"Dammit!" He gasped, panting: his jaw set… they got by me.

They got away.

"Arrow, update?"

Diggle.

Oliver tapped his ear piece. "We were too late." He spat out rain water - it was still raining. "He's in the wind and I'm too far from the bike."

There was a grunt of affirmation that told Oliver, Digg was roving; checking for tag-a-longs and surprises before the police arrived in force. "We'll get him; tonight was a big win for us."

Then why didn't it feel like one? After planning for over a week, Oliver was sure John was right, but…

He'd held back.

No longer aiming to kill, his reserve had given the leader of the syndicate a narrow window he'd taken advantage of. After a long week - after lying to his sister about her training her boyfriend, after realising the painful truth about his friendship with Laurel (his blind spot in her that was a weakness and not a strength) that forced to him to see the wrong he'd done, and after answering a barrage of truly painful questions from a indecently nosy reporter about his romantic and social life after verification that his mother would be running for mayor - he'd needed a win.

"He could go to ground." And he wasn't even talking to John at this point. "If he does, we won't find him." He'll liquidate his funds and dig in deep with friends. They could lose sight of him for years and they wouldn't find him.

Not even with the help of-

"Felicity's heading your way."

"It won't matter." Though he could already hear her footsteps; the black boots she'd pulled on before leaving the foundry were the same ones he'd requisitioned for her. Adding two inches to her height, they were able to withstand electrical discharge, flame retardant and durable enough to kick down doors without doing damage to her feet.

Those footsteps stuttered to a halt more than a few meters behind him.

He didn't turn to her. "He's gone." He just muttered; a deep exhale leaving him.

"Oliver?"

Almost seething, he glared into the night - the same way the van had sped out of range and into the darkness - feeling the familiar tug of having let a very bad man slip out of his fingers. They'd gone into the stronghold together; him, Dig and Felicity. She'd opened all the doors, disabled the armed automatons and flared up the klaxon alarm to shriek throughout the base, making the enemy scatter. Dig had gone up, he'd gone down. As a unit, they'd delivered an organised crime cell to the police in less than an hour…

But the head honcho had snuck through the cracks. The kind of guy with clients and allies. Within hours he'd be lost to them.

So, they didn't have time for-

"Oliver."

Dissatisfied and distracted, he absently answered. "What?"

A rustling noise behind him - something foreign and distinctly not the clip of familiar heels - made him spin round, arrow notched and ready in a second.

"Yip!"

Water dropping from his hood to his chin, Oliver stared down at the shivering, soggy mass of fur that had gone skidding in his direction. Claws locked to the ground, it looked up at him with oddly vibrant blue eyes for a canine. One that was clearly terrified of him.

And the arrow pointed at its face.

"Hey, what-" stumbling to a halt at the tail end of the alley Oliver stood in front of, an also very wet, dishevelled, pink faced Felicity Smoak blew out an exhale; slumping in relief. "Oh, so now you stop?"

She was speaking to the dog.

Feeling ridiculous, he lowered his bow. "Where were you?" The answer was obvious, but his mind was still elsewhere.

Hands lifted upwards - as if she was under arrest - her eyes flickered briefly to his as she began shuffling out of her coat. "Right behind you." Her voice was low. Steady. Gentle. For the dog, clearly. "You shot passed this little guy," she said as she held out her coat in both hands, like a matador would a red cape, as she indicated to the dog, "woke him up and he sort of… fell out of his box."

Box.

He already knew where this was going. He knew her. "Felicity-" Exasperated - with the night - when he saw the dog flinch, he punched down on the modulator; he wouldn't need it for the moment. "What. Are. You. Do-"

"Ssh."

She shushed him.

Taken aback, he just looked at her; her eyes were wide in warning as she took a step closer and he felt irritation lance through him. "Just give me a minute."

Fists clenched, he bit out. "We don't have a minute."

"Of course we do." Eyes on the dog, "I tagged Rick Vargas before they left." She murmured, and he sucked in a breath…

Of course she had.

