It occurred to her randomly tonight - when, during a routine search for patterns in the manufacturing of the next synthetic Vertigo (the newer, more lethal fad), her overworked brain had decided to focus on one very familiar, very small, still very open wound inside her - that Oliver hadn't had a date in… in ever.

It wasn't so strange. He didn't date, period.

Oh, he had relationships, if you could call them that. But mostly, he just slept around. Flings, affairs, moments in time with more women than most knew about because it wasn't just Laurel, wasn't just Helena; yep, she popped back up during one of his lonelier moments. A many month something, Lord give me strength. Isabel; twice. But those were a disturbing thing of the past. McKenna. His on again, off again thing with Sara...

There was also Trisha from accounting at QC; a woman with so many curls in her very brown hair they boinged with every move she made and who's actual name was Patricia, but she thought that sounded old. Susan, a reporter who's view switched from 'Mr Queen is incompetent' to 'Mr Queen is highly competent' every other day of the week and didn't seem to be going away any time soon.

Elise, another brunette and his Saturday night booty call - sometimes Sunday morning breakfast buddy - flittered in and out of existence and Felicity suspected that zero feelings trespassed into those hours. Though don't tell Susan that. The moment she got wind that Oliver wasn't sleeping with just her, she'd direct her energy on crucifying him. Not that they'd ever made their relationship official.

Oliver treated it - all of it - like a dirty secret.

She knew Trisha had been a way for him to get out of a sticky situation at Queen Consolidated a couple of years back - after a particularly tense meeting with Ray Palmer - where the woman had almost discovered something she shouldn't, and he'd distracted her with the rare promise of more than a single orgasm, one he'd made very good on. It helped that she was stunning. That her laugh was surreally soft and easy to listen to. That she moisturised more than Felicity thought possible. Oh how he must have suffered.

Soap and water couldn't erase the memory of hearing the woman explain in excruciating detail that Oliver was, basically, a God of sex to her friends as they'd stood around the water cooler. And then that date a couple of months later… a flirty-flirt here and there. A way to distract the woman from Oliver's appalling commitment phobia.

Though it really wasn't that at all, was it? No. She knew it wasn't.

Susan tended to come back for seconds and Felicity could honestly say that her dislike for her lay far beyond the knowledge that Oliver had seen her naked and vice versa. Perish the thought.

Just three months into Oliver's status as full CEO, eight months post Slade Wilson's incarceration, and after Oliver had bought out Stellmore International - with a little help from Wayne Enterprises - she'd popped up, new to the city, and had seen fit to side with a furious Isabel Rochev. She'd written a vivid, remarkably detailed and thoroughly insulting article about the feckless head of QC who bought out Miss Rochev; someone who could have healed the company. Gag me with a spoon.

It didn't include numbers or statistics. It did include quotes of anonymous. And 'sources say'. It did incorporate every element of the feminist fascist; deliberately painting it in the kind of extremist light that Felicity could only wince at. Felicity was all for equality for women. She advocated women in power. But there was a level where it blurred; when women like Isabel use it to fabricate and lie and garner sympathy. When it becomes a tool, instead of a way of life. Contradictory to Susan's story angle, she'd added a small, extremely derogatory passage about a certain secretaryOliver liked to keep around, whose skirt was apparently too short and whose experience was beneath the grade. Executive Assistant, why doesn't anyone understand the difference? No one had bothered to look into Felicity's history since then, not her double degree or her masters.

Now, she was the easy lay. The submissive office girl Oliver kept on a string.

Apparently, Oliver Queen graded on a curve. Obviously. The night following the article, Felicity had caught Susan in his office… flirting.

With a very fixed smile in his face and the same charm he'd used on Isabel Rochev in Russia in his eyes, he'd flirted back.

She'd almost puked in her mouth. Then, like a lead balloon, she'd deflated: he works fast. They'd already slept together. His behaviour was a go-toof his. And she knew why. And felt so sorry for him.

She wanted to smack the stupidity out of him.

"It didn't mean anything." He'd said to her. Later. His hands spread and poised on the desk he stood behind. He knew he'd screwed up. What made it worse was that he thought it was a necessary mistake to make. "I need friends in as many places as I can find." It was as if he'd been speaking about a political alliance rather than an exchange of bodily fluid, ew. "And as many people willing to speak out against Isabel. Someone with a name and a face that Star City listens to."

Because even though he'd gained ownership, he still faced serious opposition and the leading problem many had with him was his lack of experience despite leading the company for over a year.

"And Susan's your best shot?" If Dig had been there, he'd have thrown in the perfect amount of side-eye.

"Right now?" He'd exhaled, as if preparing to walk the green mile. "Yes."

That breath alone was telling.

Stood in front of his desk, she'd taken him in. Had wondered at the sombre expression on his face, like he'd known he was entering another she-demon thing for something less than noble. "You could look less like you're facing the firing squad, Oliver."

Quizzical - his mind elsewhere - a little crinkle at his brow had appeared; one she'd grown unfairly fond of. "Hm?"

"And more like a man who's just had sex."

A quick flinch from him had made his eyes flicker away.

"For a price…" she'd let that hang for several seconds as she'd watched him, hoping he'd see - that he'd choose better for himself than, well, solicitation - that he'd have a defence, something she'd missed. Something to make the roil in her stomach that would still, even after years, make itself known whenever Oliver's love/sex life came into crystal clear view, which was every other week. "You're buying friendship with sex."

But he knew that.

Eyes down, he'd cleared his throat. Nope: no other reason. Just more of the same. Like he couldn't learn or didn't want to.

When he'd looked back up at her, his expression had seared into her brain. Gaze steady. The way he'd decided, again, to be an idiot, knowingly. To hurt himself some more. That it was the 'only way'. How his eyes - the beautiful shine in them that she'd once glimpsed frequently but now only once in a blue moon, which meant never - spoke of resignation. Not really the appropriate emotion for any sexual encounter, romantic or otherwise.

She hadn't retracted the statement.

Really, he did this to himself.

And it was lucky, really, that Sara had left. And Helena just a couple of months ago. What, pray tell, would you buy her silence with then Oliver? Cookies?

Eventually she'd let out a breath; giving up. Feeling a weary ache that had probably been all over her face. After years of leading a double life, of having no pay off in areas that hurt to touch, she felt every inch of it right then, a catch I am not. He'd seen her at her best and worse and hadn't been moved by either.

"She's not a bad person, you know." He'd quietly told her, as if that made it all better.

So, she'd asked what was getting to her the most, next to his inability to care about himself. "Are we just going to ignore how she told the entire city that Oliver Queen has a not so clandestine affiliation with his 'secretary'?" Because sleeping with the woman who wrote it, was so the right way to go.

"I spoke to her about that." The reply was immediate; gratifyingly. His next words were profoundly male. "It wasn't personal. She'd reported on a rumour she heard and-"

"Are you kidding me?" She remembered how her head had ached at how much effort it took to restrain herself to just an arched brow. "A rumour? One Isabel told her." Felicity had pointedly reminded him, sans eye roll. "Not caring at all, what it might do for my future."

"She knows now." And he'd looked at her, pleadingly. Had spoken, quietly. "I won't let this destroy your career."

God, tell me that wasn't part of the reason why he'd done it? To save her future prospects?

Her voice had been firm. "It doesn't change that she did it."

"No, it doesn't." His expression was so earnest, she figured his need to exempt the reporter was due to his own need to make good out of a bad situation. Like he could recognise what that even looked like anymore. The good in the ugly. The good in himself. "But I told her that."

Which meant she'd never, ever do it again, right? Because she knows now. She's been told like a good little girl.

Susan Williams was a viper.

"It makes me feel so much better knowing that the woman you're going to be caught with on alternate nights can be so easily dissuaded." Or persuaded.

"I-"

"Or that the same reporter who'd side with Isabel Rochev - a woman who has been all too willing to ruin the lives of several thousand employees - and write her lies without proof, can be bought with sex to outcry against the same woman."

His mouth had closed. He'd just looked at her. Nothing to say to disclaim her.

And slowly, having made a point she'd never wanted to, she'd moved away from him. "It doesn't justify why you're sleeping with her," she'd uttered over her shoulder, "beyond the fact that she's a confident, attractive brunette who makes it very clear she'd like in your pants."

He hadn't said a word… because he hadn't been any. He'd known she was right. But he'd made a choice. Another in a long stream of choices that made her wonder just what the hell was wrong with him. A reminder of where she stood compared to where she'd always wanted to be.

Another example of how her influence, her presence in his life, did nothing.

"Be careful Oliver." She'd said just as quietly as the room had become when she'd reached the doors. When she'd turned back once more. "Not all snakes have venom, but they still bite."

Business as usual though.

It really hadn't meant anything to him.

Somehow that was worse. Cold.

His acceptance of a half-life.

Since then - 2 years ago - he and Susan had maintained an arrangement of sorts. One that made her shudder. Whenever a news story made its way anywhere close to Oliver, Susan would magically appear to write the story but only after they went out for 'drinks'.

Every single time Susan walked past her desk after the fact (thankfully less than once per month or months), which sat next to Oliver's office, she'd stop in front of her with a pleasant smile on her face.

It's barely 7:30am, are you always in this early? And how long have you worked with Oliver? Is the 'partners' thing recent? So, you're friends? When did you start working for him? Why pick you, I mean… aren't there at least a dozen better equipped men and women in the building with years of secretarial experience behind them? I've heard that Oliver leaves his office during work hours, sometimes: tell me. Why does he always take you with him?

And whenever she told Oliver about it, her doubts were always brushed aside.

"It's nothing. She's just… curious."

Curious.

Idiot.

She wasn't curious. Susan Williams liked him. But her reporter's instinct was strong in her. It came first and foremost in her life. Liking someone led to her needing to know everything about that person. It was bad for Oliver but what was bad for him, tended to be the kind of thing he hit at full speed.

It kind of reminded her of Laurel; both women, when they'd wanted 'in' on his life, they'd gone out of their way to discover more about him by themselves, because he hadn't shared. Maybe they'd thought themselves entitled to know.

She knew that Susan was because she was keeping an eye on her through less than legal means, more than once heading the woman off in the wrong direction. This she hadn't told Oliver. He wouldn't hear me anyway.

But that reaction from him, the way he'd shrug it off… she couldn't think he reciprocated. At least not on the same level. Not that she'd know; he never talks about his personal life with me.

Well, he liked the drinks he'd have with the woman, the few times they'd have them. He liked pretending for a night that he was a normal guy in a world he understood.

He also liked to plead his case every other month by trying to sell her to an uncompromising Felicity and Diggle as a decent human being. And if he can change out minds about her, then maybe it wasn't all one big mistake, right? Uh huh.

But he didn't ask about at Susan's birthday and still didn't know the date, didn't actively draw her out or pursue her or wonder what she might be doing: there were no longing sighs and intrusive phone calls. There were smiles and, in the times since, she knew he'd started to enjoy meeting up with Susan, which was what happens when a man like him denies all kinds of warmth in his life. He accepts the warmth he lets in and starts to like it. Protect it. Like a victim of Stockholm. But there were no plans there. No efforts made to make him and Susan an official item.

And yet he still-

Stop.

Pointless.

Get over it already.

You may be wondering why Felicity Smoak should be worrying even a little bit about such a man. A man who uses sex as a tool; one who has twobooty calls currently on-going and a list of romantic entanglements that came back repeatedly to haunt and attack him.

A man who does it all right in front of her face, utterly ignorant of her feelings.

And why should he see? They were friends. Partners. Professionals. He was free to do as he pleased, a man with many options and had never considered her as one of them. In the five years they'd known each other, there'd never been a sign from him that he was interested. She'd gotten the picture a long time ago.

He just… needed her to be there. In the background. Like a statue.

Yet, he's also a man who never explains or even tries to show that he'd trust Felicity with a dead body - and has about a thousand or so times - but wouldn't trust any of the women with whom he shares saliva, with so much as his sister's favourite colour.

It wasn't Oliver's fault that he'd never - not in five years - seen her that way. She couldn't - wouldn't - force feelings on him he couldn't reciprocate, nor would she lash out at him for not being able to.

But there's got to be a 'best before end' date on this thing though, right? On unrequited love. It never, ever went away and she desperately needed it to, even knowing that it wouldn't.

