Disclaimer: I do not own nor make any profit off of Arrow. It belongs to The CW, DC Comics, etc.

A/N: A post-1x23: Sacrifice story inspired by cheese and crackers — just because I was eating them when I started the story and I thought cheese and wine would be a fitting snack for Felicity Smoak in the dead of night. A few might recognize this story from my Arrow tumblr blog: HoodSmoaked.

The Most Obvious Companion

Felicity Megan Smoak was not a snoop.

Much.

Okay, so she might be at times… After all, how else would she have ended up helping a traumatized vigilante who lived as a spoiled billionaire by day and a drunken club owner by night?

Sighing at her own denial on the subject on snooping, the IT expert continued her hesitant way down the hall of the Queens' mansion.

Oliver's mansion.

And then she remembered precisely why she had been trying to convince herself she wasn't a snoop. Because walking through Oliver's home (his very decadent and confusing home, she reminded herself) was not appropriate in the middle of the night — when she was supposed to be sleeping in her borrowed room.

Did she say borrowed? More along the lines of coerced and bribed, actually.

To be fair, there was actually a genuine, practical reason for it. In the first place, the quake had not only downed power in the Glades, but halfway across the entirety of Starling City, including Felicity's condo. If that wasn't enough, the aftershocks had caused the water mains heading into her neighborhood to burst.

Safe to say her roost had not been livable, and Felicity was not in the capacity to rent a hotel room — or a cardboard box, for that matter. Diggle was in the care of doctors still, the knife wound serious enough to warrant a hospital stay, and he had absolutely no place to let her crash anyway. That had left Oliver.

So Felicity had sucked up her pride and her nervous fears, calling the one man she never thought she would spend the night with.

Oh. Well, that sounded terrible, she scolded herself. Even in her own head, she made inappropriate comments.

Cursing her rampant mind, Felicity turned the next corner… and shrieked when she hit something solid. She would have tumbled to the floor if not for two powerful arms catching her with surprisingly gentle force.

"Felicity?"

"Oliver," she greeted her vigilante partner as she looked up at him, positive that her consistent ability to speak without thought would slowly kill her.

"Are you okay?" he asked concernedly, not letting go of Felicity's arms until she was steady on her feet.

His question was a common one now; Oliver asked her if she was okay a minimum of five times each day. Once when they shared coffee before starting their morning routine and once before they headed to their respective rooms for the night. And of course, once at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Which, as far as meals go, were all awkward enough for them to share without adding in Thea's frustrated moodiness, Roy's constant uncomfortable silence, and Oliver's constant worrisome brooding and troubled questioning.

This particular instance was number seven of the day, the sixth time having come after Oliver caught Felicity sniffling in a window seat down the hall from her room early that afternoon.

"I'm okay," she reassured him as usual, already knowing he wouldn't take that kind of vague answer after her emotional moment that day.

True to form, Oliver raised a sardonic brow in reply.

"Really," Felicity insisted anyway, taking a (hopefully) casual step back to avoid the awkwardness of their proximity. Even after all the months they'd spent in close physical distance, it still drove her a little crazy to be that close to Oliver.

"I'll believe that when it's true for me," he retorted bluntly. The hardness and guilt in his eyes made the blonde flinch and yet it irritated her for some reason.

"Good thing I'm not you, then," she snapped uncharacteristically, instantly regretting her tone. She had been doing that more often lately; speaking out where just weeks earlier she would have turned red and shut her mouth. Closing her eyes against the flash of pained agreement in his crystal eyes, Felicity tried to fix the damage. "I'm sorry. That was… that was wrong of me. I didn't mean it."

"It's true, all the same," Oliver murmured, voice filled with self-loathing. "No one should be like me."

"Why?" Felicity demanded with more strength, brow furrowing at the consistent hate the billionaire imposed on himself. "You're a survivor, Oliver. That's something most of us wouldn't be able to say, if we faced the kind of hell you were forced into."

"What good," Oliver bit out, clenching his teeth while a muscle in his firm jawline twitched, "is survival… when it costs the life of someone you cared about? When it cost Tom—"

He stopped abruptly, the name still too painful for him to speak aloud. Felicity stepped back from him one more time, stunned by sheer density of his emotions as they rolled off of him in waves.

"Do you seriously believe Tommy died because you lived?" she asked him incredulously, resisting the strangest sudden urge to wrap her arms around his wire-tight frame. "Oliver, that's… that is impossible! Malcolm is to blame, not you!"