All at once, the tension in him seeped away… He should have waited. It was Felicity; of course she'd…

"And," literally curving her shoulders and bending her knees to look smaller as she inched forwards - and his now tensionless body felt a tremor of something ripple through him at the sight because it was almost obscene - she spoke slowly. "This will only take a second."

Cute.

He could admit it: it - she - was cute. Even on a night like this. And that's why it was obscene; that he could be standing here, in the rain with her after firing a dozen arrows and break and few dozen bones. They could be here. Like this. Doing something silly.

But he didn't show any of that. "Why?" Instead, he shook his head; brow furrowed, unsmiling. As always when he was The Arrow. "It's just a dog, we should be-"

The dog barked suddenly. "Rarf! Arf!" Shutting him up as Felicity jolted mid-creep to within feet of it.

"Wait!" She gasped out ridiculously - as if it would understand her - but it whipped to face her; claws out, hackles raised… and it fell over itself trying to get away from her again.

Impressive.

Until it tumbled straight into Oliver's legs, lying across his feet.

Unmoving, he looked down at it again; its little legs kicking the air for stability. It was kind of pitiful.

But the small whining noises leaving it were painfully adorable. And telling.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Felicity crooned and the dog - puppy - squinted up at him again, and he hadn't realised he'd started to reach out, reach down towards it until it immediately sat up and started cowering on all fours at his shadowed face and broad arm.

It was odd - ludicrous even - to feel anything about that. Still, a slither of something like sadness whispered through him as he watched the dog duck phantom hands and wait for booted feet.

He didn't move.

"Against the night like that, you do look kind of imposing." Felicity murmured.

Brows arched, he stole a look at her, which wasn't hard. Head bowed as his was, she was still shorter and leaning towards the dog…

She was smiling at him.

And still wet.

Soaked.

A mess.

Hair stuck to her face, black pants moulded to her legs, tank top thankfully also black and drenched, glasses useless and tucked into her coat; she looked bright eyed. Pink cheeked. Wonderful.

Warm, considering… as if he could feel the heat coming off her through his leathers.

He cleared his throat and the dog jerked. "We should-"

Gradually dropping into a crouch, leaning forwards, coat half lying on the dirty ground, half in her arms that were stretched out; Felicity's head popped over the puppy. Directly over his line of sight. And she breathed. "Hi there."

Soft. So soft was her voice that he felt he literally couldn't speak to cut her off.

And the dog?

The half of it he could now see past her pony tail he saw blink up at her face; it's nose twitching… then, like it had been metaphorically hit on the head, it slowly fell back onto its side, like; boop.

The side of Oliver's mouth pulled.

"Did we scare you?" Soothing noises left his Girl Wednesday. "We're not scary. You're definitely not scary; you're scrumptious."

Fur flattened out against tarmac and green booted feet, the dog's vicious looking teeth disappeared behind yet more fuzz: its head rolled into him and he watched its shivering body, calm.

His chest tightened, knowing that feeling.

Lying there, the dog just looked at her; paw lifting pathetically to smack her coat as it drew closer. As if it didn't really want to fight what was scary because it the scary was also kind of beautiful, safe and-

Felicity.

"There we go." She whispered.

Scooping the dirty, homeless creature up into the coat; Oliver just stood there. Sedentary. Watching. Weirdly entranced by something so simple.

When she straightened, it was with her arms full of fluff and bright blue eyes. "Oh, I hope I'm not allergic." She muttered to herself as she looked down at the canine.

"You don't know?" Oliver found himself asking.

"Never had a pet growing up." Biting down on her lip and, as wet as she was - holding a bundle of softness in arms that were deceivingly soft themselves - it was a little too inviting. To him.

He'd never held under the presumption that he wasn't strange himself.

But it was past a decent hour of night and they had things to do.

And yet-

He sighed. "You want to help him, don't you?"

She was so, so sly, his Girl Wednesday… made all the worse because she wasn't really. She had no idea what she looked like; face turned down into the bundle in her arms, eyes lifted to look at him through sodden lashes - totally trusting in the dangerous killer a foot in front of her - blinking through the rain. "Can we take him to the Foundry?"

