For all that Oliver likes to cook, he's really not a fan of baking. It probably has something to do with him not having much of a sweet tooth - years on a deserted island without refined sugars makes most conventional desserts so saccharine, even long after his exile ended.

Baking isn't his first choice of ways to spend his time in the kitchen - really, cooking isn't either; his favorite option involves a certain blonde on the counter - but he hasn't had much choice in ways to entertain himself lately. Strict bedrest had been ordered for two weeks after a particularly nasty encounter with this year's villain-du-jour left his bad knee mangled. Two whole weeks of doing nothing but lying still, leaving him all sorts of time to think about all the things he could be doing if he could just move. But, now that those torturous fourteen days have finally given way to limited mobility with the use of a cane, he can finally do things. Some things, anyhow. He's still stuck at home.

And Oliver is bored.

He's watched everything of even marginal interest on Netflix. He knows far more about the City Council proposals on rezoning than he'd ever been interested in, even as the city's mayor. He's planned out meals for the entire week and prepped tonight's dinner - grouper wrapped in bacon with a side of roasted asparagus and a risotto that he takes far too much pride in, all things considered. So… yeah.

He's bored.

And, while he might not be all that thrilled with dessert, Felicity will be.

That makes it worthwhile.

Seeing his wife smile makes anything worthwhile.

His wife. They've been married ten months now and he still feels a thrill of giddiness every time he realizes she's actually his wife. He's actually her husband.

There were plenty of times over the years he never thought they'd get here. It's never been a question of love, not even from those first moments when they came together, but they haven't exactly taken the easy road through their relationship. Most of the fault for that lays at his feet, but she's not entirely blameless either. Still, they've gotten to this point because in spite of all the roadblocks in their way, in spite of his lies and her problems with trust, neither one of them has ever been willing to give up on the other. Not ever. And that, more than anything, is why he knows

this is forever.

And it's why he's making mint chip brownies even though he won't eat them.

He is making them, that is, until the front door slams shut and heels click hurriedly across the floor. A bolt of alarm has him dropping the spoon on the second batch and spinning in time to see his wife sail into the kitchen. The perkiness she'd left with that morning is nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by a particularly green hue to her skin.

Oliver grabs his cane, taking a halted step towards her. "Felicity?" She ignores him, grabbing hold of the countertop and leaning over the stainless steel trash can. "Honey, are you okay?"

She groans something under her breath, holding up a finger, signaling for him to wait. She presses her forehead to the cool granite, her whole body clenching with what he's pretty sure are dry heaves.

He takes another step. "Felicity…"

She shakes her head, warding him off as she moans, "Oh god."

Her voice is strangled with misery, and he can't just stand there and watch her suffer. He can't. He's not sure what to do, but doing nothing is absolutely not an option. His feet are already moving before he can think twice, and he leans heavily on his cane as he closes in on her.

Oliver's free hand rests low on her back in what he means to be a soothing motion, but she instantly jolts away at this touch and glares up at him.

"You do not get to touch me right now, Oliver," she says, her tone bitter. And not just bitter, but angry. He frowns at her, because her level of indignation feels wholly unearned - he hasn't even done anything. "I'm like a solid 70-percent sold on the idea that that's how this happened in the first place, so no… No touching."

And that explains absolutely nothing. Oliver furrows his brow, trying to follow her, but he's lost. "What?" he asks.

"I threw up on Worthington's shoes," she says, her voice rising. "On his shoes. This was a really, really important board meeting and I completely upchucked this morning's waffles - which are way better going down than coming back up, by the way - all over his thousand dollar loafers. Chunks, Oliver, chunks all over his loafers. I'm pretty sure it lost us his vote."

"That's... " Oliver still isn't quite following. Is she sick? Is she getting the flu? Is she blaming him for food poisoning? He's at a loss, because she isn't acting sick, so he says the one thing he does know. "He'll vote our way."

Felicity snorts, raising an eyebrow at him. "He's a tool. I pretty much expect him to pat me on the head every time I speak."

"You're the CEO and a Queen," he reminds her, pride evident in his voice at the proclamation. "Worthington isn't bold enough to move against us. That's not his style. But I don't care about him, or the meeting, for that matter. Are you okay?"