"I should never have come between them!" Oliver half-shouted at her, visibly reigning himself in when Felicity jumped in shock with wide eyes. In a tightly-controlled growl, he continued, "If I had never come back, he would have been with Laurel! He wouldn't have had to save her from CNRI because he would have been at her side, pushing her to get out when she still had the chance. Instead, he left her because he could only see her choosing me. Instead, he took his best friend's advice to go back to her, and found that friend screwing her the very same night! He would have been with her, if I hadn't been there and selfishly torn apart what they both loved… Each other."

Felicity could feel her knees weaken as Oliver spit his pain out to one of only two people he could actually tell. She had wondered where he went that day. That strange, sad day when he thought stopping the Undertaking would be his last deed as the vigilante.

Felicity remembered the unexpected stab of pain as she realized Oliver might not need her anymore. That their association would come to an end. Without the need for her technical skills far beneath the blazing club scene, she knew Oliver would never have a reason to talk with her again. They simply didn't mesh in each other's worlds — not without the hood to bridge the gap.

If he had indeed stopped Malcolm's plans, Oliver would have continued in a relationship with Laurel, Moira would not have been in prison, and Tommy would have become a bitter man lost in his father's business. Diggle would have continued as Oliver's bodyguard, of course. But Felicity… Felicity would have gone back to her staid, boring little cubicle in the IT department, fixing the technical problems of average, self-absorbed people who didn't care about the corruption all around them. The thought was incredibly painful and depressing to even consider.

When Felicity came back from her unfortunate thoughts, Oliver's emotions had become contained once again. The harsh pain in his eyes didn't fade, but he didn't look ready to explode anymore.

"Oliver," she whispered, biting her lip uncomfortably as she thought of what to say. "I know you made a bad decision when you went to Laurel…"

Oliver's derogatory snort gave her pause, but after a moment Felicity went on quietly, "But if you had never come back at all, Tommy might never have realized just how much he wanted Laurel in the first place. Perhaps seeing you… knowing you were her biggest relationship — no matter how tragic — made Tommy recognize he wanted to be Laurel's love story. And maybe the changes he saw in you made him want to be different; made him see that he had to grow up some time. Combined with his love for Laurel, it made Tommy change and be a better person. Good enough that he gave his life for the woman he loved. If you had never come back, I don't believe any of that would have happened."

Oliver had grown so quiet, Felicity worried he was tuning her out entirely, but glancing up at him again, she found his eyes clearer than they had been. Not free of the hurt; that would never fully go away. But he was listening to what she said. That was a step in the right direction so soon after everything that happened.

"I think… if you had never come back," Felicity found the courage to continue, remembering her hesitant words to Quentin Lance with a fierce protective affection growing inside her for this burdened hero, "this city would be in worse straits than it ever has been. You've become a symbol, Oliver. A symbol that someone cares about the little people who get hurt by the corruption and the violence. Starling City needed that kind of hope. Yes, you've suffered to make that hope possible. You've suffered to the point of losing your best friend."

Oliver swallowed hard, clamping his eyes shut as if to ward off the memories. Felicity finally dared to reach out, laying a gentle hand on the tense muscles of his chest. Like a sudden spark, the muscles seemed to relax under her touch.

"But in the end," Felicity whispered, eyes tearing up at the very thought of everything Oliver Queen had endured, "no matter how much it hurts… you have to get up again. You have to go out there and you have to keep fighting. Because we need you. Every one of us. And Tommy would be proud of that."

Against all her internal protestations, Felicity felt tears slip down her cheeks. What amazed her was the sight of the salty droplets suddenly appearing from behind Oliver's closed lids. Gasping quietly at the raw emotion between them, Felicity reached up in a daze to catch the first onslaught with her fingertips.

Blue eyes snapped open suddenly, the watery glaze so unusual against Oliver's firm, stoic features that Felicity felt more tears slip from her own eyes. Understanding filtered through Oliver's gaze, and as she had done for him, the haunted man wiped her tears away with his thumbs.

A whirlwind of movement startled Felicity as Oliver wrapped her up in his arms for the first time in their acquaintance. The blonde's immediate response was to match him arm for arm, squeezing his middle tightly.

How long they remained that way, Felicity could hardly know, but the very human moment was interrupted by the most embarrassing and ridiculous sound.

Her stomach growled.

Both of them jumped a little, Felicity's forehead bumping his chin, but Oliver recovered quickest with a surprisingly natural chuckle, albeit a mildly watery one.

"I think you might need nourishment, Miss Smoak," he joked into her hair, also with a surprisingly natural tone.

"Maybe," she half-laughed, pulling away slightly to look up at him in embarrassment.

"Is that why you were up wandering the halls?" he asked, taking a breath to calm the last vestiges of dark emotion.

"Not really," she admitted quietly.