Aiming for more snarl and bite, he felt his mouth twist a bit.

Pouting. He was pouting. Unbelievable.

"Just for tonight?" And her voice was so light, but not quite a whisper; as if she was worried the dog could understand English. "Please?"

Please?

Heart strings thoroughly tugged, Oliver's next breath left in a long release through his nostrils. "…Fine."

The smile that broke from her lit up her- her everything. "Thank you!" And in the night surrounding them, it was the softest light.

Staring, he didn't answer.

"I'll take him to the vet when they open but he just looks so," neglected, "cold."

"Aren't you cold?" He quietly asked.

"A little… oh!" She looked back over her shoulder. "I forgot my tablet."

"I'll get it for-"

But she held out the dog. "Can you hold onto him for a second?"

"Felicity, I don't-"

"Oliver." Her expression was pointed. "Hold please?"

How did he get into this? It wasn't really a question when he knew the answer – she stood right there. It was the very last thing he'd expected to be given.

His lips pressed together. "…Kay."

He took the dog.

Watching as she rushed back into the alley - realising that if he got caught in the next 2 minutes by passers-by (unlikely) or police (50/50) he'd lose all credibility as a badass - Oliver noted that it wasn't trust that kept the dog still. It was too still. Watchful of everything. Afraid.

And if you listened carefully, you hear a diminutive growl coming from its core.

It'll be a long night.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Oliver let out a breath, looking over the monitors on Felicity's work bench. "You heard me the first time."

"She picked up a stray?" John asked from somewhere behind him.

"From the alley."

"Outside of the compound?"

"That's the one."

There was quiet for a moment and it was appreciated because it was nearly 3am, Valdez was still on the run and though Felicity's protocols were already in progress, each minute that went by meant-

"Felicity picked up a stray dog in the alley outside of an underworld cell like you'd pick up a carton of milk?"

Perplexed by how long Dig was taking to come to terms with a very simple occurrence, Oliver sent him a tapered look; shaking his head, eyes narrowing, what?

"Nothing. I," letting out a breath, Dig raised both hands in the air, "of all things. Only Felicity Smoak."

Oliver grunted an agreement.

"It is so very late. Or early." Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw Dig rub the pads of his hands against his eyes. He knew the feeling. "There's a 24-hour diner around here: hungry?"

He could eat. "I'll go ask…" trailing off, it was an obvious conclusion anyway, Oliver moved over to the bathroom, where Felicity had stepped into - puppy in hand - about ten minutes before.

"He's dirty." She'd said before closing the door. "There will be no dirty paw prints anywhere near my servers."

Priorities.

He was almost smiling when he knocked. "Felicity are you hungry?" He called out to her. "Dig's going on a food run to that 24/7 diner around the corner…"

"Um," he heard her voice after a moment and frowned at the panic in it, "could you come in here please?"

His hand was already on the doorknob. "What is it?"

"Just… help me?"

The door was open in moments; his eyes searching, his heart kicking up a few notches. "Felicity? What-"

He froze.

He didn't have a conventional shower: there were tiles and there was a large open space with no curtains because why would he ever need them when there was a door? The shower was running, and Felicity was standing beneath the head of it; holding the puppy in her arms. Water fell over… everything. Her hair wasn't in its bobble anymore; no, it was cascading down her back. She wore the same tank top… and nothing else save a pair of dark blue panties that he stared at for an indecent amount of time. Could have been seconds.

Could have been forever.

"Y-yeah," her voice wobbled with nerves and she blew a piece of damp fringe away from her mouth, and he missed the why's of it all because- underwear. Legs. Wet skin. Felicity Smoak. "I-"

He stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. His hand still on the doorknob.

Throat… swallowing.

He'd always known really. He knew how she'd look, that she'd be beautiful. Beautiful heart, beautiful brain, now? Beautiful body.

His eyes closed.

Damn it.