She shakes her head again, her face crumpling adorably as she pushes herself up, leaning on her elbows. "I don't…" Her eyes drift over to the bowls and ingredients on the counter behind him. She pauses, and then she takes a deep breath, finally registering the smell of baking brownies in the air. Tears fill her eyes along with recognition when she looks back at him. "Are you making mint brownies for me?"

It all makes about as much sense to him as anything else she's done since she walked into the loft, and all Oliver can do is blink at her.

"Oliver," she continues, giving him a watery smile. "That's so sweet. You're the most thoughtful husband in the entire world and I can't believe I told you not to touch me. I don't even deserve you. I'm so, so sorry."

Her hand covers her mouth, and though she's considerably less green, he's a little afraid she's going to heave again. Instead, she lets out a bit of a sob, one that prefaces more tears filling her eyes, and just… what? What even is going on? Is she crying?

"Honey, it's fine," Oliver promises her. He touches her arm gently, a little afraid she might shift gears again and jerk away from him, but she doesn't. She just looks up at him and nods hard with watery eyes. Feeling a bit more confident she isn't going anywhere, his hand skims up the curve of her elbow. "Are you feeling okay?"

For a long moment, she doesn't respond. She just stares at him. The first few seconds are filled with genuine concern, and even a little humor that she's reacting so badly to a stomach bug… but then she continues to just stare. His concern slowly melts into a little bit of fear and then downright terror about what she's going to say. Because what if something is really wrong? What if she's sick? What if it's serious? Is she hiding something? How bad is it?

"My boobs are sore," she blurts.

Oliver's hand freezes on her arm. Uh…

He stares at his fingers as if to ensure that they are in no way touching her breasts at the moment.

"Oh… kay?" he asks, watching her warily.

It's not the response she wants.

"Oliver," she huffs with aggravation. She grabs his free hand and places it on her surprisingly firm breast, to which he has absolutely no clue how he's meant to respond. "I threw up on Worthington's shoes. I just cried over brownies. My boobs are as firm as coconuts. I think…" She stops, and her gulp is audible before she whispers, "I think maybe I'm pregnant."

It takes a full ten seconds for the word 'pregnant' to register, and when it does…

Oliver's jaw drops, his eyes going wide. His heart does some kind of crazy rhythm in his chest - some backward flip that makes him feel like it's going to leap right out - before it suddenly goes triple-time. But that's the only thing that moves; he just stands there, his hand still awkwardly holding onto her breast, staring at her.

"God, you're terrified," she says in a half-sob, half-laugh that's more than a little maniacal.

"That's…" he starts. It's a good, solid word, pronounced correctly and everything, which is surprising, because he doesn't actually have a processable thought in his head right now, so words seem like an impossible feat. "I… uh… Aren't you?"

Yeah, okay, so maybe not having words would have been better than having the wrong ones. Felicity's eyes narrow, her brows dropping in a deep frown at his innocent question. And really, it's a good question. But she clearly doesn't agree.

He's pretty sure his wife is about to hit him. His possibly pregnant wife is about to hit him.

Oh holy shit, he was not prepared for this. At all.

Felicity tries to take a step back, and the slight movement snaps him back into motion.

"No, Felicity, it's just..." he starts, moving his hand to settle back on the respectable space of her upper arm instead of her breast. Her very firm breast which, now that he's paying attention, definitely feels different. They had been feeling different. He'd chalked it up to hormones of the period variety, not the… pregnant-with-an-actual-child variety. "I'm not saying it would be bad. That's not it at all. I just… wasn't exactly prepared."

"And you think I was?" she demands, in a voice that actually squeaks with incredulity. She waves her arms, her voice getting louder, if it were possible. "I cried at an ad for Purina on the radio, Oliver. I cried about dog food and I threw up on a board member's shoes and you think I wanted to do that? You think…"

"Hey, come here," he interrupts, shuffling awkwardly with his cane until he can pull her into his arms. He winds his arms around her, tugging her into his chest firmly. She shoves her face into

his shoulder, taking a deep breath, inhaling his scent and probably the smell of brownies and the fact that he used her body wash earlier because his ran out. When she exhales, she finally relaxes. Oliver rubs his hand up and down her back, digging his fingers into the tender muscles along her spine. She's even more tense than usual. He kisses her head as he says, "I love you, okay? We're gonna be fine. No matter what happens, we'll be fine."

