head slightly. She looked so disappointed in him that all Oliver wanted was to take that expression away by any means necessary - she used to look at him like a he was a hero. "Forget it. If you're going to lie to me, I'd rather we didn't talk at all. It never seems to end well anymore."

Turning, she began to walk away again until Oliver reached out to stop her.

"Wait," he said, catching her arm. The word was spoken simply but when she turned, his face was pleading. Closing her eyes for a second, she allowed the contact, staying still and facing him. As Oliver spoke he kept one hand on her arm, wanting to convince himself that she was really there and this wasn't just some dream as he lay dying on that mountain; that all this was real. "I'm sorry I left, Felicity. I-I didn't get the chance to say it the other day."

Felicity tilted her head to one side in acknowledgement, but her tone was icy, "I appreciate that."

"I didn't want to go-"

"Then why did you?! Why would you leave me with – with that, those words, and just . . . you said you'd come home."

Her eyes closed again, but in pain this time. Before him, Felicity crumbled as she tried to compose herself, the armour she had built up turning copper and rusting right in front of him. She looked tired. Felicity, who was always smiling or talking excitedly and giving them all energy when they felt like dropping looked tired. That alone was too wrong to comprehend. It didn't fit. Oliver hadn't understood her anger before, but he thought he did now. After everything they had been through, he had left her with those three words, so heavy for her to carry while he was away - and that wasn't fair. Telling her then had been selfish when he had little hope of returning, she was just another broken heart in his wake.

"I broke my promise," he said quietly, "I'm sorry. But what I'm doing now is different-"

"You're damn right it is!" Suddenly, she was animated and angry again, taking a step back. The distance between them since that night had only grown. "At least when you left last time, you thought you were doing the right thing by your sister. But don't even lie to me and tell me what you honestly think this is the right thing to do now."

"I don't have a choice! The League is still out there, Felicity. They'll still come after Thea and Merlyn and – and me. And they'll hurt me by hurting the people I love."

"Oh, no. You're not making this out to be some big self-sacrifice to save me," Felicity jabbed a finger in his direction. "I have been in danger before. We all have. It's a part of what we do, that's the risk we take every day."

"This is-"

"Say 'different' and so help me, I'll stab you with your own arrow," she threatened, a small frown appearing on her lips. "Assuming I can get through the suit, of course – but that's not the point! This is no different from everything we've faced, no different from Merlyn or Slade. The only thing different here is you."

Oliver crossed his arms defensively. "Well, dying does that to you."

Immediately, he regretted his words as Felicity's face lost its pallor, turning white as a sheet. Eyes widening, she looked at him fearfully for a moment, leaning backwards on impulse, shuddering away from him. Oliver kicked himself. That had been a low blow, and he knew it.

"I shouldn't have said that," he said quickly. "That wasn't fair."

"Like a lot of things you've said recently."

"So this is about what I said before I left."

"No," she groaned, trying to swipe a hand through her ponytail but scrunching her fist in frustration after a few seconds. "I meant what I said, Oliver. When you came back, I just wanted to say 'screw it, let's try again'. I wanted to give . . . whatever this is a chance. Because there's something between us, who are we kidding?"

"Diggle said something similar to me a few months back," Oliver revealed, speaking more calmly. "He said the only person I was fooling was myself when it came to how I feel about you. So I didn't tell you that I love you to hurt you, Felicity, I said it because I was tired of lying. I just wanted you to know."

"Then why did you never give us a chance?" she asked, shrugging with slumped shoulders. Felicity was slightly taken aback from the honesty in his tone and the open admission of his feelings, but didn't want to waste time being speechless when he was finally talking.

"It was too dangerous. I wanted . . . I don't know what I wanted. I thought that you being happy would be enough, but when I saw you kissing Palmer-"

Felicity jumped back, surprised, "You saw that?"

"I'd come to talk to you, but I left after I saw the two of you. It hurt me."

"Then why not say that? Why not talk to me and try instead of running away?" she asked, walking towards him and stopping within arm's reach. "Oliver, I – I thought I felt the same way about you for a long time. But you never even tried."

"I know."

"And I can't do it, like I said. I can't be a woman you love."

"The," Oliver said, firmly and resolutely. There was no trace of doubt in his voice, or his gaze. "Not a woman I love. The."

Felicity was quiet for a minute, just looking at him with a quiet desperation. It was what she had wanted to hear for so long – but not like this. Oliver wasn't the man she had fallen in love with, the man in front of her wasn't someone she could trust. She just wanted her Oliver back, the one who had faced one of the most dangerous men on the planet for his sister and would never have done this.

To get that man back, she needed to convince him – so there was no time to talk about them, not now.

"Oliver, I get it. You lost a fight and you're scared – we all are. But siding with Merlyn, risking that darkness . . . it's not the answer. Look what it did to Sara," she paused, remembering her friend for a moment. Sara had died because she chose to be alone and believe herself irredeemable after learning the ways of the League, and Oliver danced with the same devil by training with Merlyn. "If we're gonna win this, it will be the same way we've done everything else – together."

"This is my fight."

"No, it isn't. Not anymore," Felicity grew sure of herself, standing straight to look him fiercely in the eye. "It's ours. You, me, Diggle, Roy – even Laurel. It became our fight – and not just since you left – since you brought us into this. You inspired us to be something more. This is more than just you now."

"I can't risk it," he said sincerely. Oliver had avoided her eyes as she spoke, but looked into them now, taking in their hue under the lights. "You're too important . . . to me. I don't want anything to happen to you when I swore I'd protect you."

"I don't need protecting; I know what I signed up for. I signed up for saving this city, for helping people – but not like this. What you're doing with Merlyn is wrong, and I think you know it. We can beat this if we work together, but if you continue down this path, you might not like what you find at the end."

"If that's the cost, I'll pay it."

"It's not worth it," Felicity shook her head sadly. "I don't know how you've deluded yourself that it is, but . . . you've lost what you were. When we started this, it was to do something good. Originally, you killed people and it got you nowhere. But then you found a better way, remember? Do you remember what I told you when Slade was attacking the city?"

"To make him out-think me," Oliver replied huskily, eyes starting to glaze over in realisation as her words sunk in. Stepping back, he tried to think. "You made me realize that I had a choice."

"You still do. Don't go back to how you used to be, or worse, go further. The ideal of the Arrow was a guardian, not a killer. Something to inspire hope, not fear – there's enough of that going around. You did it for your family and the people you love, to make them safe. I believe you're a hero, Oliver – I still do. But if you do this, if you let Merlyn corrupt you . . . you may never be able to find your way back to that."

Felicity finished speaking, voice thick. Her eyes had misted over, but the tears stubbornly would not fall, resolute in her words. She stood tall. Putting a hand on his shoulder, Felicity squeezed it once when she saw that Oliver really was listening to her.

A steady, bright flame, Felicity smiled.

"Thank you," he whispered, eyes drifting back to her face. His own was still set in shock, voice barely audible. Since his death, Oliver had been consumed with his own point of view, with stopping Ra's and doing it alone, that he had lost sight of the fact that he wasn't; there were people he could trust, ones who would fight for and with him. "It's you. You did it again."

"What?"

"Reminded me what I'm fighting for."

Slowly, Felicity leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek, hands resting on his chest, golden against green. It was the gentlest of touches, the ghost of a kiss, but it lingered with a stale scent of perfume even after she leaned away, still smiling. Face an inch away from him, she said simply, "Then lets get to work."