"I'm afraid to ask…"

His eyes flew back open, wide. "What?" Internally he winced: it came out like a snap.

And there Diggle stood, blinking at him. "…I think I have my answer. Not that it makes any sense." His eyes drifted over the hand Oliver still had pressed against the door.

Oliver will never explain to him the reason for what happened next. "It's nothing." His eyes shifted swiftly to and from the door and Dig, as if he could see through it. "There- there's nothing. Not… in there." Again, his eyes flew back and forth. "To see."

What the...?

Somewhere, someplace; Tommy Merlyn just face-palmed. Epic fail, buddy.

Shut up.

A moment of silence stretched into infinity, a moment where Diggle gave his best deadpan expression yet. But he couldn't enjoy it when it was aimed at him. "So, I'm going to go out on the limb here and say you just saw Felicity in a less than usual, modest state?"

"No, no." His head shook a no too, just in case. "No, I did not. Nope."

Dig squinted at him.

What the hell was wrong with his brain?

As if he were an insult to men everywhere, Dig sighed the sigh of the forever suffering. "She's in there with a dirty dog, wearing dirty clothes; this is not a hard one to figure out but in case I were the metaphorical 'blind as a bat', narrow minded individual you sometimes pretend you are, the red on your cheeks is telling the whole story Oliver."

"Can you just…" closing his eyes and clearing his throat, Oliver carried on, "can you get us something to eat please so I can, er…" do what? The hand now splayed against the door, tapped on it, "deal with this?"

Deal with this. As if it were an epidemic. And he sounded like he was holding on by a thread. Like an addict, dealing with a tremor. His voice was a little higher than normal and it was as tight as the muscles in his shoulders and chest.

"Hey man," talking a step back, John shrugged, "I get it."

It was absurd, the panic Dig's words caused. "Get what?"

"Well a wet, indecently dressed Felicity Smoak, puts into mind fluffy towels and hot coco. For me." There was a slight smile forming on John's face that Oliver didn't like. "I'm guessing that's not what happened in there." He indicated to Oliver's head and-

Oh.

As before, Oliver's eyes shot straight to Dig's, to the door and back again. But he didn't say anything.

He didn't have to.

"So, I'm going to go." Walking backwards towards his coat, it was like Diggle suddenly couldn't look at Oliver. "The diner's half a block away but I think Felicity will want food for the mutt she brought back." Lip's pressed together Dig nodded to himself, like, good plan solider. "I'll be walking and uh," shucking on his coat he swallowed, and it hit Oliver that he was trying not to laugh, "you know I'm a little bruised." He was completely fine. "So, I'll be going slow."

Finally, Diggle looked at him. Though his face was otherwise passive, his eyes were flat out smirking. "Is 30 minutes too much time or…"

"Get gone, Dig."

Dig's chuckle echoed through the Foundry long after he'd closed the outer door behind him and every second of it pressed on Oliver's nerves.

To go back in there or to ignore it ever happened and let Felicity find away around whatever problem had her standing under water, half naked…

Again, Tommy's face flashed through his mind. This is truly pathetic my friend.

Feeling as if the world were repaying him for all his bad choices, Oliver let out a pained sound, "ngh," at war with himself.

There's a half-naked woman in there-

It's Felicity.

-Begging for the help THAT only you can provide.

Oliver sent the phantom of his best friend a glare. You're cruising for a bruising.

The long gone, sorely missed, laughter he often heard when he was alone, somehow made him feel lonelier than ever.

But he wasn't alone. She was right in there.

So, open the door and see what happens, Tommy whispered.

She was also wet. And pant-less.

And she'd asked for his help.

"Just… help me?"

Then what are you doing, leaving her waiting big guy?

Taking a breath - his chest shook with it - Oliver turned back to the door, gripped the handle… and pushed it open. His head didn't so much as pop out from behind it, as it more slowly appeared to look over the edge and he felt like an idiot. "Hey."

Finding her in the exact same place he'd left her, he felt his lips press together. She looked miserable and he'd left her there to find whatever remnants of strength he possessed.

