I just couldn't help myself! I've joined the hordes of people writing spec fic. I knew I couldn't write a smut scene worthy of the flashes of the scene that we've seen in the spoiler vid (and so help me, if Felicity taking her bra off is cut out of the show I will LOSE MY SHIT like the feminist killjoy I am), so I took a slightly different approach.

I own nothing and my beta is hiding away at the beach so I didn't have her expertise, so all mistakes are my own.

The only think I own are my Easter eggs. And you can't have them.

It was only the delicious ache of her body that reminded her that the previous night hadn't been a dream. Oliver had woken her early with stubbly kisses to her skin, before whispering in her ear for her to get dressed.

He was like a caged animal, prowling about the room, his muscles coiled for battle. "Felicity, I don't know what comes next," he breathed when she walked over to him, fully dressed and her glasses back on her face. "But I don't have any regrets."

"Good," Felicity answered. "I don't either."

She'd dreamed of this. Dreamed that she could grip his enormous bicep and rise up on her toes to brush her lips against the scruff at his jaw. "Remember when you told me that you want me to be happy?"

Oliver's hand traced her spine, pulling her lithe frame against him. "You know I do," he answered, planting a kiss on the crown of her head. Tucked up against him just so, her scent was all around him and he could breathe her in and let her familiarity calm and centre him.

"Well, I'm happy," she told him, her arms sliding around his waist to grip him tightly.

"Seriously?" Oliver asked. Their lives had gone to hell in a handbasket. Roy stepping up to take the blame as the Arrow, the havoc wreaked under Ra's al Ghul's instruction, Ray Palmer's new vigilante against vigilantes stance… they lived in complete and utter chaos.

"Seriously," Felicity replied. "We'll figure out the details. We always do. But no matter how bad it is; I have you. That makes me the happiest girl in the world."

"I love you," Oliver reminded her. "You know that, right?" He was tired of those words only passing his lips when life and death was on the line, but in the world they lived in, life and death circumstances happened everyday.

"I know," Felicity replied, a ghost of a smile on her lips as realised she'd accidentally channelled her favourite space smuggler. "I love you too."

"Please don't think I'm being an asshole when I say this," Oliver began.

"I don't think you're an asshole," Felicity insisted.

"Just listen," he hushed her. "Please, stay in here," he said. "I can't be worrying about you when I'm facing whatever Ra's has planned for me. I need to know you're safe in here."

Felicity sighed. Of course he had no concern for himself. It didn't shock her in the least that he channelling all his nervous energy onto her. "I have no intention of going anywhere," she answered, her own anxiety easing when she felt his body relax. "Until you're the Demon's Head, I'm quite content to stay right here." She knew the League was very invested in the personal of Oliver Queen, but she wasn't so sure that they would have the same level of reverence for Oliver's blonde, very American, very un-League-y consort and she was not about to wander through Nanda Parbat to test the theory. "After that, the first thing that we do is get WiFi, though."

Her statement was so shockingly domestic, so completely ridiculous for the circumstances that Oliver couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from inside him. "Thank you," he chuckled, taking the opportunity to pepper kisses against her lips. "I needed that."

"Glad I could be of service," Felicity replied, her cheeks almost aching from the size of her smile.

The doors swung open and Oliver sprang away from Felicity, muscles instantly tensed and ready to attack. For the time being, he'd ceased being Oliver Queen. Even without the hood, he was The Arrow.

A command was barked in Arabic. Felicity didn't even try and follow it, but she stood in silence as she watched Oliver walk away from her, flanked by two members of the League Of Assassins.

…This was going to be a long wait.

Felicity was engrossed in a novel she'd had stored on her tablet since forever, but had never bothered reading when the doors swung open. She gasped out loud when Oliver stumbled in.

"What happened?" She demanded, abandoning her tablet and rushing over to him, her eyes scanning his body to assess exactly what was wrong.

"Birth and rebirth are violent acts, apparently," Oliver wheezed.

Felicity cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. He didn't appear bruised, though his shirt could cover a myriad of sins. "What the hell does that mean?" She demanded. "And don't you dare tell me that it's nothing and not to worry about it."