It's a relief to feel her melt into his arms, even if she is more careful than usual about resting her weight against him. Her fingers grip onto the fabric of his shirt and she moves her head to tuck it beneath his chin. He pushes his free hand up her neck, pressing his fingers into her hair before stroking down the length of her spine.

A minute later, she finally mumbles into his henley, "Easy for you to say. You aren't the one who's gonna wind up looking like a whale who swallowed a beach ball."

The image hits him full on in his mind's eye and it takes his breath away. He wants it. He wants to see her body changing, see her growing with life - their child's life - inside her. It's a weird thing to think, but the idea of that happening with Felicity? A strange new yearning for just that burns in his chest. The idea of kids with her has always felt like a far-off dream. Their lives aren't exactly kid-friendly, far from it, but there's never been a doubt in his mind that he wants that for them. Eventually. He's not sure he knew how much until this instant though, with the possible reality of it hanging over their heads.

"You'll be beautiful," he says softly, reverently, meaning it so completely that his voice cracks. He holds her tighter, his hands tracing her gentle curves. "I can't even begin to explain how beautiful you'll be."

He feels her breath hitch against his chest before she backs off slightly to peer up at him. Her blue eyes are a mixture of wariness and hope, and it hits him right in the gut. They've barely broached the subject of kids, but he can see she wants this. In this instant, he knows it with absolute certainty. Despite the timing - he's hurt and they're fighting a network of criminals working to undermine all the good they've done; he's so very busy as the mayor and she's absorbed in the merger proposals at QC - she wants this. Now.

She'd only been terrified that he didn't.

That realization has him pulling her close again.

"Will?" she echoes. "I will be beautiful? You think I am? Pregnant, I mean? You think we're…"

"I think we should probably find out," he interrupts before she can spiral. His eyes skim down her form to her still-flat belly where his child may or may not be growing. The thought alone sends a thrill through him. "I think I really, really want to find out."

"So you want this?" she asks. "You really want this?" She grips his shirt with one hand, tugging on it, while the other finds one of his hands. She holds onto him like she's holding on for dear life. "You want me to be pregnant? For us to have a baby? Like now? Or… not now now, but in eight-months-or-so now?"

This morning he wouldn't have had an answer, wouldn't have known what answer she wanted to hear, but it's so clear to him now that it feels like it should have always been evident.

"Yes," he replies in a gravelly, hushed voice. "Yes, I do."

The relief that surges through her makes him grateful that he's holding onto her hand, offering her support, because he thinks she might honestly have fallen over if not for him and the kitchen counter.

"Really?" she asks in a hopeful little sob. "This is…" She lets out a short laugh. "It's the actual worst timing, Oliver. Okay, maybe not the worst. There was that time you went off and got stabbed by R'as and I thought you were dead for months… That was pretty much worse. Not that we were doing any baby-making activities at that point. Or, oh, that time when Darhk had me shot. That would have been a horrible time to be pregnant. Or-"

"Felicity."

Oliver silently curses his reliance on the cane because he really, really wants to touch her face right now, but she's got a death-grip on his free hand. He's always been better at expressing himself with actions rather than words, but he's limited right now, so he's going to have to find the right thing to say. When she looks up at him, her eyes shining with hope, the barely-contained happiness he can see burning so bright and beautiful makes his chest hurt…

He stares into her eyes, the words coming without a second thought.

"There's never a perfect moment for a baby," he says. "And… yes, it's going to take some adjustment if we're going to be… going to be parents." They both feel the weight of that simple statement. "But… I think it would be worth it. No, I know it would be worth it. And I want it. Now." His voice lowers to a whisper, one just for her ears as he says, "With you."

Felicity nods up at him, so fiercely quick that he thinks she's probably not even aware she's doing it.

"God," she says, "I want to kiss you right now but I have puke-breath."

Oliver huffs out a laugh, completely cutting through the seriousness of the moment. He leans forward and presses his lips to her brow.

"Why don't you go brush your teeth and I'll run up to the store…" he suggests, pulling back to look down at her. "Pick up a test?"