It wasn't as if she'd led a solitary life in the time since meeting Oliver. She was single and, sure, she was married to her work, but she wasn't dead. Nor was she the type to sit there and wait for a man to see her, especially since she knew he never would. Letting that go had been… well, difficult didn't cut it. But maybe that was why she and Laurel could never be truly close. They were fundamental opposites.

Her first real romance, after a two-year absence, had been with Barry Allen. They'd been on one date, followed by a three-week fling in Central City after he finally woke from his coma. When she'd told Oliver that she was leaving for a while, he'd grunted from atop the salmon ladder.

"That's fine." He'd breathed all sweaty and perfect. "Sara's coming down." Words which destroyed the perfect.

Sara's coming down, so I don't need you here.

He hadn't finished with Sara, not at the time, nor she him: she'd gone to make good with the league and had never actually said that she wasn't coming back.

"Great!" She'd nodded, practically skipping out with her bag and coat in hand, because she hadn't expected anything else. "Have fun!"

Still, if either Sara or Helena were in the Foundry, it was as if Felicity and her opinions didn't exist, save for in Diggle's eyes and ears alone. Bless that man.

It had been more comfort than relationship between her and Barry. A few weeks of bad food, fun movies, sweet sex and kisses in the park: talking. Lots of talking in between. It was incredibly nice.

Nice could be overrated.

Which was why three weeks, was all the time it took for it to end.

I'm not a greedy person, not by a longshot: but sometimes, there was only so far nice and good could take you. She'd needed more and so had he, which was why they ended so amiably. There'd been actual tears because, on paper, they were the flawless couple. In real life, they enjoyed similar things. They were fascinated by each other's interests and hobbies and God, did it feel good knowing the person you were talking to was interested in you. They liked spending time together and not all couples could say that. But most of all - worst of all - they were in love with people who didn't see them.

Bottom line: neither of them could seem to let that love go, not fully.

That sucked to admit. The torture of being the 'friend' to the person who makes your world spin on its axis, watching as they fell in love with other people. Iris West was Barry's beautiful best friend who'd never considered him as anything other. Oliver Queen was Felicity's beautiful partner who'd never seen her as anything other.

It had been a sad, if cathartic, parting. Necessary. It had made the second coming of Sara easier to deal with. Ugh, she hated the term she'd coined for it. I love Sara. But watching the repeat had been a special kind of agony. Especially when Oliver had asked Felicity, in private, if she could search for apartments for him. It had come to a big fact nothing but, she'd felt it. It had stayed with her.

So, when Ray Palmer had waltzed into her life, she'd taken hold of the hand that had reached out for her and-

Bupkis from Mr Queen.

Hmm, maybe I'm more like Laurel than I thought. Unable to let go of her love for one man.

…No.

Laurel held onto the idea that Oliver would choose her in the end. So, maybe not so alike.

It irked though. She swore he didn't even think her a woman at times. Like, Palmer who? You're dating someone? Oh. Okay. Did you find the fire starter yet? She was one of the guys. It hadn't registered on his radar because there'd been nothing to register for him. Though a little genuine interest or support in her love life might have been pleasant…

But she couldn't force out what wasn't there. He cared about his IT girl. But care and interest were two very different things.

Ray had been a remarkably small threat to the security of Oliver's company but after Felicity composed a civil work ethic and partnership between the two, there'd been an accord and pretty much nothing else to consider.

Ray lasted through Sara, through Helena and, finally, the league. But… he left. To bigger, better and brighter things.

"There's more I can do now." The fervent plea in his voice and the light in his eyes; she'd known he was leaving.

After fixing his Atom Drive - and practically re-designing the schematically defective bodysuit - he'd become certain he was meant for greener pastures. He'd asked her to go with him. But her heart was Starling, her home was-

Oliver.

Ray didn't need to know that.

For months afterwards, she'd been focused on reviving a city near-torn by a super virus and Oliver had been her sole help. And friend. And, for a time, she'd wondered. There'd been a moment here, a look there. A possibility. Less calculous, more Oliver. It didn't have to mean anything other than friendship but he'd so standoffish with her at times, she wasn't sure what anything meant.

Except, Susan. Elsie.

And so, David. Her new Mr Nice Guy.

Marine.

Her longest running relationship since Cooper. He hadn't been as large as Oliver - in the pectoral and all around muscular way, not that I'd know of any other way, not even a little bit and does that sound bitter? - but there were times when she still missed how he'd shelter her with his umbrella, his coat and his body. The way he'd appreciate her colourful collection of panties and grin. The sly smile on his face when he wanted something, the smell of popcorn on his breath because he'd been addicted. His need for steak; all the time, steak. How he'd call her, without fail, at the end of each day to make sure she was doing alright.

They'd come to an end when they'd hit a brick wall.

Well, it's what happens when one half of the party is unable to fully commit to a relationship that's going places because she's almost literally mistress to the City and the innocent people who need to be rescued living in it and not at all because she managed to somehow REMAIN in love with a man who'd barely look her in the eye anymore.

Yeah… brick, David, meet wall, me.

She'd nuked it when he'd realised she wasn't prepared to leave Star City with him. She'd been his cute as candy hope for the future. He'd been her attempt at moving on. In some ways, they'd both been victorious. And they'd kept in touch afterwards: he was such a-

Nice guy.

At this point, she'd started to wonder if she were the problem. I checked up on him at Christmas. He was engaged! Asked if she wanted to attend. Asked if she wanted an invite for a single guest or guest and partner…

Perpetually single guest, no partner. Not for me. Her longest standing relationship had been with mint-chip ice cream. At least it was consistent. And ice cream does what it says on the tub. It never lets me down.

Three men in five years.

There could have been more.

There could have been Billy, the Police officer who'd made it all too clear he was interested. And Lee, the bartender who liked 'quirky' girls. Steven, QC's head of finance. Chris, the coffee shop guy.

There could have been nights. Many of them, with faceless men who'd wanted the thrill of the unknown or just a few hours with her to let go in, but that wasn't her thing. Sex without connection. Maybe it should be. Maybe she'd get somewhere. Maybe she'd understand more about Oliver, about Sara.

And, well, there was another reason why she hadn't found another someone. Another Mr Right. Mr Nice Guy.

Each had helped mitigate the ache inside her, yes. But each had also exacerbated her insecurities, fanning them into ever reaching flames. Flames Oliver and his cycle of self-flagellation unknowingly surrounded with oxygen. A fire everyone in her life couldn't see had started to consume her.

Like, say… her babbling.

Barry had, initially, found it cute.

Initially.

She'd seen, eventually, the confusion in his face. The way he couldn't read the meanings beneath each ramble or appreciate the quirky, natural flow of each ramble. And when that happened, something pleasant became something tiresome. It felt like a chasm in understanding, one that had happened with others, one that made her deeply uncomfortable because, if her boyfriend couldn't understand them, how could he hope to understand her. They were part of who she was.

Natural.

Ray always looked like he'd hit an error in processing whenever she started, and always asked her to stop because she spoke to fast for him to keep up with all the 'science' inside her.

Oliver used to smile.

Never seeming perturbed by the clear way they proved that she knew more than him. That she was smarter.

Never stopped her.

Never looked bored or discomforted.

…He didn't smile at them anymore.

In fact, most of the time, it was as if - when she talked - he wasn't even paying attention. Not listening, when he always used to. It was more than a little kick to the gut and she honestly hadn't realised, until he did so, just how much his good opinion, his affection and all around admiration meant to her.

It led to a bigger fear.

What was it about her, that made men eventually lose interest?

That's enough of that sob story.

She'd kept at it with Oliver. Kept deliberately trying to talk to him. To move him in some way. Kept trying to bolster him and maybe, make him see that he didn't have to do the things he did that hurt him. That hurt others. That created long lasting affects that could, one day, make his life unbearable.

It was simple really.

Felicity saw hope die in Oliver.

We all need hope. Humans are simple creatures. Hope makes us thrive. It can drive us mad too. Make us regret our patience. But people like Oliver, who denied the promise that hope could bring, needed it just to keep on breathing. People like Oliver who pretended they didn't hope, did nothing but hope.

So, seeing it leave him like that…

It had felt like breaking. Like something beautiful was just gone in him, and she was the only one who'd felt it - who'd seen it - leave the earth, because a piece of her had left with it.

The year before, Roy had been killed by Damien Dhark.

He'd died on a dirty floor, in Oliver's arms. The protégé and the Master. And she'd been on the coms throughout the whole thing. Again.

"Roy! Come on, don't give up. Don't give up kid… Stay with me, come on! Fight! Roy! No! No…"

It shouldn't have happened, but nobody could have stopped it. Least of all Oliver, who Roy hadn't blamed. He'd thanked him… except that's what Tommy had done moments before he'd died too. To Oliver, that must have felt like he'd failed.

When he'd brought his body to the bunker, he'd looked like someone had gouged his heart of his chest with a spork. It had sure felt like her own internals were being scooped out. She'd cried, inept to do anything, as Oliver had laid him gently down, splayed on the table. Empty.

And Thea… oh Thea.

She'd been right there. She'd watched her brother carry in the body of the man she loved into the bunker without speaking. Without saying a word. Without doing anything.

And she'd blamed her brother for the death of the man she'd given her everything to. The promise of a future in the ring on her finger.

They'd been light on people that night: Laurel, busy with her court case, John's kid had been sick, Curtis trying to maintain contact with a possible new recruit - Rene - who wasn't being too friendly and Thea… Thea's swollen belly.

Oliver had taken every agonizing second of it, however irrational Thea's moment of madness may have been, in silence. Accepting it. Letting the blame and culpability wash over him. Letting himself feel some of what she felt.

"It's your fault. It's all your fault! You knew I didn't want him out there, but you took him anyway! He isn't- WASN'T- He wasn't like you! He was going to be a father, a daddy! Do you care?! You're just like Malcolm! It shouldn't have been him, it should have been you!"

When Felicity had stepped in - because no matter the pain Thea had been feeling, his sister had no idea what the ramifications of her words could have and honestly, she couldn't have listened to any more - Thea had responded exactly as Felicity should have foreseen but hadn't, because familiarity can do things to a person.

Pregnant or not, Thea was dangerous. She'd taken the hand Felicity had gently place on her arm, only to twist it back and hurl her into the glass case housing Thea's vigilante suit. Deliberate or no, the symbolism was effective.

There was a lot of anger still in Thea, after what her father had done to her. Anger for her mother, for her dad, for Ra's al Gul… Roy had been her therapy.

Then, suddenly, he was gone.

All Felicity could remember were the moments of blurred blinking and blunt aches, when she'd realised it had ended whilst she'd been lying on the floor, because Oliver had stood between them. Not speaking. Not blinking. Unable to comfort his sister or his friend. Clearly wanting to do both.

The message clear.

Blame me, but don't so this. Don't do something you'll regret.

Thea left, like a ghost. She never returned.

Silently, dully, he'd tended to the abrasion on her skull and the sprain on her wrist, but he hadn't let Felicity tend to the new wound inside him. As usual. Oliver: the walking wounded.

A couple of years before, he might let her in. When they'd started touching more, doing more together outside of the Foundry, finding reasons justto talk to each other. Memories that felt more fantasy now, than reality.

But then-

Sara.

The perfection of a connection that Felicity couldn't touch. Or reach. Or match.

A relationship that signalled the end of his attempts at closeness with Felicity - even after it bombed and repeated itself a few weeks later - where he just seemed to pull further and further away. Until they didn't touch, at least not beyond the perfunctory. The required.

You know, I've never been held by him? They hadn't hugged, not once. At least, not without her initiating and his half-assed attempts at reciprocation.

As if it weren't allowed between them.

Or maybe, he'd just realised he didn't like touching her. So, he'd stopped altogether. It's possible, and she could pretend to herself that the notion didn't make her want to curl up somewhere and slowly die.

That night, what he did eventually do, was carry Felicity over to his bed in the basement. What he did do was whisper a sorry to her for some unfathomable reason, but she'd been too muddled to do much of anything that didn't involve sleep.

What he did do after that was clean up Roy's body. Alone. What he did do was disastrous: he'd walked over to Laurel's for some grief sex. What he did do, was unintentionally restart a relationship with a woman he was no longer in love with - unintentional because when Laurel had walked into the basement the next day, making sure to kiss him on the lips before asking for that one-on-one sparring session he'd never made good on, smiling at Curtis like Roy hadn't died the night before, he'd been the kind of thrown that went on for hours afterwards; as if he'd been asking himself how - in the hopes of gaining back part of what Roy took with him when he died.