Comprehension flitted over those strong features, and Oliver replied knowingly, "Nightmares, then."

Nodding was Felicity's only answer, unable to hold his experienced gaze.

A beat passed before Oliver said anything more, but when he did it stumped the IT expert yet again. "Why don't we go to the kitchen and see what's in there?"

"Um, okay," she agreed cautiously, allowing him to delicately take her hand and lead her somewhat comfortably through the enormous house until they reached one of the most impossibly gigantic kitchens Felicity had ever seen.

"Wow," she breathed, turning her head every which way to see the beautiful and practical design of a space teeming with Renaissance and Tuscan details. "It's so warm and inviting. And really unusual. Although it doesn't remind me of Moira Queen at all. Not austere enough — Oh, I didn't mean to be rude! I just… she's.. just a bit distant. Uh…"

"My father always loved unusual designs," Oliver offered, thankfully not taking her comment the wrong way as he led her to a seat at the nearest counter and moved to a huge double refrigerator. "It was his idea to create this. I still remember when he and Mom argued about it for two months straight. I was about six and I didn't really know why she didn't like it."

"Why didn't she?" Felicity dared to ask, uncertain if he really wanted her to.

"Too informal," Oliver turned back to smirk slightly at her. "She liked… ah… austere designs."

Flushing red, Felicity cleared her throat awkwardly and refused to look at her companion.

"Well," Oliver muttered after a while, his focus on the items in the refrigerator. "I don't particularly want to cook, do you?"

"Not really," she answered, nose scrunching. "Just something easy and pre-made."

"I think I know what we need," Oliver decided suddenly, standing up from the lower shelves and reaching into the topmost one with a steady arm.

Much as Felicity tried to see what he had, Oliver hid it from her admirably well, making her wait until he returned from a different section of the kitchen with four familiar shapes in hand.

"Wine and crackers?" Felicity questioned with a raised brow, trying not to smile too widely at this amusing combination when Oliver put two glasses to the side and set the box of snacks next to them.

"With the most obvious companion," the billionaire smiled that barely-there smile and set a plate down in front of her with a flourish. "Cheese. Already sliced, even."

Nodding once, Felicity shrugged with simple acceptance, "Easy and pre-made. You hit it right on the button, I guess."

"That I did," Oliver agreed, uncorking the wine in one easy pull and setting in on the counter to breath while they dipped into the cheese and crackers.

A few bites in, they both reached for the exact same cracker at exactly the same moment, their fingertips touching in the middle of the small item. A resounding jolt shot up Felicity's arm and she retracted her extended hand as though it were on fire.

"Oh, you take it," she exclaimed abruptly, looking at the counter top to avoid his expression.

"No, you go ahead," he countered calmly, offering the little salty snack back in her direction.

"No, really," she waved him away, alarmed by the frantic nature of her hand motions.

With her vision, Felicity knew she should definitely not be waving around like that. She could be bat blind in a darkened room, even with her glasses, and it was highly likely she would break something.

Or hit Oliver.

Wincing at the very idea of smacking the poor man in the face, she began to babble incessantly, "There are plenty more where that came from. I don't even need that one specific cracker to go with my tiny slice of cheese. Not a big deal, right? Really, it's all yours. I mean, of course it's yours. This is your house, after all. More like a castle, actually. It's just so big and there are so many rooms—"

Felicity's rambling spiel was cut off by the a snapping and crumbling sound, and looking up, she found Oliver had broken the cracker in half.

"Here," he said, a gently amused smile on his face. "Now it's both of ours."

Taking the little salted piece with blank confusion, Felicity sat holding the it mindlessly while Oliver also tore a slice of cheese into near-perfect halves.

"You can have that, too," he commented wryly, sticking the cheese bit into her other fingers. As Felicity tried to understand the idiocy of it all, Oliver poured them both a glass of red wine, sliding one of them in her direction with a well-dampened smirk.

Blinking at the most ridiculous sharing technique she'd ever experienced, Felicity looked between her two hands with pursed lips for a very long moment, before finally sighing and sticking them together. Oliver chuckled when she ate them like an obedient child, her blue eyes giving him a look that asked why he was so childishly dumb sometimes.

Still withholding a larger grin, the blasted adorable man stuck his own two halves together and popped them in his mouth.

"You know, Oliver…" Felicity sighed in a mixture of resignation and exasperation as she raised her wine glass, but she let the sentence trail off and wearily accepted the swift mood changes of the complicated man she called friend. Shaking her head in lieu of scolding, Felicity put down her wine and reached for another cracker and cheese slice.

And if she broke them in half and offered Oliver one of each, it really was his own fault.

-The End-