And she looked so beyond grateful to see him, whatever less than honourable notions he'd held dribbled to the floor along with his ego. "Hey."

Be her guy, Tommy nudged, and Oliver was inside the bathroom and closing the door behind him before he could register that he'd closed them off from the world. It was just them.

Only they would know.

"So, er," Felicity started, and her voice wobbled a tad, probably seeing how Oliver's hands were pressed to the back of his thighs and how, after a very swift glance down, Oliver's eyes had been steadfastly - noticeably - fixed on her own. "Dog's like water, right? Well, I tried to wash the little guy in- in that." She jutted her chin out towards the sink and he'd been so thrown by her legs the last time that he realised he'd missed the sink full of neglected soapy water. "He did not like that." And she tried to inject some humour into it but the sniffle he heard destroyed it. "I think someone tried to hurt him and he doesn't trust people anymore. Anyway, he latched onto my arm and ah… wouldn't let go."

Now that he'd taken a breath - now that Oliver wasn't living in his own head so much - he could see that the dog's claws were indeed clamped onto her arm and he frowned when he noted-

"Your bleeding." The bridge of his nose tightened as the picture became clear.

While he'd been having an internal crisis outside, she'd been stood under the water trying to sooth the dog with the gentle heat because it had royally sunk both claws down into her arm and wouldn't let go.

"I'm sorry." He breathed, moving quickly, feeling concern begin its slow possession of his body. "Just… don't move." He kicked off his shoes.

"No problem of that happening." She quietly replied, watching him with bright eyes. "I'm ok. I mean it hurts, but he's scared…"

"How much does it hurt?"

"Just a little."

A lot then.

When his shirt was over his head and on the floor, there was a beat of silence.

"Um…"

He didn't give her time to form words that would only twist turn him inside out and reform him back in ways he'd never be able to let go of. "Ssh."

He stepped under the spray with her; eyes on the creature that was currently the danger in the room and not the way he felt as he shifted closer to her. As his pelvis pressed into the curve at the bottom of her back. As his chest brushed against her hair. As his arms circled slowly around her. As her face changed from, what is he doing? To-

"…Oh." Her mouth formed the word - and oh truly was the most incredible word ever created - but no sound left her. Her eyes had followed him until he was directly behind her.

Then he watched her shudder in a breath, had seen her pulse jump in her throat.

And he could pretend that it was the heat from the water that made his skin break out in Goosebumps and not the touch of her skin against his. Could deceive himself into the thinking that the way his shoulders immediately curved around her, was an instinctive need to protect and not because she was petite and perfect and needed him.

And Felicity.

"Here." And why had his voice lowered without telling it too? Why did everything feel so damn intimate now that they were alone. And wet. And-

Trusting each other.

Trust.

"Don't." She whispered back, when his hand moved towards the head of the dog.

A low growl sounded from its throat.

"Don't let it see you coming." And she hissed suddenly. "Yep. Yeah, I'm sorry little guy." She cooed as her arm started to really bleed this time; the water immediately chasing it away, creating a work of art in marble forming down her skin. "Feisty little…"

She sent him a look over her shoulder; there was genuine pain in her eyes, but she was smiling. "This is all my fault, isn't it?" She looked back at the charge in her arms. "I had to go and butt in where I wasn't needed."

Or maybe she just couldn't stand to see another creature live without love.

"The things we see," he muttered above her ear as is opposite hand came around, sliding over her arm, "sometimes make us reach out like this. Make us," he took a breath, stirring the looser trails of her hair - even with the water - and pushing closer into her to get a better look, "do things we wouldn't normally do." Fingers brushing fur, he began a languid rhythm of coaxing across the dog's back. "It's too afraid to see the good in this yet."

Only after he said the words, did he realise the double meaning.

And in his own moments of insanity - when the quiet, the blood and the dark pressed at him from all sides - that had made him reach out towards women for pleasurable reprieve, to his family for that rare boost of ego, to Felicity-

To argue about her going away for 3 weeks to visit a comatose Barry.