She fully re-joined the team, after months of being a semi-stand in.

Cue five months of bad.

All the bad, lots of bad. So much bad.

Like one long headache.

Watching Oliver roam the streets, searching for any clue about where the enemy had gone to ground, the darkness rearing its head in him, the lack of light in his eyes: that was bad enough to witness, especially when he obviously didn't want Felicity Smoak's input. Or help.

Or anything from her beyond being on the com.

Gone far away were the few quiet coffee mornings and rousing Big Belly dinners he'd share with her and with Diggle. The shot of vodka after a job well done or a hard night. The hand hovering over her back that had made a return not long before, as if he hadn't realised. The very small smile she thought had been just for her, the one that had also started who itself in the weeks leading up to the death of their comrade.

After that?

Just 'talk me in'. 'Did you find it?' 'What's taking so long?' 'Felicity.'

What made it worse was the ugly truth.

In theory, Oliver and Laurel should have worked. On paper, like Felicity and Barry and Ray, they made sense. They had the history, the looks and idealism to allow for the most wanted match of the decade. Regardless of how Oliver felt or how he'd treated her, Laurel still loved him, and she showed it whenever she could. Despite the lack of anything resembling chemistry between them - you can't like a fire on ash, Dig had said - the kisses and reassurances they'd both seemed overeager to bestow upon each other was almost convincing. If a little… wrong. Their efforts to overcompensate.

Taking 20 steps backwards, past the extra 5 made.

They were a train wreck waiting to happen and Felicity and Diggle could only hold onto the handle bars.

Felicity wasn't new to conflict with Oliver: they argued all the time or… used to. When he seemed to care more about himself. About her. And with each argument, came understanding. Came agreements. Came compromise. Sometimes she joked to herself that they were married save for the physical. All the negatives, none of the advantages. On those occasions an extra pint of mint chip didn't go unwanted.

There were times when Felicity was more in sync with Oliver than John. Times when her ability to compartmentalise beat his and when her faith in him transcended her own comforts.

Oliver and Laurel… when they fought, they fought. And they fought about almost everything. It could grow vicious. And they never seemed to come to a level of acceptance with each other. They'd brush it under the rug, thinking it meant letting it go. That it meant, it was alright, because they cared about each other.

But they also couldn't agree on anything.

Around the 20th time this happened, roughly four months into their relationship - the morning after a long-winded back and forth thing they'd had the night before, in the field, jeopardising an operation Felicity had been planning for 3 weeks - Felicity had been witness to the following:

As if the clusterfuck of the weekend hadn't happened, Oliver and Laurel exited the elevator together; walking towards Felicity space.

Smiling, Laurel was asking Oliver something, who nodded along with whatever she was saying; as if the injury to his shoulder and the cut on Laurel's forehead was acceptable. The words Felicity had been waiting to say - the argument in her head, something along the lines of screwing up her weeks' worth of hard work by letting an informant (whether he was utter filth or not) get killed in the crossfire because of their inability to work as a unit - died on her lips.

They lived in fantasy land and wanted to stay there. What was the point?

But she hit an extra low point when Laurel moved up on the dais where Felicity sat and, still smiling, had asked. "Hey, are you ok? Is something wrong?"

It was lucky she'd made John visit his wife. It really was.

Like he knew, Oliver's eyes landed on hers for 0.2 seconds before they fell again. Lips pressed together. Body shifting. Brow curving in a-

A defence. An excuse. A, please don't ask any questions. Don't bring it up.

"Felicity-"

Felicity.

Please understand.

She didn't care that it had been a long time - too long - since he'd said her name like that, didn't care what he thought he knew or that he'd seen her face and had translated it precisely.

She just stood up and walked away from her computers, moving towards the stairs where a spare car sat just beyond it in the garage and didn't look back. Have at, the pair of you. Go nuts.

"What's wrong with her?" She heard Laurel ask, as if she had no clue and you know what? She probably didn't.

Oliver didn't reply.

He had, however, given her a wide berth for the day after that. Had, for the first time in long enough that it almost made her start crying, bought her a coffee and donut for when she finally returned to the basement. 4 hours later. Where they'd waited for her return because, really, they couldn't do shit without Big Sister.

And he'd actually tried to talk to her after asking a frustrated Laurel to give her some space. That ended swiftly when he'd realised that his words held no weight on someone who could see right through his crap.

"The next time you and Laurel want to go out in the field together," she'd told him in an undertone, eyes piercing into his, "on a mission that I have to not only plan but lead," where she had to guide them all in and out, safely, "find someone else to go on the com for you."

My space. My rule. My way.

Or the highway.

There was no way that he'd apologise out rightly. It had been too long for him to start flexing those unused muscles.

But he'd nodded, not looking away - giving her that - but made sure he'd never have to do that.

It used to make her feel special, knowing that he wanted only her on the coms. Now she knew better. He just didn't trust anyone else. He wouldn't. Didn't know how.

Not exactly a compliment.

He also made sure to minimise going out into the field with Laurel beside him, much to Laurel's confusion. Her hurt.

"I thought we were partners." She'd said to him, bold faced and wounded.

He'd looked her in the eye, took a deep breath and quietly answered with. "…We are."

"You aren't my employee. You're my partner."

Those words were clearly worth lint now. Felicity, she'd held them close during the worst of times. Like a blanket of assurance. Of her worth. And there'd been truth in them: with her on the coms and him in the field, they were near-unstoppable. They flowed like water; it was a good working chemistry. The right kind. The powerful kind.

Now, it seemed he was partners with every woman who came along, regardless of how bad, contentious, untrusting, or unsafe his relationship with them was. It wasn't special.

She wasn't special.

The words definitely weren't, because being in the field with Laurel meant Oliver had to watch her back 24/7. Time and energy wasted. The Black Canary had improved some; thanks to Sara, her form in particular, during a fight, had lost a lot of its openings, but she still lacked that instinct that John, her sister and Oliver naturally possessed. The one you attain from years of experience in violence, death and paranoia. You've got to have eyes in the back of your head, Diggle had told Felicity once, during her weekly defensive seminars with him. He was thorough teacher. But it only added to the reminder that the two idiots playing 'vigilante couple' in the field couldn't work together; not as a couple. Barely even as friends.

And Laurel would never let herself be led by her boyfriend, even if it was to her advantage. She was recklessly stubborn. But she wanted equality, earned or not. And Oliver- no matter the lies he told his girlfriend, Oliver didn't trust her judgement. He only trusted his own.

He never gave her suggestions credence and it took Laurel 3 months longer than the 3 seconds Felicity had thought it would take, for her to notice. She'd never listened to his seasoned advice and he… he hadn't seemed to care. As if he'd expected it.

Until these two things clashed and then there was no stopping the shouting matches.

Before, it had always been clear that Oliver was the de facto leader of the team. It had never been said, but it had been understood. Even Diggle, with his years of military leadership behind him, was superseded in this. Yet, for Laurel, every moment was an opportunity to disagree and every single night became a fight for supremacy. And with every fight, it also became clear how much Oliver closed himself off from Laurel. How their relationship was only a balm. Something that negated the pain in him for a time.

Transient.

Sex was easy for him; he associated it with comfort. With affection. So, when did it become empty to him?

During all of it - the whole five months that felt like five years - Oliver chose to pull back further: his fullest extent. He didn't say a word to Felicity about anything outside of their nightlife or Queen Consolidated. They worked together for the company during the day and at night, spoke the language of crime fighting.

That was all. Only.

Was she dating? Had she watched that movie, read that book? Did she like the new fad being sold at that tech store, the upgrades to her favourite OP? Did she still have lunch with Diana? How was her mother? Where her dreams for the future the same or had they changed? Was she getting enough sleep? How was she?

Did he like the new coffee at Jitters? Had he heard from Barry lately? How was babysitting Diggle's adorable baby girl? Had Nyssa been in contact recently? Was he alright? Did he need to shop for more shirts and socks because of all the ones he'd bloodied and ripped? Did he ever feel overwhelmed?

There was nothing.

Depressing was one word for it. Heart breaking was two more. God, it still hurts. Why does it still hurt?

Part of it was because, she didn't know what he was thinking.

She'd missed him almost three years ago, when she remembered seeing the clear difference in him for the first time. When the regular touches reduced dramatically, the long conversations ended, and the time spent alone faded. She'd missed him a year ago, before Roy. When she thought he'd started to return to her, a little.

Return to her, as if he's ever been mine.

There was this place inside her now: an area that felt solid, like an organ she'd grown. Untouched. Filled with the ever present love she had for him, some sadness, worry and the kind of longing that ached and ached and ached. The part of her that continued to silently shout why.

What did I do?

It hadn't just hurt her to be so thoroughly pushed away. But, she thought she might know part of the reason he could be doing it.

Going by the way he treated the people he cared about, it was possible he didn't want any of what made him who he was, to touch her. As if he was some sort of disease. Reverting back into himself, becoming unattainable; it was defensive, repetitive, but not for himself. And while it wasn't something he could guarantee, nor could he control her emotions, he did do his level best to uneven the playing field. As if she was more breakable than everyone else. Even his sister.

As if she was a pretty flower. To look at but not touch because she'd wither and die if he did.

Ridiculous.

It was, in one way only, exquisite of him.

It was also, in all ways, condescending and insulting as hell. Telling of how he saw himself. And utterly destructive. It made her wonder why all over again. Why just her? Thea could come and go, shooting arrows into people and jumping from building to building and Oliver could take it. But mention going to get a coffee with Felicity and, not now. Bring up lessons at the gun range with Diggle and, she doesn't need them.

Sara and Laurel were a safe-zone; he'd sort of… there's no nice way to say this, is there? He'd been there, done that. Worn the t-shirt. Ridden the Merry-go-round multiple times, then had gone in the for the ensemble suit, complete with vest. Firsts, seconds and thirds. Fourths. They could all scream at each other until the cows came home and it wouldn't be anything new.

But Felicity was-

What?

Not much friending going on lately.

Yet, she knew he needed her voice in his ear, her eyes on the cameras, her fingers opening doors and unearthing secrets. He didn't want her mixed up and turned about in more ways by him because, honestly; she was a machine and she fixed various areas of his life. If he'd wanted her more involved, she'd be more involved. In all sorts of personal ways. So, maybe he thought if he did the opposite - if he treated her like she only workedwith him, that they weren't really the family she felt they'd all become to her over the years and didn't spend two thirds of her day with him - she'd stop being all these things that he needed.

He didn't need Laurel and that was without trying. Something that became evident when Dig - who'd been pushed to his ever-loving limit - eventually said what she'd been thinking for too long last October.

"I'm going for take out." Passing Felicity who'd closed her eyes, cupping her aching forehead in her palms - the same headache that had been killing her slowly for weeks - he placed a tender hand on the back of her neck in silent communication. "When I come back, this stops for good," 'this' being the routine that Oliver and Laurel were in the throes of and that Dig's finger indicated between them in the air, "or I don't come back." It wasn't an empty threat. "And I'll be taking Felicity with me." He shouted back as the doors to the elevator closed.

Ten seconds of silence after he'd left, Oliver had spoken.

"This isn't working."

It made Felicity hurt inside, the way Laurel stared at him. Like it was a shock. A betrayal. As if she hadn't known.

"It's never worked." He continued seamlessly, like he'd wanted to say it for a while. "And it isn't going to." He shrugged, defeated. "We tried."

Throat moving, eyes justifiably bitter, Laurel muttered. "And how long have you been sitting on that?"

He didn't answer; not a word. He just looked away.

So, Laurel softly asked… visibly scared. "Fourth time's the charm, right?"

Oh honey.

Laurel didn't smile or try to joke it off. She was searching for the opening she thought they'd left each other in the past, even after all these years. And Felicity understood. She'd had a feeling Laurel had been waiting a long while for Oliver to look her way again. And when he had, she'd probably entertained the idea that he'd decided that this was 'it' too. The forever it. That he could be with her.

That he was all healed and ready and that it was all, and always had been, meant for her.

But love didn't work that way. You couldn't just wait for someone to sort themselves out; either you dived in with them or you moved on. Love can change over time; it was supposed to. Stronger, weaker, better, worse. It's design could change from romantic to platonic, from platonic to explosively sexual and so on and so forth.

She shouldn't be waiting for him to stop looking elsewhere. He shouldn't think going to her in the middle of the night, because he knew she'd be receptive, was acceptable. Even if it was.

