I'm really loving all these little drabble projects you guys have started, so in my spare time I thought I might try my hand at it again. A while back on CA I started a Word of the Day project, and I rather enjoyed that. Figure it can't hurt to take up the challenge once more.

$4$

Circadian (adj.): noting or pertaining to rhythmic biological cycles recurring at approximately 24-hour intervals.

It went without saying that playing bodyguard to Oliver Queen was not the easiest job.

One could assume that it was for the obvious reasons—the constant risk of danger, the migraine-inducing party scene, the idiot playboy antics—but none of that really bothered him. Or, it wouldn't bother him, theoretically, because he only put up with the facsimile of that behavior for about a week and a half before Oliver's terrible lying and disappearing acts got in the way. When John had agreed to work as the personal bodyguard for Moira Queen's son, he had accepted all the general annoyances that came with working for the rich and famous, and while in the back of his mind he wondered if he should have just gotten into contract work like everyone else.

Instead, he wound up dealing with exactly everything he thought he would avoid by working as a bodyguard—daily violence, gunshot wounds, erratic and often high strung hours, and the nagging feeling that one or both of them was going to wind up dead before this was all over. If John didn't have ulcers before he met Oliver Queen, he sure as all hell had them now.

Realistically, he and Oliver would be dead by now if they hadn't picked up Felicity along the way. In the beginning, John was sure that bringing a civilian like Felicity into their operation would only end badly, most likely in blood and a trip to the police station. Felicity had no background in their world, no understanding of the complex and ugly nature of the true world around them. She might have been in possession of some truly impressive computer skills—some of which could be worthy of a white collar jail sentence—but her typical night involved pajamas and a Netflix marathon, not forays with crossbow-wielding crackpots and learning how to best stitch up knife wounds.

But rather than run screaming for the hills, Felicity stuck around, meeting them step for step without ever thinking to pause. She obviously has some trepidations and concerns, but they were never enough to stop her from helping them. Even when he left, she stuck by Oliver's side, having since determined that what they did really was for the best of the city. The girl was fiercely loyal, emphasis on the fierceness. She wasn't as deadly as Oliver or himself, but there was a spark in her that no amount of threat or violence could ever tame.

So the three of them developed a strange rhythm, honed over weeks and months spent confined in close quarters. None of them really slept much, something he knew hit Felicity harder than the rest. She was used to the regulated eight hours of sleep, not four. He saw the bluish-purple bags under her glasses, and while she pretended they didn't exist with some concealer and a vibrant smile, he knew the cause.

Oliver, meanwhile, got maybe two, but that was of his own volition. The man had demons that made his own look simple by comparison, and sleep rarely improved upon that kind of pain. Oliver chose sleepless nights over night terrors, and, as a man who had experienced that kind of fear personally, John couldn't fault him for it.

Oliver chose to spend that time in the foundry, rather than the alternative, which would no doubt involve pacing around his mansion if left unchecked. Personally, John was getting real freaking tired of all the damn pipe climbing, but Oliver got some kind of weird kick out of it so he figured that was gripe he could afford to keep to himself.

He noticed that some nights Felicity would do something similar, zoning out in front of the computers when it appeared that all her work was done for the night. He knew how hard it was for her to deal with the deaths sometimes, and he imagined that had a lot to do with it. She didn't want to worry them, so she internalized a lot of her fears and concerns, putting up her familiar mask of babbling and embarrassment to hide her true feelings. John wondered if Oliver saw that as well, or he just chalked it up as another one of Felicity's oddball quirks.

There was some kind of weird current between Oliver and Felicity, subtle but there. At first, John thought he had been imagining it, but the longer they worked together the more he realized he had been right all along. Of course, just because he recognized it didn't mean he understood anything about it. There was a current of Something That Could Be, but there was so much happening on the surface that John wasn't sure there was enough time to dig that deep. There were too many factors to handle at the moment, and most of them didn't guarantee a positive outcome.

Felicity's little crush on Oliver was noticeable enough, and John suspected that was why Oliver hadn't yet thought to consider the deeper implications. Felicity had let on that Oliver hadn't taken his absence too well, but John shuddered to think how bad he would get if she ever left his side. The words 'apocalyptic' and 'meltdown' came to mind. John couldn't put his finger exactly on what was going on, but it was happening, and it was happening faster than either one of them could recognize.

If that Something That Could Be did pan out, it was going to be the long game, and John was happy to sit and wait in silence. This was the kind of the long game that he didn't mind watching.

So when he walked into the foundry and spotted Felicity passed out of the couch, snoring softly with her head buried in Oliver's arm while he dozed, John knew instinctively that this would not be acknowledged when they woke up. This would not become a thing, or end in deep conversation, or any of those romantic comedy-inspired hijinks. This was a Something That Could Be, but this wasn't the right time for it to be.

John was accepted that, he really did. He only snapped a picture on his phone as a Told You So when it all worked out later.