It had taken Diggle to make him understand why he'd argued, why he'd gone down that route instead of simply feeling relief, why irritation and vexation and crawled to the tips of his fingers instead of happiness at her return.

"The things most important are often the most complicated."

Oliver knew that. Knew that the scariest things often brought forth light. Happiness.

The best example was currently resting the length of her body against his, oddly calm given the way she usually rambled and blushed in front of him.

But then he remembered: Felicity, though a nervous bundle of warmth, was also the most direct of any woman he'd ever met. If she wanted something, she went for it. If she felt something, she felt no shame in expressing it. If she needed to be hugged, she asked for the hug.

Though she'd never asked him for one.

Still, it - she - was titillating.

And if she needed to lean against him, half naked and in the shower because she'd been standing there for over 20 minutes in pain after a very long night and weeks' worth of anxiety, then she would.

And he wouldn't stop her, no matter what… no matter how his body might be responding. No matter how much he wanted to… to ease her tank top off her body and feel the truth of her against him.

She already felt exquisite.

Her backside-

A word about this ass, my man.

Tommy. Dammit. It wasn't the time to have him in his head.

It is the Queen of all asses. Automatically, his hips lifted about a centimetre away from her. Exactly. I'm in your head dude, you can't hide from me. Of all the asses you've felt, in all the world, the ass that renders all your thoughts silent and makes you want to weep is the ass current making it very difficult for your crotch right now.

It… wasn't a lie.

It also wasn't the right time for it. Shut up Tommy.

Trust was the most attractive quality to him, which was why - right this moment - what mattered most was that she felt safe with him. Good with him. No running away from her here. No wondering either.

"My skin's pruning." She lamented, and she wasn't wrong. "I wanted to wash him first before I got a hit on Vargas."

Funnily enough, Oliver hadn't thought about the criminal in a while. "We'll get to it." He assured, fully wrapping his arms around her. "But first," his arm shifted beneath both of her own, "we just need… to get this little guy off your arm."

His fingers slid back upwards from a stroke and it was a good sign that the dog had lost the stiffness, so he went and sunk his fingers into the scruff at the back of its neck.

She nodded like she knew what he was about to do… and she probably did. Felicity could read him better than Sara.

"You ok?" He muttered.

"I'm okay."

"Tell me if that changes." He said quietly.

Then he gently pulled upwards on the back of the dog's neck-

All the while presenting the dog with a knew arm to bite into if it wanted to: the arm under its body had manoeuvred so that the dog's behind was planted on his forearm, his fingers tapping on its chest as a distraction…

And suddenly everything was easy.

The dog was in his arms, blinking at the change. Felicity, having turned, was now stood face to face with him, smiling at him - wide eyed, pink faced and wet, wet, wet - like he'd just saved the world instead of her arm-

Her arm that looked a lot worse now that she didn't have several pounds of dog attached. "We need to get that cleaned." Face pulling tight at the sight, he was surprised at the intensity of what he felt at the sight of such a simple wound made by a dog. "Come on." He made to move out from under the shower, but she spoke first.

"No, wait! Stay there." Hands out like, stay, she backed away towards the sink. "We can clean him now; he seems a lot calmer in your arms." And she was still smiling that smile…

The one that made him feel ten feet tall and as she walked back to him. From the front. Where he could see-

The lace.

Lace panties.

And when wet… translucent.

I'm going to hell. It was all his own thought; nothing from Tommy as his closed mouth dried. I'm never going to sleep again. No, he was going to leave this bathroom wondering how he'd last the night - never mind tomorrow - without thinking about his IT girl in that way.

She doesn't go Brazilian, which you hate. This = good. Tommy: and this time he didn't have the strength just then to tell the ghost of his friend to fuck off. If you waste this opportunity acting like the inhuman recluse you pretend to be, I'm going to sing 'I am Henry the 8th I am', every night until you die.