It was pitiful. Toxic. Disrespectful on both sides.

After watching him for years - at work, on camera, listening over the coms - Felicity had always known that Oliver needed someone. He didn't do well alone. He tried really hard to deny that fact. The five years before his return should have shown him that he couldn't. Unconsciously, he searched for someone to break the spiral of lonely. Solitude wasn't his natural state, so he'd gone to the only person he thought he could go to when Roy had died. The only person he thought might understand. But Felicity knew: Oliver had seen it as a temporary fix - much as he had with Sara - and Laurel had seen it as a third shot at happiness.

Sometimes love isn't enough for a couple. Even with trust, healthy communication, respect and commitment - things neither of the pair had managed to maintain at the same time - it's not always strong enough. Not all love leads down an altar. Not all love stays the same.

Sometimes, it's weak.

Like his words carried the weight of an ocean, it took Oliver almost a full minute to whisper a response; his face filled with remorse. "I don't think so Laurel."

No fourth time, this time. Break the cycle.

Felicity would believe it… except after watching him for 5 years; she knew that being by himself led Oliver down old, broken pathways. He'd rather do that than be alone. He'd rather do that than search for something real. So, saying this? Yep: she'd believe it when it came true.

"The next time you need something to dull whichever pain it is you're feeling on that particular day, do us all a favour." Lips thinned over grating teeth, Laurel's voice shook. "Go kill someone instead. You're better at that than you are at love."

Then again, Laurel could nuke the tiniest possibility herself - at having any kind of relationship with the man she clearly hadn't been able to let go of - with hasty words that she'd never be able to take back.

It would stay with Oliver, what she'd said. How she'd said it. Felicity knew.

Those were last words on their relationship. Ashes in Laurel's mouth. Why even do that? Par for the course. And the way she'd looked at him, like he'd just destroyed her world, told Felicity that even Laurel could be a fool. That even Laurel - his first love - didn't know him as well as she'd thought she did.

That she'd regret those words but wouldn't regret that she'd gotten the last word in. To win like that and revel…

And when she'd left, she'd taken her 'suit' with her.

She still hadn't returned with it. Later, they'd feel her absence: without Roy and Thea, Laurel's exit made it clear just how much Oliver, John and herself had started to depend on their presence. Just how much the notion of bringing to heel rough and ready prospect, Rene, was wearisome.

They'd had to start working triple time once more.

There were moments, like with Sara, when Felicity sort of missed Laurel. Though not a fan of the way she and Oliver brought out the worst in each other, she was still another woman for her to talk to in the basement. As much as she loved her boys, as much as she was easily adaptable, as much as she'd never really needed the contrast of opinions between sexes - she got along on better with the opposite sex anyway - it had still been pleasant. They'd go out sometimes before the disastrous hook-up, after a mission, for a few drinks. Laurel had confided in her.

She missed Johanna.

Johanna who'd moved from Starling city after the league of assassins had seen fit to target it. Her close friendship with Laurel hadn't been enough to make her stay, not after loosing her brother. Not after meeting a man who could make her very happy but who lived in another state. It had been 2 years since then and Laurel still missed her. Missed Sara. Missed Tommy. Missed having a friend she could confide in.

"I did the wrong thing." Down the hatch, whiskey number 3 and, um, Laurel doesn't even like whiskey, which was a warning sign for Felicity that maybe she ought to cut and run but it was like Laurel needed it to prepare for what she was about to say. "With Tommy. With Oliver. I…" Oh Good. They were right there already.

Laurel's lips twisted, eyes looking unusually bleak for a woman who managed to make other people wonder why they hadn't become a lawyer and gained the interest of Starling's most attractive billionaire too because, if that amount of self-satisfaction were possible, they'd all buy it bulk. "Tommy was like how Oliver used to be before- before he went away." And why was it still so hard for her to say that Oliver was shipwrecked on an island to start a journey that lasted 5 horrifyingly miserable years? "Except without the cheating. And the drugs." Felicity hid her face behind her own, glass; washing back the contents. I'm 100% certain that Tommy was still doing drugs until he started sleeping with you, Laurel. "There was something really cute about the way he was out of his depth with me. He'd never had to really try before, you know? I was flattered." There. She admitted it. That must have been hard for her to say… annnnnd there goes whisky number 4. Oh boy. "Maybe it was fate or something, you know? I'd fallen into their orbit as a teenager," and wasn't that an unlikely story because, how did the daughter of a cop become best friends with Starling City's richest sons, "and they both have feelings for me. I had feelings for them. Have." She corrected mulishly and no; Felicity would never find out how they became friends, pity. Nor would she discover if her have/had thing was in reference to Laurel's 'Ollie' or Laurel's 'Tommy'.

Too be honest, she didn't really want to hear more anyway, "Um, so what-"

"-I love Ollie." But Laurel was on a tipsy roll. "No matter what happens, I can't seem to stop. But I wish I'd known that I couldn't stop, beforeallowing Tommy to get in so far, you know?" She peered over at Felicity - like, you agree with me don't you? - before swigging back the last of her drink. "I was trying not to love him. I was trying to love Tommy." Her eyes squinted at her reflection in the panelling behind Felicity's head. "Was that so wrong?"

Oh, I…

Well, that was one answer. Laurel's answer. Right.

And, why is she asking me?

Felicity, being a good listening buddy, gave her a little head jerk with her lips shut tight, which could have been a nod. It could have been a shake. Because, no. She didn't know. She didn't agree. It messed up friendships if you delved in deep for the wrong reasons, like Laurel had. Knowingly. Strangers was one thing. Life long friends were another.

Laurel sighed. Then smiled at herself, at the sight of her hand curved round the glass. "If only I'd been honest with myself. For me, Ollie was the one. The only-"

And Felicity didn't need to remember the rest. Nope. Laurel could keep that memory to caress.

But she missed Thea too. Their Sunday movie nights with Roy. Cocktail hour at the Sol. And she missed Sara, who'd done the strangest thing before leaving years before.

"I'll drop in, now and then." Almost squishing her in a bear hug, Sara had muttered. "Felicity?"

"Mm hm?"

"…I'm sorry, okay?"

It made her silent for a moment. Sara was leaving for good this time, why was she sorry? "What for?"

Sara's deep breath, made something in Felicity chest tighten; made worse by Sara's whispered, "I'm just sorry."

She still didn't know what to think of that.

Afterwards, with the minutes that had followed Laurel's departure, nothing was done. It was over. And Felicity had still suffered a headache.

They're lucky. The ones that could leave whenever they wanted: whenever it hurt just enough. Laurel. Thea. Sara. Curtis, who popped in and out whenever he pleased. Rene, who wouldn't give them the time of day because he had an aversion to authority. Whenever they were tired of the life, or sick of Oliver. Whenever they wanted to be selfish. I can't be. She'd been heartbroken before, because of Oliver or other things and still, she hadn't left. She was committed to the mission. She came second to it.

Sometimes she wondered; was Oliver grateful for that? That no matter what, she couldn't leave?

And it was at those times, that she felt like the worst kind of person. Conceited. But maybe she'd earned the right to it. Or maybe I've just been more tired than usual lately.

After Laurel had left, she'd still sat there; her headache continuing to throb and relief had been nowhere in sight.

But then she'd felt Oliver's hands on her shoulders.

She'd stilled, chest clenching at the zing she felt course down her spine. At the goose bumps that had followed and he'd had to have seen them. Breath catching; inhale trapped somewhere along her oesophagus. Eyes wide open. Words swirling in her head. W-what is he doing? And, this isn't… he never does this. And, I fell asleep didn't I? I fell asleep and now Dream Oliver is-

Dream Oliver had never felt so real or been so… forward.

There'd been no hesitance in him, but the carefulness in his fingertips was a reminder. The fine trembling in his touch a clear indication that, no: he never touched her like this. It was a very real moment and it would make a confused mess of Felicity Smoak. It had been too long since he'd last placed a hand to her shoulder and wasn't that pathetic? That she remembered.

Slowly, he'd pressed in. Searching. Warm. Standing right behind her.

Her mouth had opened, Oh.

She didn't think to say a word: too tired, too stressed. But she'd kept still as his fingers kneaded. Manipulating the tight muscles in her neck. Gently coaxing back her tension headache.

It had been stunning: his large hands - so capable of violence - could be that soft. And-

"I'm sorry."

It was all he'd said.

Three minutes later, he'd finished. He'd walked off. He'd left her alone again. Another moment that came and went like a puff of smoke.

And that was that.

Oliver returned to the slightly less grumpy version of himself, but still so very resigned to what he thought his fate was. Diggle, as if in deliberate contradiction, took a turn for chipper and showed it by forcing Oliver to leave the basement every so often. By making him listen to the tales of his toddler and her next adventure and discussing his happiness for the son that was on the way. Hoping it would make Oliver want more from life. And Felicity-

She didn't change at all. She just watched. I'm Giles, but without the cool purpose.

She knew, you see. Any chance of a happy ever after Oliver saw himself having, had died with Roy. With Thea's blame and the fact that even now, she still couldn't look her brother in the eye. Guilt and rage and grief still so very strong in her.

Oliver killed Damien Dhark.

Thea knew he'd done it for her.

Another sociopath, nobody would miss. But no matter how appalling a criminal he was, going out to kill him for his wrongs, was still premeditated murder. And Thea didn't regret it, that Oliver had killed him. He'd taken her love, so Oliver took his life.

Even then, she hadn't seen the 'fair' in it. She had to live without Roy.

But Oliver had murdered him.

It started a chain reaction; one Oliver knew would happen. Knew and didn't care. Soon after that, he started employing methods that he hadn't touched since the first year of his return. Killing. Torture. Injuries that led to permanent physical disabilities in future, and, I don't know: maybe he'd had enough.

So had Thea, who - without Roy - felt the same darkness encroach upon on her.

"I can't look at him." Thea had told her, the night before she'd booked herself a one-way ticket to Cuba to escape the fallout. "He did it for me but I can't stay here and watch him destroy himself because of me."

"He's not doing this because of you," no; he'd done it because he'd given in. Choosing the easy way over the hard, because he'd had enough of trying. Because he'd given up hope. "Don't blame yourself for that."

"But I blamed him." She'd whispered; proof of her pregnancy and grief in the pallid darkness under her eyes. "I don't know how to… not blame him."

So, feeling a poison run in the one relationship Thea and Oliver still had that was supposed to be untouchable, Thea had left.

True love, marriage, kids, a family; to Oliver they where dreams only attainable in sleep, which might have been why he'd stopped sleeping.

He'd started killing again - there you go Laurel - as if he didn't see the point in not anymore. As if the last 3 years of progress, hadn't been any progress at all. Wasted time.

"If I don't stop him," he'd stated about criminal number 1056 before shooting an arrow into his chest, "he'll just kill again."

So, even though his behaviour with women - women who know exactly what they're getting into, in his defence - hurt to watch, what hurt morewas that he'd made a decision not only to accept it, but to never strive for more.

More than empty sex.

"And I don't know what to do to fix it." She murmured into her hand.

It wasn't her job. But she cared about him. More than cared.

She'd fallen for him in a matter of moments and now, years later, all she wanted was to see him happy. Why can't he just do what I tell him to, she joked to herself before sighing. "Oliver…"

"What?"

Hand slapping off her face to the desk - heart leaping into her throat - she spun round in her chair. "Oliver."

There he was.

Now some people don't see it. A lot of people don't.

It was in the way he stood. His stance and general demeanour. It was in the heavyset of his shoulders, the slope of his spine, the tautness at his throat… in how he never seemed to relax, which begged the question: how did the women he slept with handle that?

Did they even handle it?

Not that it mattered.

In one sense or another, Oliver was a walking time bomb.

"You already said that." Almost flippant and that wasn't a smile, but something close was just there. Out of reach. It was the most she could bring out in him these days. Oh, she never thought she could miss the time of Slade and his Mirakuru madness. "Sorry." He added, seeing her knuckles stand out as her hands gripped the arms of her chair. "You were a little distracted." And that voice didn't help: his usual masculine, husky maleness never used to sound quite so… grey. "Thought you heard me."

"Wild animals who hunt at night wouldn't hear you." She jested, trying for the thousandth time that month to lift the gloom. A little.

It fell flat.

When am I going to admit to myself that I don't have it? The ability to heal whatever was crushing him.