"Oh, no need," she answers. She steps back - gently, always making sure he's got his cane and isn't about to fall because she pulled back too fast - and picks up her purse where she'd dropped it. Without preamble, Felicity dumps the contents of her bag onto the counter. In a sea of small notepads, pens, lipsticks, the dayplanner she didn't use, her cell and tablet, sit at least five pregnancy tests. He - very wisely - restrains himself from laughing at the sight. "I stopped on the way home," she finishes.

"And…" He hesitates - because prudence around possibly-pregnant women is something he has barely any experience with at all - before asking, "You bought all of the tests they had?"

"They can be wrong, Oliver!" she insists. "I needed at least three for control and then what if one of those three gives us a different answer?"

"Okay," he replies, giving her a placating nod. He's always been a quick study, and he can read his wife better than anyone else on the planet. Now is neither the time to argue nor the time to tease her. She's never followed through with the threat of making him sleep on the couch, but there's a first time for everything and he's not about to push his luck.

"It's better to be prepared," Felicity points out, like he hasn't just agreed with her. "Do you really want to run out to the store when we have three tests with different results?"

He refrains from pointing out it's not actually possible for all three to tell them something different, and mentally pats himself on the back for exercising excellent judgement.

Oliver nods again with a soft, "Okay," before shifting slightly, just enough that he's pressed right up against the counter. He lets his cane rest along with him as he picks up one of the tests, squeezing her hand where he still holds it. "How about we see if that's even going to be an issue?"

Felicity blinks at him. "What?" she asks. That bitter edge from earlier is back and it's clear she's ready to launch into a tirade about the necessity of multiple pregnancy tests.

"Honey," Oliver says before she can. "Go pee on a stick. Please."

"Oh…" she breathes out. She looks at the test in his hand. "Right."

She doesn't move to take it though.

As much as she wants this - as much as they both do - that doesn't make it any less terrifying.

He suddenly realizes why she was so very focused on pregnancy tests. It was far easier than actually taking them.

"Do you want me to go with you?" he offers.

Her eyebrows shoot up. "And watch me pee?"

"I'm pretty sure I can stand it if you need me to hold your hand," he tells her.

"Oliver, when we got married you promised me we'd never be that couple that leaves the door open when they pee," she reminds him. "This is a sticking point for me."

"Felicity," he says, drawing her name out, bringing them back around to the point. He drops the test and, ignoring the way his hip digs into the drawer he's leaning into, cups her cheek. "Will you please go take those tests so I can find out if I'm gonna be a dad?"

Felicity sucks in a quick breath, her eyes widening at that word. Her mouth forms a little 'o' before splitting into the biggest smile he's ever seen. "A dad," she repeats. "We're gonna find out if you're going to be someone's daddy, if I'm gonna be a mom."

Hearing it from her lips has his own grin growing as he nods. "Yeah."

She nods, looking at the tests splayed on the counter, forcing his hand to fall from her cheek. Oliver finds his cane, maneuvering so he's standing on his own again as he plays with her fingers where they tangle with his.

"Okay," Felicity says. "Okay." When she looks back at him, there's a new tentativeness shading her eyes. "And… if they're negative?"

"If they're negative…" he starts, somewhat amazed at the words he realizes are about to come out of his mouth. "If they're negative, save the last two for next month."

"Really?" She searches his eyes. "Like really, really? We're really doing this? Like on purpose?"

"If we didn't already on accident," he replies. "If you want, that is."

"I want," she says with a smile. "I really want. Kind of a shocking amount, actually."

"Me too," he says, hoping his eyes tell her everything she needs to know. "So much."

"Okay," she agrees, nodding at him. "Okay, I'm gonna go pee on some sticks."

"Okay." He nods back. "I'm just gonna…" Count the seconds. "Set the timer."

"Okay," she echoes again, steeling herself.

The need to kiss her overwhelms the fact that she's recently been sick and he leans forward to peck her gently on the lips, lingering for a long moment before letting her go. The thrill that runs through him is bone-deep as they part. She gives him a little smile, her cheeks flushed and happy, before she gathers up the tests. With one last smile, she turns to the bathroom. He watches her go, images of their future so much more solid in his mind's eye than they had been just minutes before.

