Author's Note: Hey lovelies! So, I know that I've been pretty absent from fandom. However, my love for writing (and these two) has not cooled. This follow-up has been long overdue, but I couldn't bring myself to write until recently. I am slowly trying to work my way back into it, and this felt like the perfect place to start.

I'm not exactly sure how long this will be, so bear with me. I hope you all enjoy it, though, however long it turns out to be.

Anyway, without droning on and on, I give you: Where There's Smoak There's Fire, Part 2!

The night was still and calm, the sun long set and the moon hanging high in a velvet ink sky. The brook behind the house bubbled and chattered away serenely, filling the silence left by the absence of their usual warm weather-loving wildlife. Chilly air whispered across the open fields surrounding the house, not as bitterly cold as it could be for the time of year, but cool enough. Even in California, February tended to usher in biting temperatures and the occasional snowfall. They'd been lucky so far, but Felicity could smell snow on the breeze and knew their luck was—in this at least—about to change.

She pulled the plush shawl more securely around her, snuggling deep into the warmth it offered. She could, and probably should have gone inside when the sun went down, but Oliver hadn't gotten home from his patrol by then and Felicity was enjoying the stillness. So, instead of seeking refuge inside she settled more deeply into the porch swing with her shawl and a steaming mug of coffee, and let the night surround her.

Life had been almost normal in the last few years. Rather than nights filled with brutal violence and constant loss, they'd enjoyed days overflowing with happiness and new beginnings. The team still fought the good fight, taking down whatever Big Bad decided to rear its head that week, but those occasions were fewer and further between. Where once they had struggled to find a semblance of normal, the team now flourished and thrived, leading rich and happy lives—Ones that didn't revolve solely around fighting to survive.

Of course, that's not to say life had been perfect. Felicity still struggled with her past, with both the physical and emotional scars each experience left behind. There were days, nights—long stretches of time during which Oliver watched her as though she might break again, simply fall to pieces right then and there. The episodes never lasted more than a week or so at a time, though they'd been slowly tapering off over time. Therapy helped, and so did the anxiety medication Felicity took every night before bed.

Still, she was willing to take some bad with her good; assuming that good stayed so very, very good for the foreseeable future.

"Are you actively trying to get frost bite?"

Felicity startled, almost dropping her mug. She huffed before looking up, her frown melting into a smile at the sight of Oliver striding toward her, gym bag in one hand and a very familiar carseat in the other.

"It's not quite cold enough for frostbite, Oliver," she said, waving him off. "I was just waiting for my husband. Look, I brought a shawl and everything."

Oliver chuckled before leaning in to press a gentle, lingering kiss on her lips. "You're going to catch pneumonia out here," he chided softly, using the flat of his palm in the small of her back to urge her inside.

Felicity went willingly, but only after she relieved Oliver of his precious cargo. She headed inside, alternately cooing at the baby girl snoozing peacefully at her hip and babbling over her shoulder at Oliver as he trailed along behind her.

"She's probably going to be hungry when she wakes up," Oliver offered, watching as Felicity set the carseat on the counter. He slid up behind her, pressing his body along her back. He brushed a kiss to the side of her neck before resting his chin in the cradle of her shoulder.

"There's some milk still in the freezer," she told him, gently nudging the fleece blanket down, away from the baby's face. "I'll warm it up."

"I got it."

The sound of Oliver moving around the kitchen stirred the baby awake. Wide gray eyes blinked open slowly while tiny fists found their way into a wet mouth.

"Hey there, gorgeous girl." Felicity smiled warmly, already reaching in to lift her from the carseat. "I've missed you!"

Oliver snorted softly behind her. "It's been three days, Felicity."

"Three days too long," she parried back, peppering kisses over chubby cheeks. "Your mommy and daddy have been holding out on me, Lo Lo."

"Well, we have her for the night," Oliver informed her, leaning back against the counter to watch them while the bottle warmed. "Roy has a shift, and I figured Thea could probably use the sleep."

"Good," Felicity murmured, tucking the baby to her chest and pressing her nose into soft brown hair. After a moment she added, "Do you think they'd be angry if I refused to give her back?"

"Probably."

His eyes were warm puddles of affection as he watched them, Felicity swaying in place while Sloane curled contentedly beneath her chin. Felicity beamed at him. She knew she was radiating happiness and adoration for their niece, and didn't bother trying to hide it. Oliver already knew she was head over heels for babies, especially Sloane, Devon, and Digg and Lyla's newest addition, Sara. There was no point in pretending she could maintain any kind of chill when faced with tiny humans.

"Here." Oliver handed over the bottle. "Give her that, I'll go make sure the crib is made up."

There was something incredibly soothing about watching a baby sleep. From Felicity's vantage point in the nursery doorway, Sloane appeared to have settled in just fine. Though her expression had smoothed into one of peaceful slumber, her delicate fists remained clenched seriously, even in sleep. Felicity listened to the gentle breathy sounds emanating from the crib. If she allowed herself, she could stand there all night, just watching Sloane sleep.