"Help me take my shirt off," Oliver requested.

Felicity nodded, her fingers coming to undo his buttons. She was really worried now. Oliver rarely admitted to feeling something as human as pain and when he did, he would simply load himself with painkillers and keep going. She'd never, ever known Oliver Queen to seek out comfort.

She steeled herself up for what she would see when she opened his shirt. There was nothing. No violet bruises shaped like boot tips. No blood. She looked up at him questioningly.

"It's my back," he answered.

Felicity wanted to gag. The League seemed just backwards and cruel enough to scourge someone. "May I see?" she asked.

He nodded, gritting his teeth but remaining silent as he let the shirt drop to the ground.

Felicity didn't really know what she'd expected to see when she moved behind Oliver, but it wasn't that. She let out a loud gasp.

They'd branded him.

Right in the centre of his back, on one of the few patches of unmarked skin on Oliver's torso was an arrowhead shaped brand the size of Felicity's hand. "What the hell?" she muttered. "What the actual hell?"

She could feel herself beginning to panic. No. She couldn't allow herself to fall apart at the seams. Oliver needed her and he didn't need whiny, scared Felicity. He needed the MIT graduate who could handle anything that vigilantism threw at her. Her hands came to cup his face, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones. "Does it hurt?" she asked.

Oliver scoffed. "Of course it hurts," he answered. "They tied me to a rack and pressed a branding iron into my back, Felicity."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. She figured he'd had a rough day and was allowed to be a little bit testy. "That's actually a good thing," Felicity answered. "Means we're not dealing with a third degree burn." She let her hands drop so that she could link her fingers with his. "Come with me."

Her exploration of the room she was confined to had led to her discovery of a small antechamber that had clearly been modernized to become a bathroom. Though, if the League was as old as they claimed, perhaps they'd never forgotten the secrets of Roman plumbing. Felicity prayed they'd figured out lead lined pipes were a bad idea.

She needed to stop thinking about the League's history and focus on Oliver. "Take your pants off," she ordered. "We've got to get some cold water on that burn before I dress it."

"Felicity, I don't think I'm supposed to have a nursemaid…"

"Fuck that," Felicity snapped, surprised by her harsh language. "They need you, remember? Their leader is dying and you're going to take over and you're not going to be any good to them if you have septicaemia. So shut up, take off your pants and get in the damn tub."

Oliver complied, silently shucking his remaining clothes and climbing into the bathtub, his head bowed.

Felicity followed suit, stripping off her own clothes, removing her glasses and perching herself on the edge of the tub. She silently thanked Moses that the bath had a detachable head as she twisted the faucet.

Oliver hissed out a curse as the cold water began to flow over his wound.

"I'm sorry!" Felicity cried out, cringing as she saw Oliver's muscles tighten against the fresh pain. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, repeating her apologies like a mantra.

"It hurts," Oliver admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as the water trickled down his back.

Felicity's heart broke into pieces at his confession. He'd never shown that kind of vulnerability to her before. He was always like stone… unmovable, dependable. To show pain would mean admitting he wasn't invulnerable and Oliver Queen would never allow himself to appear weak. She moved so that she was on his lap, still holding the showerhead in place so she could treat his burn, but now her free hand carded through his hair as he rested his head on the juncture of her neck and her shoulder. "I know," she whispered. "I know it hurts, babe," the endearment slipped from her lips without a thought. "I'm so sorry they did this to you."

She could feel the wet warmth of his tears on her skin. She pressed her lips repeatedly against any part of his skin she could reach; whispering that she was sorry, that she loved him, endearments flowing from her mouth like a river. She could hardly bear the utter cruelty of it all. So many different people had left their mark on Oliver, both on his flesh and on his soul. He was giving so much of himself up to join the League, putting yet another stain on his spirit, it wasn't fair that they could put yet another scar on his body.

She waited for his shudders to subside before she shut off the water. She wrapped herself in a towel, before beginning to dry him off without a word.