Wanting a family with her someday in an abstract way has been a notion in the back of his mind since well before they were even a couple. But now, as he watches her walk towards the possible confirmation of something so big and so life-changing, he has to bite his tongue to keep his excitement contained. Their someday might already be happening. His child might be growing inside of her at this very moment. He'd thought it would be terrifying, and it is. That's there, too - the idea of raising a child with the sort of ever-present threats that hang over their heads is blindingly scary. But hope overwhelms it, joy far surpassing it. The idea that he might be able to be a dad - with Felicity at his side, no less - leaves a pang of longing coiling in his gut so much stronger than he might have anticipated.

Three minutes. He has to wait three minutes.

He honestly isn't sure how he'll make it that long.

The oven gets shut off - he can't possibly concentrate on baking right now and the last thing they need is to accidentally burn down the loft - and the batter put in the fridge. He turns to the microwave to set the timer for the longest three minutes of his life when he hears Felicity's bare feet padding across the floor back toward him.

"Did you-" he starts. He stops when he sees her ashen face. His hand drops to his side as he takes in a stricken expression that he can't actually read, for once in his life. His heart sinks as much as it jumps up into his throat, his stomach clenching. "What-"

"You don't have to set the timer," she tells him, looking more than a little shell-shocked.

Oliver sucks in a quick breath, and the air almost feels like too much. He hobbles a few steps toward her, grateful, for once, that he has the cane to lean on because he's not sure his knees would keep him standing without it even if he weren't injured.

"Does that… Felicity, what does that mean?" he manages, his heart pounding so fiercely in his chest that it almost drowns out the buzz of white noise filling his ears.

"I just…" she starts, but it's like she stalls out. She shakes her head, laughing in a way that seems equal parts anxiety and frustration at her own inability to find words.

Words are sort of unnecessary, though, especially when she raises her hand. His gaze fixes on the little plastic sticks sitting on her shaking palm. All three are there, ready to be read… but he can't make out the results from where he stands. Oliver stumbles a few unsteady steps forward as she holds up the tests to him.

"It didn't need the three minutes," she tells him, her voice wavering and her eyes watery.

He knows what that means. Somewhere in his head he does, at least. There's only one way they don't have to wait the three minutes if she's holding the tests up. But he can't believe it until he hears it, until he sees it.

It's completely mindless, the way he hobbles toward her. He's putting too much weight on his knee - if he were thinking about that, he'd know it, but he isn't. He isn't thinking at all and he can't feel any pain and nothing matters but reaching her and the tests. His heart hammers too hard in his chest and his mind spins too fast for anything but the possibility of what she holds to sink in.

"Honey…" Oliver's voice breaks, sounding a little desperate because he has to hear her say it. He has to.

"By the time I even pulled the tests away there were already little plus signs on all of them," she confirms, her voice shaking as much as her hands. "I dunno what that means? I mean, obviously it means I'm pregnant, but that's like really fast. I expected three minutes to come to terms with the idea, you know? And I didn't get that. It was too fast. Why was it that fast? Does that mean I'm like super pregnant? Do I have too many hormones? Oh God, does that mean it's twins?"

She's gone from practically unable to speak to a full-on ramble that frankly doesn't make any sense at all. It only makes him want to hold her more than he already does. Bad idea or not, he drops his cane and manages the last few feet to her under his own power, eyes fixed on the positive tests. He vaguely hears her squeaks in protest about his ill-advised steps, but God he can't care about his knee right now. Not even a little.

He doesn't realize his eyes are watering until his cheeks are wet.

It's too much, and he chokes out an unintelligible sound as he reaches her. His knees buckle slightly, nearly giving out under the physical and emotional strain they're being put through, but he doesn't fall. No, he leans against her, holding her shoulder for support as his other hand settles low against her stomach, like maybe now that he knows he can feel the difference.

The instant he touches her, her protests fade away as she looks up at him.

"We're having a baby?" he asks, needing to hear the words again. He chokes on his next breath. "We're… I get to be someone's dad? Really?"

A pleased look spreads across her face. It's joy. It's so much joy. It lights up her entire face, a happiness so pure it almost brings him to his knees. He wonders if that's what people mean when they talk about how pregnant women glow because, God it floors him. She's more beautiful in this moment than ever before, and he loves her impossibly more than he ever has.