"…So, I know that human shampoo isn't the same," she was speaking. Felicity was speaking, and he was staring at the slip of darkish hair he could see through the front of her panties, absently wondering at the true colour of it as something very low in his stomach tightened. "But I thought it wouldn't matter to begin with." Luckily, she was looking down at the two bottles in her hands instead of his face, so she couldn't see the lascivious nature of his thoughts, couldn't see the way he was peeling off her wet things with his eyes. "So, what do you think?"

Like a gun had gone off, his eyes shot back up to hers as she presented both bottles. "Vanilla cream with cacao or the masculine scent for manly men everywhere?"

Then she looked at him.

Smiling.

Offering a choice that he hadn't heard a word of.

His mouth had wordlessly opened.

He wasn't blinking.

When he glanced down to the dog, he found it looking up at him.

With extreme judgement.

Me too. He shouldn't have told Dig to go. He should have made Dig handle this. Dig would have it done by now and he wouldn't be thinking about the way her thighs curved into her knees somehow - knees that were bruised and deserving of kisses - or the way her panties hung just under the ridge of hips that were indecently formed for a woman who sat for hours in front of a computer.

"Oliver?"

Now she sounded concerned.

And he still hadn't cleaned her arm.

He closed his eyes again, the water on his back making him want to tug her back to him. Get it together. There was a dirty dog in his arms, wondering what these crazy humans were trying to do. And he respected Felicity far too much to be doing this. It wasn't that he wasn't interested. He was a man. He was interested by her lack of clothes alone. But… he'd known his feelings and the change in them, he'd known that, physically, he thought she was edible.

But he also liked her.

He wanted to make the world better for her one dirty dog at a time. He also had to stay far away; something he'd been having trouble making good on since Russia. And Mathis.

Since she'd jumped out of a plane to bring him back to Starling.

Opening his eyes, words spilled out. "The masculine scent for manly men everywhere?" Quizzical, a little out of it and more than a little endeared, he waited for a reply… and noticed that she wasn't even looking at him just then, not in the face.

Eyes slightly dazed, they were focused on his stomach. Or his pectorals- no his stomach… abdomen- stomach… collarbone? No, abdomen-

Wait…

She was taking him in.

It made him fall silent. Made his mouth closed and his words die.

Not even…

It was odd, he knew it was.

Laurel had seen his body. It had driven her to tears, the scars. The marks. There'd been love and lust in her eyes but also pity. Also, sadness. When they'd slept together, he'd seen it again. He'd comforted her about it.

On her return to the city, however brief, he'd managed to score a sparring session with Sara and she'd seen him topless. There'd been no surprise, no sadness… no admiration.

McKenna had held a similar reaction to Laurel and Helena, to Sara. Isabel had gotten a kick out of sleeping with the enemy.

None of them had ever looked at him the way Felicity was doing right now. As if he were everything she'd always wanted and never thought she'd get until right here in this moment. As if he were the answer to every question forming in that brilliant mind of hers. As if each scar wasn't some ugly reminder of a violent past but instead, something to be esteemed. As if the contours of his body were… beautiful.

Delectable.

It had been a while since a woman had made him feel like that.

"Felicity." It came out as a whisper and he didn't even care.

Her eyes where still on him when she made a sound and then a, "Huh?"

She really needed to look him in the eye still, it made him confident. Made him say, "I'm starting to prune."

Seemingly entranced - his male ego was nowhere in sight; he just really liked what he was clearly doing to the woman he'd been so sure could never see him the way he'd been seeing her for months - her mouth opened seemingly by accident. "…What?"

"My skin." Low; his voice was low. He couldn't help it. He needed to. "It's starting to prune."

It hit her all at once.

Mouth snapping closed, eyes blinking: they shot up to his face, caught.

She'd done nothing wrong but make him feel like a man and not a killer. "The masculine scent for manly men everywhere?" He reiterated, reaching for stability.

"Right. Yes." Cheeks turning pink - a lovely blush spreading up from her neck - she looked down at the shampoo's, as if to hide it. "Your, er, scent."

"My scent?"