By the time she managed to tear herself away and wander down the hall to their bedroom, Oliver was already there. He had sprawled out carelessly on his stomach, his ever-impressive body on full display in nothing but a pair of dark briefs. He'd manage to take up the biggest chunk of the center of the king-size, one knee bent up and arms tucked up by the pillows. Felicity smiled to herself as she entered the room, allowing her gaze to linger over the delicious specimen her husband presented.

"I can still feel that."

Felicity laughed. His voice was sleepy and rough, but something in him remained, as always, attuned to her.

"I still don't care," she told him, shrugging when he lifted his head just enough to glance in her direction.

"Lo go down easy?"

Felicity snorted, shuffling into one of Oliver's t-shirts. "She was perfect, as usual. Never met an infant that didn't scream bloody murder at bedtime. That girl defies all baby-logic."

"She certainly is one of a kind."

Oliver shifted, his arms opening to welcome Felicity when she climbed into bed beside him. She settled easily against him, shoving one leg between both of his and resting her head on his chest, her fingers seeking out his arrowhead pendant automatically.

"Do you think our babies will be as calm as she is?" Felicity wondered aloud, the pad of her thumb mindlessly caressing the body-warmed metal. "Maybe it's a Queen thing. It can't be from Roy's side; I'm pretty sure the notion of calm is completely foreign to him."

Oliver's chuckle rumbled beneath her ear. "Says the woman who thrives in chaos."

"Organized chaos," she corrected, nipping at his pec with playful teeth. "There is a method to my madness. You know this."

"I do."

He shifted again, this time rolling sideways and pinning Felicity beneath him. She sighed blissfully, his weight above her and his fingers threading through her hair.

"To be completely honest," Oliver continued, "it doesn't matter one way or the other to me if our kids are calm or chaotic. I don't care if we have boys or girls, if they're blonde like me or brunette like—"

"Watch it!"

"Like Thea," Oliver finished, eyes twinkling with humor.

Felicity giggled and tried to roll away, but Oliver's bulk pressed her gently back. Her gaze sought his. Where a moment before humor had danced in his eyes like fireflies in July, there was something raw and honest swirling there now.

Oliver's voice was gritty, but it did nothing to detract from the sincerity in his words. "None of that stuff means anything to me, Felicity. Our children can be whoever or whatever they want, and I will adore them every single day of their lives. Do you want to know why?"

Felicity swallowed hard, but nodded.

"Because they'll be ours," he said softly. "They'll be half of you, Felicity, and I could never love something that has even the smallest piece of you with anything less than everything I am."

Vision pricking with moisture, Felicity reached for him. She cupped her palms lovingly at the hinges of his jaw and smiled sweetly.

"Your going to be a wonderful father."

"I will, I promise you," he vowed. "The moment you decide you're ready to try, nothing else will be more important to me than proving that to you."

"Oh, Oliver."

Felicity's heart felt too big for its cage. It made her throat swell, like a dam holding back the tidal wave of affection surging through her.

They'd discussed it several times in the years following the nightmare that pushed them to confront their feelings for one another. Though becoming a mother was still one of her deepest desires, Felicity and Oliver agreed that time was necessary. Too much was still fresh, still held too much power over them. Being a mother wasn't something Felicity could commit to, at least not until the week-long episodes of pain and grief came further apart, or ceased to exist as anything more than passing memories.

When Sloane was born, Felicity saw the way Oliver was affected. He looked at his niece like she held every secret in the known universe in her eyes. There was so much love, such unspoiled adoration written in his expression when Sloane was in his arms. Felicity wondered then, and not for the first time, if maybe, just maybe, she was ready. If she was strong enough then to be the mother every child deserved.

"What is it, what's wrong?"

Felicity resisted the immediate urge to deny anything was weighing on her. Instead, she swallowed down the trepidation and forced herself to speak.

"I think… I think I'm strong enough now."

Confusion clouded Oliver's expression for the briefest moment before it cleared. His eyes widened, lips pulling up just a hint on each side.

"You're serious?" he asked, his voice a near perfect blend of awe and fear, as though he were desperately afraid to let himself believe.

She chewed her bottom lip, nodding. "We've come a long way, especially in the last few months. I haven't had an episode in almost a year, and Dr. Collins thinks it's the right time to work on weaning me off the meds. Do you…" She frowned up at him. "Do you disagree?"

"No!" Oliver was quick to assure. "Felicity, I've always known you were strong. There has never been a single moment of doubt in my mind that you would be an amazing mother to our children."

He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his touch tender and careful.

"I've just been waiting for you to know it too."

The moisture that prickled at her eyes now flooded them. She blinked it away and pushed up onto her elbows, fusing her mouth to his. When the kiss broke Felicity smiled, eyes wet but bright.

"How did I manage to land such a perfect husband?"

Oliver grinned at her teasing. "Just lucky, I guess."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't say she disagreed. "I love you, you know; More than I ever wanted to love another person."

"No one on this Earth has ever loved anyone more."

Felicity knew he meant it. Hell, she was sure he was at least half right. No one had ever loved her the way he did, not even close. But she also knew that, no matter how much they loved one another, it would pale in comparison to the love they would have for their children.

"Felicity?"

She hadn't realized how long she'd been silent, not until she heard the concern in his voice. She didn't need words to tell him not to worry (they'd never needed words), but she used them anyway.

"Let's do it, Oliver. Let's make a baby."