"Lay face down on the bed," she directed him. She'd never been more thankful that she'd had the good sense to load her tiny suitcase with first aid supplies. She knew that really, Oliver needed more medical care than she could give him in the tiny room, but given all that was happening, it just wasn't possible and she prayed that antibacterial ointment and non-stick dressings were going to be enough.

She knew she'd never convince him to take the oxycodone Diggle had slipped her before she left, but she handed him some over the counter painkillers, which he swallowed without complaint.

Still wrapped in a towel, Felicity sat next to him on the bed, her fingers gently tracing the outline of the dragon tattoo on his shoulder blade. "Are you sure you're okay? They didn't do anything else, did they?"

He looked up at her, more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him. "I'm cold," he admitted. "More cold than I should be."

Felicity had taken to the internet to teach herself as much as she could about medicine and treating injuries in the field, knowing Oliver would refuse to go to a hospital. She knew that hypothermia wasn't unusual after a burn. She racked her brain, trying to figure out what she could do. She had no space blankets and no way to put heated fluids in him via IV.

He shivered next to her.

She knew there was no other option. She stood up and dropped the towel. "We need to warm you up," she told him. "Time to get in the bed."

"Is it too soon to tell you I had a hard day at work and this isn't exactly a great time?" Oliver asked, his teeth chattering as he slipped into the bed that Felicity had made to save herself from boredom earlier that day.

"Not like that, you goob," Felicity huffed, slipping in next to him and pulling the blankets tight around them. "I don't exactly have my full range of resources here, so we're going to have to kick it old school and warm you up by sharing body heat."

This was not the way she'd ever imagined sharing a bed with Oliver. He was almost lying on top of her, their limbs so intertwined that she hardly knew where she ended and he began. She could feel his shivers begin to lessen in frequency and severity and his skin felt warmer against hers.

"I'm glad you're here with me," he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple.

Felicity huffed out a laugh. "Never thought I'd hear you say that."

Oliver had tried to travel to Nanda Parbat alone. He'd tried to insist that the rest of the team stay in Starling, where they'd be safe. He'd lost that battle pretty spectacularly.

"You remind me why I can't slip," he told her. "I made my promises to Tommy and I have every intention of seeing them through, but the temptation to shy away from them is always there. I'm back to the killing machine Lian Yu moulded me into. But when I see you," he paused, pressing his lips against her forehead. "You remind me that there's a whole world beyond this one. A world that I want to be part of and a world I want to protect. You remind me that I need to be better than a killing machine if I want to be part of that world. I can't do this alone."

Felicity knew the amount of vitriol people like Detective Lance had spat at Oliver, particularly since Sara's death. She knew Oliver thought of himself as something less than human- but in moments like this, he made it clear just how much of his humanity he'd retained. He'd been forged into the man he was by pain, but he'd retained his kindness and his thirst for justice even in the face of unbearable cruelty. Making this choice, becoming the Demon's Head was not something that came without huge sacrifice. Felicity prayed that what Ra's had said was right… that the League was so unfailingly loyal that they'd follow Oliver in his no killing vow. She didn't think he'd forgive himself for making this deal with the devil if it turned out to be an empty promise.

Her hand that had been tracking up and down his back brushed against the edge of the bandage on his back. "We're partners, Oliver," she reminded him quietly. "I wouldn't be anywhere else." Nanda Parbat was terrifying and she didn't know what was coming next, but like she'd told him that morning, she was happy. She brushed her lips against his skin. "Now sleep, please," she chided him, her tone gentle. "You need to let yourself heal. I'll be right here with you all night. You won't be alone."

"You promise?" The words had slipped out of Oliver's lips before he could stop them. He felt like the child who had once feared a monster living under his bed.

"I promise," Felicity replied. "Now go to sleep. You've got a lifetime to wake up next to me."

I would LOVE to know what you think. I've never written something like this and I'm a bit nervous about it. Comments are love and they make the plot bunnies bounce in my brain.

Alternatively, you can rant at me about how wrong the show runners are.

Feel free to follow me on twitter :) brookemopolitan (I squee about tv and roller derby)

B xx