He was several feet from her and, hands deep in his trouser pockets - that's a nice move, really nice - he walked across her space. Her computers were literally the highest level in the basement with steps leading up to them, and it was a large enough area to take a stroll around. "Hm."

The skin under his eyes were a dash of murky purple. Getting darker every day.

There was no point talking about it: he'd ignore her. "So, what's up?" Head tilted, she crossed her right leg over her left - one blue heeled shoe hanging above the ground - and it no longer occurred to her that Oliver could see a great deal of her thighs: he'd never cared about her that way anyway. He'd seen plenty of perfect thighs before and hers weren't perfect. It didn't matter. "You look pensive."

And he did. Like he was mulling. "I am." He hummed, lips turned down in a frown as he stared unseeing at her desk. "I've been elected as a candidate for mayor."

Say what now? It was completely unexpected and nothing to do with their work lives, not entirely. She almost toppled sideways to the floor. "Uh- I'm sorry?" Baffled, she closed her eyes briefly; shook her head once. Hard. "You applied?" For Mayor?!

"No." He barely spoke to breathe, still not looking at her. "Susan sent in a missive: she's trying to sell me to the public as an applicant."

Susan.

Her stomach twisted. "Right." Legs uncrossing, Felicity stood. "Alright," she started cautiously, "why?"

He shrugged; hands still in his pockets. Eyes still unfocused on the desk. "I don't know."

Felicity thought she might.

Susan had been… pushing a little recently. After the Oliver and Laurel catastrophe, Susan had strolled right back and he'd let her. Offering to spend more time with him, asking him the kind of questions she never had before.

And her file.

The reporter had started a so-called secure file on him - 1, 2, 3, seriously? - dating back to the death of Damien Dhark, one of Star City's most infamous deaths, but Felicity doubted it had started then. Some of the details were prior the city's renaming and a little too intrusive to be labelled as unbiased accounts. Somehow, through contacts Felicity hadn't known about, Susan now knew that for at least several months when Oliver was supposed to be shipwrecked he was, instead, in Russia.

There were other things that told Felicity she was piecing together his secret. Even more troubling, she was writing her research like she'd write an article. And, well, none of it was romantic. Just deeply intrusive.

And illegal. It went against her contract, which did actually include - Felicity had discovered - a lengthy statement regarding journalistic integrity, to sleep with her stories. Delving a little deeper, Felicity had discovered that it wasn't really the first time Susan had dated a famous/rich man for a potential story, but she'd stopped there for Oliver's sake. Susan seemed to be his only source of contentment these days, as much as Felicity didn't like her.

Except, after looking into it - after factoring in her ambition - it made sense. Oliver Queen, CEO, Mayor AND the Arrow? Story of the century.

There was one other possibility: Susan was falling for her story and wanted him to know in the only way she knew how. By putting him up as a candidate for Mayor. By making him see that she believes in him.

Like Felicity believed in him.

Whether he wanted it or not.

And Oliver hadn't really listened to Felicity in- I can't remember.

Maybe he'd listen to-

"And how are you feeling about that?" She forced out because she honestly couldn't take more of that particular train of thought. "You know, beyond pissed off and pressured?"

Sighing, he sent her a look; eyes barely glancing to her.

She stared back candidly. "You know you can feel less than good about the women you sleep with." You don't have to think the world of each and every one, even after they treat you like crap.

But he didn't engage her - shocker - his eyes already far away. "You know I can't be mayor."

There was something there, in his voice, and it made her ask the next question. "But… do you want to be?"

Did Oliver want to become the Mayor of Star City?

"Of course not." And, as if feeling her gaze, he sighed again, turning. Butt half sitting, half leaning against her desk, he slumped in; as if he was constantly exhausted.

Then, finally, he looked her in the eye. "I mean, I always wanted to do more for this city."

Oh. My. God.

"You mean," she almost choked out because, no matter what he'd just said, she focused everything in her on the little spark inside him that had just proved he still hoped, even if it was nihilistic, "besides everything else that you do?"

A self-derisive breath had him looking down. "I kill people." But sounded small. "I bring criminals to justice, to jail, but there's always more. It never ends. In the grand scheme of things, what do I actually accomplish for Star City?"

He was asking.

He was asking her.

Stepping as close as she dared to, which wasn't very, Felicity placed her fingers on the desk top. Needing the slight lean. Heart racing ridiculously fast because, this felt new. For all intents and purposes, it was new. "You never did this job for a thank you." She reminded him. "And you-"

"Don't sugar-coat it." He didn't raise his voice, the words weren't growled but she knew he was dead serious, because for the first time in a long time, he was looking at her again. With her. And he wasn't breaking eye contact. "Sometimes, I walk through parts of the city and I see the broken promises that were made over the years to fix it." Staying silent, still as stone - letting him know that she was hearing him, feeling like this was supremely important for some reason whilst simultaneously sad for his fatalistic tone - she watched. Listened. Enraptured. Praying to God. Again, for the first time in a long time, he didn't shift away. "I see the remains of my fight with Malcolm, with Slade." He paused, probably remembering. "The League. Damien, Prometheus- I see the remains of the Queen Mansion and I know that the business would be dead and gone by now if it weren't for you."

Ok, that she wouldn't let stand. "Oh, don't you dare do that." She near-threatened, voice low and he looked like he already wanted to dismiss what she was about to say to him, fair or otherwise. "Don't undermine the work you've put into the company, the hours and hours you spent teachingyourself how to run it. The crap you took from the board. The respect you've earned from the partnerships you paved way for, the way you lifted it out of near-poverty…"

"You taught me." He whispered, and she'd almost missed it: the ghost in his eyes. The overwhelming feeling that he'd accomplished nothing since his return five years ago. "You showed me what to do and I followed you, step by step." He sounded sick of himself and his face echoed the sentiment. "I took credit for your work." He took a breath, "I've been doing that for years."

Brows arched, "Oh, have you now?" her head titled, gaging him side on because where was this coming from? "I make my own choices, remember?" And he looked down again, as if expecting this. Expecting it and disagreeing. "You do realise that you actually have to learn what you don't know, right?" And if she sounded a little cynical, a lot frustrated and just a tad desperate, then so be it: he was being ridiculous, but it was because he was stuck in a spiral of worthlessness. Hopelessness. She wouldn't let him continue to fall down that hole. "I may have given you your business acumen, but you've grown beyond that now." Far beyond. "You brought the company up from insolvency and now, 100 new employees are currently experiencing the benefits of full dental and childcare. When the city needs something now, who do they turn to? Queen Consolidated." And she wasn't wrong.

He didn't move. He was listening, but his expression didn't change.

"It's been so rewarding, seeing you do that." She admitted and it didn't bother her if he saw how much she cared just then. She'd never lied about wearing her heart on her sleeve and she knew that he'd already seen before just what that care meant. Saw it and hadn't acted on it. Message received.

"You know, in a way you're a prime candidate for Mayor." Brow tapering, he stared at her. Like, what? "You're famous. Well known. Liked." Whatever personality had been in his expression, it left as quickly as it had appeared. "Trust me Oliver, likability is half the game. But not only that, you've made clear progress with company and people see that. Half the good news in the papers these days is in relation to Queen Consolidated."

Though he wasn't looking at her anymore - he'd pulled back - he didn't look like he was going to leave and she hated that she had to try to read him; that it didn't come as effortlessly as it once had.

"You once said, you rely on me." He hadn't, not in a long while. Not truly. And it was strange seeing the literal nothing in his face compared to the way his hands were fisted in his pockets. As if he hated the reminder that he was human, that he'd once admitted that he'd needed her in some way and… yes, that hurt. "Don't insult the years we've spent doing this," she breathed, a hand gesturing to their surroundings, her eyes imploring, and she watched as the reminder rippled through his eyes, "and the rise of a company we kept from falling under Isabel's thumb." And that may have been a couple of years ago but, her presence was still felt whenever failure came. "Yes, there's so much we could have gotten right." With deliberate use of we, her voice lowered, and she allowed herself that last inch closer. With him half sitting, there was barley any difference in their heights and she felt her stomach flutter with it. That eh was still sitting there. That he might have come down here, to talk in a way they hadn't done in so long. Please. "But we aren't Barry Allen. We can't go back through time. We can't undo what we've done." The fractured aches of the past - left untreated - fluxed across his face for a mad second, and something in his eyes shuttered. They were quite dark now. "We can't waste the time that we have, focusing on what's been and gone." And as she took a shaky breath - it had been a while since they'd spoken like this - she watched his throat move as he swallowed down whatever was tasted bad. The truth? The pain? She didn't know. "Do you think I've wasted my time here?" She asked in a rush of air because she was already losing him, wasn't she? "Do you think it's all been one giant waste?"

His eyes flickered shut.

…He did?

"I don't." She swallowed this time, voice threatening to wobble as the cold ugliness in him right now, rang in her gut. "I love what we do here," she whispered, back straightening, watching his brow lines deepen, hating that she couldn't tell what it meant. "There are so many places where you've had an influence Oliver Queen." Maybe it was the firmness and surety - even with her unsteady tone - in her voice or maybe it was the use of his last name that made his eyes open again. "You used to see them." You used to believe.

Any second now, he'd leave; she could see it. And if not bolt, maybe he'd lash out at her because the amalgamation of different levels of dark warring in the blue of his eyes, was almost too much for most people, never mind one who claimed he'd given up but could still wonder about mayoral candidacies.

A man who carried the weight of a mountain, the burdens on his back and more than half were of his own making. His very own Purgatory. Constant suffering. And he'd shown her there was nothing she could do.

Except…

"If it takes me half my life," she softly began, "I'll show you."

There was a moment where he stilled. Where his eyes lifted only to pause half way to her face. Mouth very slightly open for breathing. Eyes still dark, still full. Still haunted.

Far away from her.

Begging for help.

A warning to be left alone.

"I'll show you the good you've done if I have to. Piece by piece." She let the truth of her words alter her, influence her mouth, until she was smiling. Until her eyes were shining with the true pride she felt for him. "I'll show you how you're needed." Just let me show you Oliver.

Let me in.

She let it stroke over him, please don't run away, and she hadn't meant the words to be husky. But holding in her feelings for so long meant she couldn't help it. There was so much to say and do and feel.

Maybe that was why he licked his lips, closing his mouth. Maybe that was why he muttered to the floor, "We make a good team, don't we?"

Her heart thudded pathetically, because of the we. The us. The team within the team that they'd once been. So close, she could smell his cologne and it was unfair really, how he got everything - even his scent - just right to match what she craved. What her body needed. How long had it been since he'd given her this kind of attentiveness? Since he'd vocally spoken about them. Since he'd allowed his eyes to look at her like she meant… more. And she could only pray, that he-

"But I don't need it. Not anymore." Something in his face just…died. She saw it happen, helpless to stop it. As always. And as always, he took her with him. "I don't want it Felicity."

He didn't need her, didn't want her help.

But what else could she offer if not…

For one unbearable second, her heart squeezed tight enough to miss a beat.

"I made a decision." There was nothing to indicate that this cost him, that he felt a thing about it beyond practicality. As if it was a banal subject. As if she was unnecessary. As if he didn't know how much he was hurting her. In fact, he looked a little puzzled. "Years ago."

Puzzled.

"I used to rely on you a lot. For everything. It was obvious, to a lot of people. To me. It was a little… ridiculous, I mean," he cleared his throat, shrugged a shoulder, "yeah. So, I decided to not anymore. Not for more than the bare minimum." His slight smile was this twisted thing, full of the darkness in him that he kept closed off from her, full of things she didn't recognise. It said, you're off the hook; see? "I had to let you go at some point. I didn't always succeed. But I'd decided." And it fell off his face quicker than his failed attempt at pasting it there. Leaving nothing behind. "I mean, you were there; you know that."

She didn't know anything.

Her pulse was throbbing in her ears. "What are you saying?" She dragged up the words from somewhere deep and had she ever sounded like that before? Like she'd had to try with everything she had, to speak.

He didn't seem to notice the difference; too concerned with checking his phone, which was beeping.

But his exhale was sharp. "Felicity, you know by now that in the field you're my eyes but anything else…" He trailed off like, again, you know this already.

For anything else, you're not needed.

She was just looked at him. Too dumbfounded to respond at all.

"Anyway, I've got to take this." He said to her, looking at the screen of his cell. "And, ah… thank you." Frowning at whatever he was looking at, he spared her a conciliatory eye-flicker, which was how he didn't notice her stupor. "For trying to help me. But I don't need it, Okay? Just concentrate on your own life."