"Yeah," she confirms, biting into her lower lip for a second before releasing it. "Really." One of her hands settles against his over her stomach, lacing their fingers together. "We have a baby in there, Oliver. Our child."

"Oh my God," he breathes out before leaning in and kissing her with barely contained passion. She returns it readily with a tiny little moan, a breathless sound that he feels in his bones. The euphoria crashing through him translates into a whip of love and need that makes his hands shake, and he grips her tighter, but with so much restraint, like he's terrified he might break her.

In the end though, it's not her he should be concerned about breaking.

His knee gives out after a second and there's no world where he'd put the entirety of his weight on his pregnant wife's shoulder. With a muted grunt of pain that he barely feels, he sinks to the ground, putting his weight on his good knee - or better knee, as the case may be. He hears her breathy, "Oliver," but he shakes his head, whispering, "I'm okay, I'm so okay," before he presses his face to his wife's stomach.

Felicity's hand settles in his hair, and he feels her shaky breath, his head moving along with her as she sighs.

"Hi," he whispers against her belly. "Hi there…" He kisses it through the fabric of her shirt. Felicity giggles, her nails scraping over his scalp. She's so warm and perfect, holding the life of their child inside her. He never wants to move. Leaning on his one semi-good knee, Oliver grips her hips. "I love you, little one. We love you." Oliver kisses her stomach again before pulling back, just enough to smooth her shirt down before whispering, "Welcome to the world."

"Not for another eight months or so," Felicity points out, her voice husky with unshed tears. He smiles - those are eight months he so very much looks forward to. Resting his face against her again, Oliver sighs, nuzzling her as she cradles the back of his head. She leans into him, scratching along his head, making him shiver, before she fists his hair lightly for emphasis as she adds, "And he's gonna need your knee functional enough that you can carry him around, so maybe stop dropping your cane and putting weight on your leg."

"You think it's a boy?" he asks, looking up at her like she could possibly have an answer.

"I think," she says, "that it's about the size of a grain of rice with no way to tell at this point." She grins down at him, trailing her hand over his cheek with affection. There's a hint of wonder, of that beautiful joy, and love. So much love. "Do you want it to be a boy?"

"I don't care," he immediately replies, realizing as he says it that it's completely true. "Not at all. It doesn't matter to me. I just… God." He presses his face to her stomach again, kissing it, over and over, his voice breaking as he says, "Thank you."

He honestly can't process how this means so much to him, how very badly he wanted this without even really realizing it.

"Thank yourself, too, you know," Felicity points out cheekily. "You had a big part in this, mister."

"I'm going to have a big part in all of it," he promises. "Every step of the way. Anything and everything. Cravings, backrubs, footrubs. Diaper changes and three a.m. feedings and… I…" His mind blanks, because he really doesn't know exactly what pregnancy and raising an infant entails, but it doesn't matter. Because he's there. For all of it. Oliver looks up at her, winding his arms around her. "You know that, right?"

The insecurity in his voice isn't ill-placed. They've fought these demons before. And while they didn't exactly triumph the first time around, they did eventually beat them. She's still a girl whose father left and he's still a man who made the extremely hard choice to remove himself from his own son's life. But that was different. This is different. This is their child, who will grow up in this life, who won't have it thrust upon him a decade later. This is them, a couple who will fight tooth and nail for each other and their family.

And she knows that. The look on her face, soft and cherishing, is more than enough proof of that, but the smile and the little nod she gives in agreement settles the sudden quiet sense of desperation that'd been stewing in his stomach at the thought that maybe…

"I know," Felicity confirms, stroking his cheek. "I know."

Her belief in him, their belief in each other, in spite of everything - or maybe because of it all - is grounding. Fortifying. It's all he's ever needed. It's all he will ever need. It's what's gotten them this far and what will carry them forward. It's what makes this whole new reality they're faced with so much more exciting than terrifying.

Despite the complications they'll undoubtedly face - the way the city only barely seems to survive thanks to their combined efforts to keep it afloat; the reality that she commands the business world while he's absorbed with politics; that this could undeniably have happened at a better time - he wouldn't change a thing for the world.