"You're shampoo!" She looked near hysterical. Mortified. No, don't be… "It er…" She swallowed; brows pinched; voice higher and a little bit squeaky. "Let's just wash the little guy."

"Good idea."

"Yeah…"

"There were go." Felicity sang as she drizzled shampoo over the dog. "All good things; beef jerky and tennis balls…"

"What are you doing?"

She shrugged a shoulder, intent on not spooking the canine. "Dogs like jerky, right?"

"It's probably not best to overfeed a dog beef jerky." He absently added, watching her fingers dig into matted fur.

…There was silence for a few minutes and, to his constant surprise, he never felt unsettled by it when he was with her. Be it QC or the Foundry, he and she had spent many an hour in silence before and it had felt so beyond natural, he'd wondered why. Maybe it was something do with having never known Felicity and John before Lian Yu. Or maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe it was everything.

But they were both smiling, talking quietly as he held a puppy and she cleaned it. "I think it's some breed of husky. Siberian maybe. Or Alaskan."

"Yeah."

Looking at the woman lathering up his arms, ideas started to form. "Maybe we should keep him." He softly suggested.

A surprised burst of laughter left her… until she saw his face. "Wait, you're serious?"

It was his turn to shrug and the dog responded to the movement by turning it's face into his chest and lapping at the constant stream of water. "It's not a bad idea." He smiled as he felt the sand-paper feel of the puppy's tongue on his skin. It was very easy to feel affectionate towards the soft and squishy dog snuggling into his naked chest. "He could stay in the Foundry."

And keep you safe.

By the way her expression melted into something much more affectionate, he figured she understood. "And the fact that huskies are known to be some of the biggest, heaviest dogs around while I am one of the smallest people in your life, didn't factor into it," she shook her head; brows politely furrowed, expression impish, "at all?"

Biting down on her lower lip, she tried to hold back the smile there. The blush.

He had the decency to laugh, but it came out more breath than laugh. She truly was the most beautiful-

There was a knock at the door, followed by a voice. "Food's here."

Dig.

As if glass had smashed over their heads, reality came crashing in and all they could do was look at each other. It was good that the dog started to happily yip at the bubbles in the air because it was far too easy to forget who they were and what they'd been doing a few hours before when he was wondering why he wasn't washing Felicity's hair for her too.

Strange things happen in the dark when two people have a dog as a go-between.

"We should…" Felicity began.

"…get dressed." He finished.

"I mean, we have a job to do." She nodded; looking like he felt, like she'd just realised the problem and didn't want to do anything about it. "We shouldn't be soaping each other up in the shower-"

Her eyes closed along with her mouth.

And with that perfect mental picture, minutes later Oliver - dressed in jeans and a t-shirt - found himself back outside and waiting for Felicity to emerge from the bathroom.

"Everything go alright?" John asked… slowly. "You're ah, quiet." He said, placing two carrier bags on the workbench closest to Felicity's computers.

Nodding, leaning back against the opposing bench, Oliver exhaled a breath. "Yeah." He felt good. "We're keeping the dog."

John froze over their food. "Beg pardon?"

"We're keeping the dog." Oliver repeated. "And I'm taking Felicity out for coffee once the sun rises." Lips pressed together, Oliver took in John's dumbfounded look with great pleasure. "Just thought you should know."

Looking beyond confused, bafflement narrowed Dig's eyes as they shot to the bathroom. "How long was I gone?"

Oliver laughed.

A long smooth breath left John. "Must have been a sight."

Brows lifting, Oliver hummed. "Hm?"

Passing him a container of stew, John smiled over at him. "Felicity."

Looking at John, he couldn't seem to find words. Instead, he placed his food down on the counter and moved on over to the cabinet opposite his arrows.

"What are you doing?"

"The dog scratched her arm." He pulled down their ample stock of medical supplies.

"And we want to keep him? It? She?"

A dismissive sound left him. "It was scared. We'll figure out the sex after-"

"After the coffee?"

Oliver caught at his reflection in the glass cabinet. "After the coffee."

He was smiling.