Derogatory.

Since… since when has Oliver ever been- since when had he used that tone, that-

Belittling dismissal.

On her.

Like the tip of a whip as it cracks across her ribcage. The rest of her just didn't break with it.

"…concentrate on your own life."

As if her life wasn't inexplicably tied to his. As if all this time, they'd been leading different lives. As if everything they'd been through, they hadn't actually been through together at all.

As if he thought that he hadn't completely shattered her with his uncharacteristically careless words.

But he was already strolling away, "Chairman; I was expecting your call," phone to his ear, towards the showers-

Leaving her standing there.

Alone.

World tipped over, without an axis, into silence. Floored. Numb.

She stared dumbly at the place where he'd been.

All this time.

All this time, years of aching loneliness, of wondering what had happened to spark the change in him… she'd known he'd had ridiculous notions of keeping people at arm's length for their safety, she'd known he'd taken several steps away from her, but for some unfathomable reason-

She'd thought he might not have known.

"I'm such an idiot." she breathed, unseeing.

That maybe it had been this subconscious thing he'd had no idea about. Like the multitudes of other things that he had no idea he did to himself. A defence mechanism of some kind - all of Oliver's defence mechanisms lay in being alone – and that, perhaps, he hadn't understood, fully, the damage. Or hadn't thought about it past an instinctive need to pull back. Thoughtless, perhaps. Reckless and miserable, maybe. A cry for help, possibly. But, understandably, Oliver.

But this… he'd made a choice. A conscious, tactical effort to push her away. And keep her there. Like she was a nuisance-

"It was obvious, to a lot of people. To me."

-A weakness. An embarrassing secret.

He'd known exactly what he was doing. He knew the extent of the damage. He'd cultivated it himself. Had watched her suffer for it-

Had he, though?

If he could do this, if he could be this way with her by choice, then did he really know her at all? How could he have seen what his distance did to her when he wasn't even trying to see her? When he was deliberately not looking at her.

How hard had he tried? Had he had to try? Had it taken a lot of effort? Had it been difficult at all? Had he second guessed himself, even if for a moment? How easy had it been?

How did I miss this?!

The.

Lack.

Of.

Love.

STOP.

Her hands lifted, fingers slowly sliding into her hair, insides pulling and twisting; eyes still unblinking, thoughts drifting in, as if through a fog.

There was always another way. Always. But he hadn't looked for one.

Their friendship was a sham. One-sided. She was alone in it.

How unknowingly pathetic had she looked all this time? Trying to help him, trying to get through to him; and with each brush off, he hadn't been keeping her at arms length. He'd just been telling her to go away. To leave him alone, because he'd chosen. And she hadn't noticed because she thought they'd been friends and that he'd just been… Oliver. The mistaken, misunderstood lone warrior.

How could he let it happen?

"But I don't need it, Okay? Just concentrate on your own life."

So I don't have to wonder if you're alright.

How could he?

He said it like it was a once and done afterthought, as if he'd done her a favour. Done them both a favour. That he wasn't just telling her to mind her own business so that he wouldn't have to look into hers. Her life. And give a damn.

Destroy to protect. What a lie.

His weird, toxic clusterfuck with Laurel had continued until just last year. His cycle with Sara. His dark connection to renegade Helena. The disgusting give and take with Susan. His dirty little secret with Elise. All of it.

The difference was that, unlike with every other woman, he hadn't had to sleep with Felicity first. Unlike with every other woman, the distance from her had been easier for him because he hadn't gone to bed with her, which was a theme for him. Unlike with all other women, he'd only been friends with Felicity. And she was the help, first and foremost. Unlike the rest, he could live without her. He'd never gone back. Never needed to.

And because he didn't know her at all, because he didn't care enough to find out, he hadn't seen that it was slowly destroying her.

"Do you think I've wasted my time here?" She asked in a rush of air because she was already losing him, wasn't she? "Do you think it's all been one giant waste?"

His eyes flickered shut.

The pain was a crescendo, to exquisite strengths. Until she was gasping. Until, eyes still wide open, tears gathered and fell. One. By. One.

He thought she'd wasted her time with him.

The whole point with her staying on with the team after they found Walter, was for Oliver. Her and John's secret mission to save a man unwilling to fight for his own happiness, well, in a way he had. He fought for the kind of life where friendship wasn't an option for him. She'd failed.

And now he thought he should never have brought her on in the first place.

He regretted it. Regretted her. In his life.

Lips pressing together, a sound - something quiet and trembling - broke through. Oh God. It was getting hard to breathe. I'm going to be sick.

Oliver didn't care about her.

Oliver didn't care about himself.

She was out of the basement before he returned; the world around her tunnelling as she went.

She left him behind.

She left all of it behind.

It was a Sunday, slow day ordinarily. So her absence wasn't noted as suspicious. And she'd gotten out of the habit of having someone who she had to tell what she was doing and where she was going. So the fact that he didn't call her, or try to contact her in any way, wasn't surprising. He rarely called her for anything that wasn't mission related anyway. To him, there was nothing wrong. Nothing had changed. His world hadn't dissolved of colour.

He hadn't spent a sleepless night trying to understand how she hadn't she seen it. It wasn't even about him being an outstanding actor, not when it didn't seem to cost him a thing.

I'm still stunned. I don't know what to think, because maybe she didn't know him as well as she'd always thought.

And she'd considered of calling John, thought of asking him if he'd known. If he'd seen. If he knew of anything that could-

Could what? She slammed her desk drawer closed. Fix this? "Make Oliver want to be my friend?" She muttered and it sounded just as mortifying as she thought it would.

No, she hadn't slept. Completely lost, she'd tortured herself by going through every memory of him she had; trying to pinpoint the how's and the where's of when he'd made his decision. What had triggered it? Was it something she'd done? Something she hadn't done? Was it a moment that she wasn't privy to, what? Why hadn't she known?

Why hadn't she been good enough not to let go of?

A possible and completely unwanted answer to that, walked right through the elevator doors on the 41st floor of Queen Consolidated. An answer with a name.

"Susan?" Felicity blinked at the approaching figure and really, this is just what I need. On top of everything.

"Morning." The woman had an odd tilt to her lips when she smiled, as if she always knew something you didn't and you couldn't quite tell if it was genuine or not. Or maybe she just smiles that way at me. The women Oliver slept with? Most disliked her on the simple fact that she worked closely with the object of their affections, however much he may display a complete lack of interest in her. Or maybe she'd stepped on Susan's foot in a past life, giving her a limp. The image was a nice one, if transient.

"Good morning" After several seconds of just standing there, holding papers behind her desk, Felicity tired to smile. "Can I help you with something?"

And then you, you know, move along. Away.

Because Susan was looking at her. Assessing. Again.

"Help me? No." The reporter shook her head, like, you? Help me? "Just thought I'd let you in on a little secret, you know," she gestured between them like they always did this, exchange gossip with their coffee, "between us girls."

Oh, I don't think so.

"What?" It just came out; bluntly because, I'd rather die? Not even kidding, I would rather-

Stepping closer, looking oddly furtive yet happy, please no, Susan lowered her voice and said. "Oliver just told me: he's stepped in as a candidate for the Mayor of Star City."

If there were any other words in the English language that could make Felicity hurt like that - like giant hands had gripped her spine, only to make it crack in small fractures - they'd, strangely, be those.

"He… did?"

"I kill people." But sounded small. "I bring criminals to justice, to jail, but there's always more. It never ends. In the grand scheme of things, what do I actually accomplish for Star City?"

What had changed?

Not hearing her pause of her internal agony, Susan's hand gripped around the shoulder handle of her bag. "I spoke to him about it again last week; you know he's done so much for this city…" she sighed, shaking her head as if she were saying that Felicity had no idea and oh, the stories she could tell her.

In that brief moment, the pen in Felicity's hand felt a weapon.

"It's stunning, come to think of it. The man he used to be, compared to the man he is now? That angle can be used to endorse one hell of a candidacy." And really, what did this woman know about either versions of Oliver that she hadn't pulled together through illicit means? "Anyway, I reminded him of the good he could still do and, maybe something sunk in because my boss just gave me the story." She finished, embellishing with a little shake of her man-bag where Felicity guessed a touch-screen lay innocently within and the look of a self-satisfied woman.

And she should be because once again the universe just proved how superfluous Felicity Smoak really was in Oliver Queen's life. Or in her own.

I give him advice, he ignores it. Susan butters him up and he's a candidate for mayor. The difference was ridiculous.

Except now she knew why there even was one.

And the USS Susan leaves quite a wake. "That's incredible." Really, you get a gold star.

She could barely get out the words; managing though, to offer Susan an I'm happy for you smile.

The woman dared shrug her shoulder, as if it were an everyday occurrence. "Not really. Oliver's always had it in him, I think." Stomach clenching - hot claws digging deep - Felicity watched the reporter lean closer, her expression conspiratorial. "Just took the right person to see it."

Envisioning herself shoving the pen in the woman's eye wasn't helping things either.

Her mouth wanted to fall open.

Instead, the smile she'd pasted on, hurt. Everything seemed to hurt now. "I'm glad." And she was blinking a whole lot.

"Still, it must be a relief for you."

"Uh, why?"

Susan frowned at her, her tone neutral. "Well, if Oliver gets into politics, he won't need a secretary from QC. He'll be given one with the requisite experience to handle the post." It was a blatant reminder of Felicity's lack of experience in being an executive assistant.

It was also a swift punch in the gut.

"W-why would that make me relieved?" She floundered through the question, her smile slipping and sliding, keep it together.

"Oliver's said more than once that he's a horrible time keeper and that you've had to clean up after him before. Imagine getting out from under that? You could even apply for another job, one that isn't in the secretarial arts." She finished with a pointed look in her direction like, you know I'm right, before turning towards Oliver's office.

Again, another reminder that Susan didn't appreciate - just as Laurel hadn't - that a woman five years younger that Oliver, who wore colourful dresses and skirts on a daily basis instead of the suits HR had advised her (in an effort for propriety) to acquire and who didn't have the essential experience, had been chosen - without any explanation beyond because I said so - to be Oliver's council and left hand.

And really, maybe that was why what happened next… happened.

"Why does it always come back to that?" Squinting slightly, brow just a tad bothered, Felicity watched Susan pause and look back over her shoulder.

"Sorry?" She seemed puzzled, a polite smile on her face.

Yep, well; I never do this, so I understand the cognitive dissonance you must be felling.

"Me being Oliver's executive assistant." Felicity pointed to herself and, look at that! We're talking about me. The one who's been right here since the beginning. "And it is EA," Felicity reminded her for once, not in the hopes that she'd finally stop being a bitch but just to show her the level of petty Susan succumbed to all the time, "which is an altogether higher level of administrative officer than secretary. I basically carry over duties from the vice president of the company," because he was a pretentious ass kisser. "And yet you insist, every single chance you get," and she spoke slowly, clearly just in case Susan wasn't 100% certain about Felicity's meaning, "on pulling up from the ether my so-called lack of credentials. I'm guessing that's why you think calling me a secretary is some sort of insult?" She asked, suddenly intolerant to the bullshit in the air and watched with only a small amount of satisfaction, when the woman blinked once, twice; her smile faltering.

But it took only moments for Susan to 'suit up'. God, it reminded her so much of Laurel and suddenly it all made sense. Oliver, you- "I'm- I just think that Oliver should have had someone with more-"

"Do you understand how much I've actually helped him in the last 4 years? Can you honestly look back at our work history and tell me I could have done a better job?"

Give it your best shot, because there wasn't a man or woman alive who could have done more. Credentials, CV's - they didn't show the sum of a person; just a few of their parts.

And yes, her expression was candidly pointed, her head titled a fraction, her eyes dead serious behind her glasses and she was serious.

This was her life. And Susan kept undermining it, inferring it as a mistake.

Much like Oliver had done the day before.

And yet, though obviously taken aback, Susan still managed to pull this out of her back pocket. "Maybe I find it strange that a woman as young as you, spends most of her time, here."

"And how old do I need to be, to do this job, Miss Williams?" Yeah, she'd never called her Susan before and she wasn't starting now.

"I think it's more a case of being in love with your boss, Miss Smoak."

It hit her exactly where it was aimed: square in the chest, the throat. For a moment, words were impossible.

"You're young. It's not too late to let him go."

As if she knew everything about her with a glance. As if she was a child. A teenager, in love with a taken man. No one had ever been so callous as to just-

No. Moira had. But Oliver was her son and Moira, at the time, a lioness in danger of losing him.

Susan gave Felicity such a discerning look - one that screamed I am the mature one here, the one with experience - it was obviously meant to let Felicity know that it was for her own good that she'd had to smack the emotional shit out of her like this. Like, wake up honey. Time to stop dreaming. "And I'm afraid there's nothing so-called about your lack of experience, Miss Smoak."

Another person who thought they were doing Felicity a favour by slicing her open and getting a good look at the destruction inside. Here, take my beating heart: I'm not using it.

And really, maybe that was why she felt that new fissure within her, rupture energy of a different sort as Susan moved towards Oliver's office. She was done with this woman and for the life of her, she didn't understand why she hadn't been before now. The woman thought she'd won something. That there was something to win. That she'd made a point. It was a very cat scratch type-feeling.

The one where bitch was highlighted on the label.

"176." Felicity exhaled; speaking just loud enough for Susan, who's hand was on the door handle, to hear.

To turn back. "Excuse me?"

"It's my IQ." She offered without thinking a thing. "176. It's…" her hands clapped together, "basically, I'm smarter than Albert Einstein." Who'd have thought, right?

There was this slither of understanding in Susan's face: the slow to come realisation that something was happening that might not be in her favour.

But, mostly? She looked like she'd been shot out of a canon.

"I could have gotten a job anywhere." Spreading her hands, wanting to rub at the tiredness out of her eyes but not wanting to display another weakness in front of a woman who stored them up so that she could use them at just the right moment. "A double degree and a Masters from MIT? Please, I could have been CEO."

She let that sink in.

And Susan, to her benefit, didn't try to hide her shock. Her… disturbia. The realisation that she might have been wrong to open her mouth and throw assumptions at a woman who'd basically given up her dreams for a man who could never give her them back. That maybe showing her disrespect when she could have been the better woman, instead of believing the presumptions of people who'd never spoken a word to Felicity, might counter the image she'd made of herself in Oliver's eyes and that's really what it was all about. Oliver.

"I gave up any chance of rising in a company I've spent years serving, knowing that most people would believe I got this job on my knees. And they did. They do." She gestured to Susan before interlinking her fingers. Hands resting against her thighs as she leant on her desk. "But really, I'm overqualified. Extremely overqualified."

You could have heard a pin drop.

Susan was staring at her now; genuinely unnerved. It wasn't the reaction Felicity had hoped to evoke, not by a long shot. This wasn't about fear of a reprisal; all Felicity had wanted, was for Susan to be fair. And she hadn't been. She needed to understand that. Instead, she'd managed to make the woman wary of her. Evil thinkers, evil doers.

It didn't matter.

"I did it for Oliver." Felicity admitted, quietly. Honestly. And that was what mattered. "For his legacy. So that something of his parents could live on. So that he could have something, look at it and think 'I did that'." To not fail at one thing. "I did it because I'm his friend, even though he knew I hated the idea of working for him this way."

The furrow at Susan's brow threatened to overtake her face. "You hated-"

"Yep." Popping the 'P'. "But he needed help. So, I made a sacrifice and believe me, Miss Williams. It was a sacrifice. Never mind the work, the fact that I couldn't work up through the ranks or apply for R&D- the amount of rude, chauvinistic, disparaging remarks I received-"

"It wasn't my intention to-"

"Yes, it was." Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. "You were letting me know my place in Oliver's life, but don't worry." She added in a whisper that was just as facetious and cruel and false as Susan's so-called conspiratorially happy one had been earlier. "I knew what that was a long time ago. You have nothing to worry about."

And even Susan Williams could look chastised. Could glance to the floor. Could look incredibly uncomfortable as she stood there and suddenly, her expensive suit, tight calf length skirt and extremely white shirt, weren't so flattering anymore. A woman who tried too hard to impress a guy who wouldn't admit in public, that they were dating.

Go away. "I was just…" Felicity sighed, "hoping that you weren't that kind of woman." The kind that was easily threatened. The kind that knew that they didn't fully have their man. "I mean, I know you've looked into Oliver."

Susan's head shot up.

The perceptive turn to Felicity's lips, made Susan's face pale. "Come on." She whispered. "Of course you did. You're a reporter. In fact, you're so dedicated to work that you're still investigating him. While you sleep with him. While he trusts you," with whatever titbits he'd shared that Felicity knew now, were words she'd never hear, "while you smile and pretend you're not having him followed."

With each addition, Susan seemed to grow increasingly tense. As if she needed a breath, her mouth opened in a shaky attempt at collecting calm from the atmosphere.

Of course, Oliver had known he was being tailed. They were so easy for him to escape, that he hadn't cared about it.

"So!" And with more peppiness than she possessed at this moment, feeling zero joy at Susan's flinch, Felicity bounced up off her desk and moved around it to sit. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop with your blatant attempts at making me feel as small and insignificant as you always wished that I was." She smiled up at the woman who seemed rooted to the floor: there was nothing in it for it to last more than a moment. "Ok?"

Minutes later, after Felicity had gotten back to work - after Susan had finally found it in her to move - and after receiving no reply because sometimes, there was just nothing a person could say to make what they've said better, the tell-tale ding of the elevator rang clear through their private lobby.

And then there he was.

"Susan Williams is in your office." Felicity muttered at him, without her usual 'happy to work with my dear friend Oliver' grace and it wasn't even on purpose.

She couldn't look at him.

"Thanks." He was distracted; out of her peripheral she could just see him frown at the open file in his arms.

So, he didn't notice.

Then again, he knew she didn't like Susan. No one liked Susan. Did he even like Susan? The woman's introduction into Oliver's life wasn't the kind you bragged about.

The door to his office opened and she heard his voice, "Hey," and oh, the ache.

Hey.

It's nothing.

To him.

"Oliver, I need to-"

The door closing cut off Susan's voice for which Felicity was thankful.

She didn't want to hear anything else. In fact, she didn't want to be here. She wanted to be blind drunk- no, she wanted to vent. To release some of the sadness as physical violence on a training dummy instead of the wetness on her cheeks. She couldn't even find humour in the daily scan report that popped up in her inbox a few minutes later.

It's not like he'd care if I left early. She looked at her watch and winced. Not that early…

"Ah, Felicity?"

Without thinking, she up and again, he was there. Beautiful. Perfect. Tired.

For a single second, she disliked him immensely. "What?"

Unblinking, his expression flickered.

She just waited, reiterating. "What?"

Then she registered that he'd been wearing a puzzled look before she'd responded and was now… not wearing any look at all.

He shifted. "Everything alright out here?" Did his voice have to rumble like that? Low and husky and patient.

Patient. When was the last time he'd been-

And how many times was she going to ask herself that question, for however many different reasons?

She sent him a half salute. "Copacetic, Captain."

It wasn't meant to sound sarcastic and to her credit, it didn't. But there was no way she was calling him Oliver - hearing her voice curve around the L and R of his name whilst she felt so raw.

"Are you sure?"

"I've got work to do here, so…"

He cleared his throat but ended up losing any ounce of humanity in his expression and she almost threw her shoe at him. That's fine. Go choose that quarter life Oliver; I hope it tastes good. "Can you come in here for a second?"

No. "Sure." Her job, her job; this was her job. She did her job well. I can continue doing it.

Until, of course, she walked into the office and remembered that Susan was in fact, sitting in the spare seat across the desk.

She almost walked back out.

Instead, I'm too good for my own good, she looked at Oliver and waited; hating the heat of humiliation rising within her.

"I don't want it Felicity."

Shake it off.

"So," hands in his pockets, a frown on his otherwise emotionless face, Oliver looked from one woman to the next, "Susan would like to have lunch with you."

If he'd told her she was to take a swan dive into a volcano, it would have made more sense.

He'd asked it as a question, as if he didn't get it himself. As if he was asking her to make some sense out of the senseless. He knew better, knew that Felicity didn't like her, nor had Susan ever shown an inclination towards wanting to befriend Felicity in turn so… yep. This was strange to him.

Good, because I'd rather die the death of a 1000 knives.

But also because she was polite, Felicity just blinked, arched her brows and said. "Beg pardon?"

"Lunch Felicity." Standing, Susan took a deep breath. Took one large step for horrible woman everywhere and if she pushed too far too fast, Felicity would have to break out that move Diggle taught to her a couple of months ago. We'll call it a Hershey's kiss, when really it- "I'd like to have lunch with you." Her smile was fractured, a reminder of the way Felicity had dressed her down earlier. "Oliver's busy and-"

"I know he's busy." I do his schedule for him. And she wasn't even being competitive: if you had to fight over a guy with another woman, then you didn't have the guy. No, Felicity was tongue tied and trying to find a way out. "And so am I. Susan." She added. Hard.

"Felicity." Oliver. He was… frowning. Well, she wasn't usually so firm. I'm stunned he noticed. Then again, Susan was involved. He'd have been the same with Laurel. Pick a woman who isn't me and you'll get somewhere. "I can go to the next meeting by myself." Wait, what was he doing? "I'll need you this afternoon, but-"

"And, ah… thank you for trying to help me. But I don't need it, Okay?"

"-I can manage just fine for an hour." Gaging her, which was an odd thing for him to do now, he added. "If you want to go that is."

She said everything she needed to say with her eyes, which made him look down. Oh no you don't. "Not rea-"

"I think you could use some fresh air," Susan cut in and any second now, the pen in Felicity's hand was going straight into Susan's- "and I want to ask you a few things."

She felt her teeth clench. "I don't want to be interrogated during my lunch hour. Find another willing victim." She smiled: all grit and metal. "You won't have to look far." She gestured behind her, lips closing over her teeth before they could be seen grinding. "He's standing right there."

And the way his eyes moved right to her - the way his frown lessened into more a statement of his surprise - his head moving with them, made Felicity wonder just how subservient she'd been the last few years to make being so wilful with a woman they both knew she didn't like, such a shock. Just how voiceless.

And she'd done that to herself.

And of course, sensing that her prey was distracted, Susan took a chance. "I promise," the woman sent a quick glance Oliver's way and it appeared confused, maybe at his lack of interjection on her part - he was literally standing there, giving Felicity the 'what's going on with you' look - and pressed on, "you'll like the food" ashes in my mouth, sure, "and you might find what I have to say interesting." I highly doubt that. "Ok." Not ok, no."Meet you outside in ten minutes?"

I'm not going-

And without waiting for an actual answer beyond the 'are you on drugs' expression screaming in Felicity's eyes - the fantastic fish impersonation she was carrying - Susan gathered up her bag, Felicity a look - a, please don't tell Oliver a thing about before - before walking out of the office once more, looking briefly over her shoulder at her friend with all the benefits. "I'll see you tonight Oliver."

For drinks and sex, of course. Susan had another story. She needed her muse.

Pulled away from whatever was making him stare at his secretary, Oliver cleared his throat. "Yeah." Sounding oh so excited and smiling back as she left.

The moment she was out of sight, he let out a breath; still stood by the corner of the room. "That was…" he searched for the right word, "odd." Before walking towards the cabinet behind his desk. "You don't have to go, you know." He said back to Felicity, quieter than before, because it was just them.

And it was probably the most care he'd shown her in weeks. Months.

It stopped, made her want to forget about yesterday and pretend it never happened. "I am… aware." But it did. And Susan had somehow managed to score a lunch for whatever reason she needed. Probably wants me to pretty please, not spill about her after hours activities. Not that Oliver would even want to hear it but, since when had Felicity kept secrets from him?

She opened her mouth to begin, Oliver; the woman you keep having drinks with knows all about your secret and she's literally waiting with baited breath to expose you to the world, taking a tentative step closer-

"Actually," he muttered, distracted once more as read something in the drawer he was holding open, "there's something I want to discuss with you."

The drawer closed - when he pushed it too with one finger - with a click. One long, dextrous finger.

She loved his hands. Loved the way he'd worked them for enough years to develop a particular kind of roughness underneath. Loved the tell-tale scarring from a burn on his left and the long-healed knife wound on his right. Loved how he could be gentle with hands that had killed.

Hated that she loved it.

She breathed it out. "Oh?"

"Yeah." He licked his lips, the yeah sounding very heavy as he pulled out his chair by the back, "It's about my candidacy for Mayor."

"Yeah, that was… surprising." They were hesitant, her words. Not wanting to spark another well-kept factoid about him that could hurt her. "From what I recall, you were vehemently opposed to the idea." Shoe scuffing the floor, she watched Oliver debate with himself as he stood there. "What changed your mind?"

But he shook his head. "It's not important." Shutting her out once more before patting his tie to his chest before sitting down. "But planning a campaign is going to be lot of work."

"It's definitely not a walk in the park." Her tone dry because, obviously. "Prepare to pucker up."

Only Oliver Queen could pull off inquisitive and thrown off target, in one ridiculously attractive broken brow line. "What?"

Her usual reaction to the squinty eyes and the way they flickered to and fro when he was at his most befuddled was to smile, but… she didn't feel it. "Kissing babies. Kissing ass." His expression cleared, her point made. "Be prepared to make deals with unscrupulous peoples."

Though he'd know better than anyone how that was sometimes necessary. Which meant he also knew how to circumvent unethical action, how to read between lines.

"You already sound so sure I'll make it." The words were spoken on the end of a breath and she felt the last of what was keeping her a cool customer deflate.

"I think you're capable of whatever you strive to be." Her I believe in you feeling like a slap in the face because she still did. "But you don't need to hear that." It was a last second addition, not wanting to hear his you don't have to do that anymore crap-

Except, when something spluttered out of existence in his eyes, it made her see that he'd wanted to hear them. The words. The I believe in you. Even if it meant rejecting them later, he wanted her to say them.

And it made her pause because… that isn't fair.

"No. I don't." Breathing down through his nose, head facing his notes, he grabbed a pen… started writing. His face a concentrated scowl of effort. His eyes-

Defeated.

What the hell is wrong with you? She wanted to bellow the words at him.

He couldn't do this, be mayor and be so self-hating. So tired. So angry. All. The. Time. Tell me you don't need me. Tell me you're doing fine, Oliver. Tell me. He didn't.

Instead, he signed his signature on something official-looking. "I'll need a representative."

Ah. "Well, I could-"

"I'll be taking in resumes this week but, Felicity?" He glanced up at her, and here he paused… like he had to breathe. Prepare. It lasted long enough that her empty stomach started to clench. "I want you to stay here."

"Here?" Blinking, her eyes shot around his office in explanation.

"No, I mean," and he rubbed his lips together; looking like whatever he was trying to say was… difficult. Uncomfortable. "With the company. If I get somewhere with this," his fingers splayed over the letters on his desk, all stamped with a very official looking emblem, "then I'll be leaving Queen Consolidated in your," the word broke midway, "capable hands."

Excuse me?

She felt like her breath was being held of its own accord. "Explain that sentence."

Shifting in his seat, he leaned back a little until his hands rested together on the desk. "If I make any headway, if I even manage to… I want you to stay at QC."

"Oliver, I'm your EA." It was ridiculous and her nose crinkled at the notion. "Your Girl Friday; of course I'm coming with you."

"I don't need a Girl Friday in this." He told her and… he was serious about it. She could tell. He could barely look her in the eye, but his tone was certain. He'd decided. "And I think it's time to let you go."

To let you go.

Let you go.

Go.

I think it's time to-

"There are several places in the company," he continued, as if he hadn't just torn her to pieces, as if she wasn't standing there, internally begging him to stop pulling apart the threads that made her who she was- he couldn't know he as doing it, "positions I think are far more worthy of your talents…"

And he continued to talk - all to his desk, his hands, the papers he was moving around into piles - and his voice wasn't weak. It was quiet, but it wasn't weak. Wasn't false. Wasn't a lie.

He'd thought about this. Thought about letting her go.

Her work at QC, with him, was tied to their work in the bunker. One without the other felt wrong. Imagining her days without him felt like a bullet to the stomach.

Why is he doing this to me?

And maybe if she wasn't so hurt, if she could hear more than just her pulse pounding in her skull, feel the heat of her blood race beneath her skin, feel her stomach twist so tightly it made her want to curl around a toilet, she might have seen more… in his body, his face. His voice.

The way his fingertips trembled on the desk.

As it was, hearing him list off her skills and attributes, like he was a computer ticking off the points on her profile - regardless of how he'd memorised everything he knew about her or the way he wrapped pride around each and every one, like a mental hug, which was the most she'd ever get off him - wasn't something she could bare just then.

Like I'm a prize cow, and not his friend. His partner. His family. His comrade.

Disposable.

It seemed foolish now.

That she thought she could ignore it, what he'd said. Let it go. Thought she could just leave it be. Never mention it. Pretend it didn't exist. That she didn't care.

Because it might sort itself out. He might want to...

She'd hoped that he'd want to rectify it.

But as she watched him shift the sheets of paper on his desk for the umpteenth time and point to various markers on them - and she hadn't realised until now that they were all jobs within the business - and as he talked and talked and talked with the same voice that made her feel safe, the one she secretly heard at night because she was alone and he made her feel less so… until now.

Until he'd unknowingly just broken her.

And that was it, right there. Finally.

"You'd have your pick." He was smiling but his eyes looked dead. It no longer shocked her. "I've already sent out emails; they're just waiting for your call." It was a smile so gentle that, if his eyes weren't still without soul, she'd think he was being genuine in his effort to make it all about her. "I think it's for the best. Your talents have been squandered here long enough."

Squandered.

As if… as if she'd been doing nothing. For years. As if they hadn't achieved wonders in just 4 years. As if they hadn't saved the city. Saved lives. As if they hadn't helped the Glades recuperate. As if they didn't change the world one tiny stone overthrown at a time.

Another waste of time for him, right?

It took several moments just for her to be able to breathe without falling over, which was funny to her really; in a distant sense. She was trying not to fall over because it was all over. Her life. Her purpose. Oliver was basically asking her to find a new one.

Without him.

No more heartbreak when the heart was heartbroken. Splat. Feed it to dogs, they'd get more out of it.

Echoes of pretend. That's what it had all been really, hadn't it? Pretend. On her part. For years, that everything had been fine and would, one day… be better than fine. He'd been the honest one. The real.

What hurt more, that he'd done this… or that she'd seen more than what was there?

"Felicity?"

The lines to the office were a blur she had to blink away, before focusing. Before settling on him.

Their eyes connected, 1 second. 5 seconds. 10-

He looked down to his perfunctory desk lamp, gaze moving over the metallic bumps. Clearly, it as fascinating.

Look at me.

Silence.

There was something neither had ever been able to hide. They could fluently read the moments of quiet, the looks between them, without uttering a word. He seemed… restless. Clearly searching for something else to debate, but he failed. And as if gravity was the opposing force, his eyes lifted back up with the kind of heaviness that told her he'd struggled not to look at her. Which was odd.

All the while, her own had been drinking him in.

Tracing features she'd long since memorised, re-familiarising herself with the slopes and plains of his face she'd wonder at the feel of. The texture. The warmth. The way his mouth - though Oliver was characteristically the type to smother emotion that hurt him - still managed to look utterly soft and kissable, even when his eyes were dead. The way the fingers of one hand - always that hand -fidgeted as the other lay still. The way intense emotion, even when repressed, influenced the tilt of his brow, the granite line of his jaw… the way his mouth was ever so slightly open as he took her in.

The way he seemed naturally inclined towards hardness. Coldness. When everything about him inside was marshmallow soft.

What seemed true, was rarely real. And he'd wanted real once. Yet he was living, had chosen to live, in a lie.

The kind of man that would deliberately go against the grain because, mentally, he was fucked three ways to Sunday. And she'd believed he'd just… sort himself out. A compliment here, a reaffirmation of her belief there and, what? He'd find some magical way to heal?

No, he'd just toss his partner aside and stop caring. And think it was fine.

Now everything was just pooling: adding to the pit. Self-disgust at her own wan conceit. Disappointment. Anger. Fear.

The world looked… grey.

"Did you know that mum was sick recently?" It just came out. And she didn't know where it came from. Or why she started with it.

But they'd been looking at each other when she did, so she caught the way he stilled.

Completely.

"…No." Honest emotion took away any firmness in what might have been seen as a coarse whisper but was more surprise than anything else. "I didn't."

There he is. There was Oliver, underneath the nothing.

"Really sick." She paused again, because she had to. Because the wad at the back of her throat wouldn't let her do otherwise. It was too close to home, made all the more overwhelming because- "The kind where you worry. A lot." Alone.

He. Was. Still. As. Stone.

But he was looking at her. Waiting. He hadn't done that in a while.

"She's alright now." She made sure he knew, but he didn't loosen up. Didn't blink. "Dig helped a bit."

The whole of him jerked, hard enough to make the only loose pen on his desk, roll.

Dig helped her because he'd cared.

"I told him not to tell you because I thought you had enough on your plate." With Roy. Laurel. Thea. She took a moment to stare into his eyes before following through. "But I thought you'd notice that I wasn't sleeping. That you'd ask."

Looking back, why hadn't she picked up on that? Rose coloured glasses weren't something she'd ever worn for any reason. She'd always seen Oliver for the man he is: deeply flawed. Beautiful. Brave. Sad. A million other things…

Maybe he felt that too; the world inside her, dropping from its place and going down. The face of reality.

And there was something she'd only ever see Oliver do. His heart could break - someone could break his arm, someone he loved could tell him he was worthless, the city could burn - and if he wanted, he could hide it so well, he wouldn't even twitch. Wouldn't say a word.

But his eyes always gave him away. As if they were holding back the weight of an ocean.

She could see the white of them emboldening the blue. The black.

She sucked in air, because everything in her was cracked and fragile; threatening to shatter. "What you said yesterday?" She sounded like one puff of wind would make her blow away. One word from him. "I didn't know." She felt that ring true at least, with everything it meant; all the words and meanings and injustices. "I didn't know that you weren't my friend." It ended in a whisper.

She sounded like she was five years old and the next-door neighbour's son had told her she couldn't play with him because she was a stupid little girl.

Except, Oliver was starting to look like the burning man.

Invisible flames licking at his ankles, an unimaginable something in his eyes. The fire behind his mask of blankness, though it wasn't really emptiness: it was the kind of blank inspired by deep levels of emotion, searing away expressions that couldn't hope to do it justice.

But what did she know?

"All this time, I thought you were being… you." Then she smiled - a watery, pathetic thing - because saying this felt good, letting him know. Saying it made her realise the price. And it wasn't good at all.

When he watched it appear, the muscles in his neck twisted, tightening. Hand clamped to the table. Breath held. A statue of a man.

"I thought you were afraid. I thought you were sad." He'd lost a lot. "And I've been waiting for you… for you to come back to me." Might as well get out all the suck while he was listening, and he was. So intently, his brow looked etched in, like a permanent mark. A scar. His eyes - sharp - pierced her: royal blue exploding into millions of stars. "Like an idiot."

That was making everything worse; the mortification of being so very wrong.

The fire crawled up his legs.

"I was so sure you'd need someone. That you might need me the way I needed you, even though you never…" Even though he never came to her. Even though he wasn't really there. "I thought, one day, you'd want to talk to me again. Like you used to." I miss you so much. It rippled down through his face, like he'd heard, and then his fingers were curling. His throat working. "To try, like you once did, when you told me I was your partner." When it all made sense. When they'd been in sync.

And why wasn't he saying anything?

Just letting her speak, looking like that.

He felt bad for her, didn't he? He regretted it all, had to. That was it. That was why he was letting her go on. He was a gentleman. Turns out I don't know you at all.

Except, she really did, and he was just… cruel.

"I didn't see what you'd decided to do." She sniffed up, blinking away the moisture. Looking him dead in the eye. "Or that you'd think I've wasted years of my life."

As if life had been forced down his gullet once more, this noise - something that sound liked shards of glass being swallowed - cracked through his quiet. "No-"

"-But that's ok. I get to go have lunch with your sex buddy."

He flinched, looking like he couldn't move for breath but otherwise, the starkness to his expression didn't change. "Felicity-"

"Why do you care?" She asked, watching him just stare at her. "I'm just the woman who keeps you alive at night." And it made her remember her deepest insecurities that first year after she'd joined the team, about the fragility of their alliance and the hope that it would keep going. "Nobody, really. I mean, anybody could do that right? Check your resumes," she gestured to the papers, "I'm sure my replacement's in there somewhere." And with that, she turned on her heel, leaving the office.

Seeing red.

Walking through grey.

Actions