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It’s after Lance leaves and the police have questioned her until she really can’t remember what she has and hasn’t said that she finally sneaks away to an empty office. Oliver and John are busy talking to security and she needs a moment to assess the damage caused by crashing through not one but two plate glass windows.
There, standing by herself amidst the starkness of the executive floor decor, she finally lets herself feel. Tiny aches and pains make themselves known as she moves - the adrenaline wearing off completely.
She spies a private bathroom off to the corner, and sneaks inside, trying not to wince as a shooting pain flares in her hip and travels down her leg.
Pieces of glass glint from her hair and she blanches as she tries to comb her hand through it and extricate as many shards as she can without cutting herself. She spots blood on her arm and halts her movements, glancing at her pale flesh and noticing the pricks and slices for the first time.
It’s as if the enormity of the situation hits her at once. A full-body shudder runs through her and she grasps the edge of the bathroom sink for balance, grimacing at the sudden angle in which her hip is thrust.
She can already feel the bruises forming. Her left hip radiates a deep pain and she knows she probably has a contusion from landing on it so hard when Oliver pushed her out of the way of flying bullets, and then again, after they’d crashed through the second plate glass window.
Brushing as much of the debris off that she can without cutting herself further, she straightens and turns on the warm water. After rinsing her hands thoroughly, she removes her glasses and splashes her face lightly.
Her hands rest on the porcelain counter top and she pulls in ragged breaths as everything rushes back to her. She’s momentarily blindsided by the acute fear she’d felt during the whole experience. Her grounding factor had been Oliver - she’d trusted him with her life and he’d saved it, yet again. Despite her fear, there’d been no hesitation within her as he’d pulled her toward the floor to ceiling glass window that lined the conference room. She hadn’t known what or how he was going to do it, but she’d trusted him to keep her safe.
She brings her fingers up to brush along her forehead, her fingers digging into the muscles trying to stave off the oncoming headache from the jarring jolts her body had just received.
Pulling in a few more deep breaths, she places her glasses back on, and straightens. The pain in her hip spikes with her first step and she grimaces.
She knows she can’t let Oliver or Diggle see her in any pain. At this point, she’s not sure she can stand the thought of any more guilt in Oliver’s blue eyes. He already held so much. Coming back to the city had only ratched those feelings. She won’t let herself be added to that list.
With controlled breathing, she manages to grit her teeth and not limp as she walks.
She’s only been gone five minutes, but the moment Oliver sees her coming down the hallway, he’s crossing to her in long, steady strides. For the briefest moment, she swears she sees a grimace of pain in his own eyes, but it’s gone before she can be sure.
“You okay?” he asks, for what seems like the tenth time since he’d helped her up off the glass-ridden floor.
She bites her lip and nods, breaking her gaze away from him, knowing that if she lets him look too long, he’ll see the truth.
“Yeah, had to use the bathroom,” she mumbles and it’s not a complete lie so she goes with it.
By the time they have the discussion in his office regarding the Hood and whether he will or won’t put it back on again, Felicity is sure she can’t quite feel her left leg anymore. The angle her cute new pumps thrust her hip is agonizing and she needs to get them off as soon as possible.
Her mind is whirling with everything Oliver said in his office - about Tommy and the Hood, and not wanting to be a killer anymore. She can’t let herself think about all the hard work she’s put into the lair - how she’s basically made it so he doesn’t have to be that person - he can be the hero she’s always seen in him. If she dwells on it at all, her headache flares to life and not only do her muscles ache, but her heart does as well.
The police are finishing their investigation and they decide to call it a day. Digg goes to get the car while Oliver checks in with the police and Felicity gathers her things.
After pressing the button for the elevator, Felicity feels his hand ghost across her back.
When she turns, his tired, sad eyes find hers and he gives her a soft smile. “You still had some glass…”
“Oh,” she breathes and nods. “I tried to get most of it out of my hair but i have a feeling tonight’s shower is going to be interesting.”
The guilt darkens in his eyes and before she can think about what she’s doing, she reaches for his hand and gives it a soft squeeze. “This isn’t your fault, Oliver Queen, so don’t even go there. You saved my life...and I never did say thank you…so...thank you.”
His eyes flutter shut briefly before opening with a look of disbelief. “You’re thanking me after just being near me almost got you killed.”
As the elevator dings open, she shrugs her shoulders and nods. “Yes.”
She feels him watch her as he follows and she momentarily forgets not to pivot with her right leg. When she does, her leg flares in anger and she bites down on her bottom lip to hold back the groan.
He’s in her space before she realizes the doors have shut and it’s just the two of them in the elevator as it descends towards the lobby.
“Felicity…” Oliver’s voice is gentle yet stern, demanding he tell her what's wrong. The concern etched into his brow when she glances back at him sends her heart fluttering.
“It’s nothing, Oliver,” she tries to play it off, but he tilts his head and he’s calling her bluff with one look.
Sighing, she unconsciously moves her hand to the aching muscles, gingerly brushing over the spot where she thinks she can feel a bump that has formed.
“It’s just my hip,” she finally confesses softly. “When we fell to get out of the way of the gunmen...I landed hard on it. I don’t think crashing through two more windows did it any good either.”
She was going for a light teasing tone with her last statement but his eyes are dark and filled with worry.
“I’m fine, really...nothing some ice and a long shower won’t help,” she tells him softly, her hands itching to reach up and brush the worry lines from his brow.
The elevator opens into the lobby and, turning with her right leg, she quickly exits, not wanting to draw lingering stares at being caught in a private moment. And that’s what it had felt like - a shared private moment between them that usually only happened at the Foundry. But she is happy that he’s opening up and letting her see the real him outside of there - especially if he’s truly not willing to go back.
He’s close behind her as they exit the building, his hand inches from her lower back at all times and she swears she can still feel the heat from it through her clothes, despite the fact that he’s not really touching her.
When Diggle opens the car door for them, she smiles at him earnestly and begins to bend over to slip inside. She realizes her mistake instantly and a sharp hiss leaves her lips before she can stop it.
Oliver’s hand is on her back immediately, his other grasping her arm and helping to gently lower her into the plush leather seats.
Diggle glances at her worriedly and he and Oliver share a look before he slides in next to her.
As soon as Diggle slips in the driver’s side, he starts the engine and pulls out. A sudden sear of pain cuts through her leg, traveling starkly through her and she gasps.
Her hand flies to the underside of her leg, scooting forward a bit on the seat as she slips her hand against her throbbing thigh. Oliver is in her space in an instant and his concerned eyes travel over every inch of her until they find her hand.
When she feels something warm and slick on her fingers, fear grasps her. Pulling her hand away from her skirt, she stares at her now red-stained fingers.
“Oliver?” she breathes weakly, her eyes flying to his, and she hears him curse violently.
“Digg!” he roars, his hands gently easing up the fabric of her skirt, and under any other circumstances she’d be feeling a myriad of other emotions, but right now all she can feel is pain and fear as they claw at her chest making it hard to breath.
Her vision tunnels to her blood-stained fingers until Oliver’s hands find the injury and press against it. She yells out, arching away from him at the shooting pain.
One of his hands lands on her forehead, forcing her to find his eyes and there’s an apology written in them. Then cool air hits her thigh as he grabs the hem of her skirt and rips, tearing the material so he has better access to the wounded area.
“Hey,” she manages, a flare of annoyance and something else rising within her. “That was brand new…”
Her words trail off as she looks down and sees the two-inch shard of glass sticking out the lef side of her left thigh. It’s embedded far enough that it went unnoticed after the shooting. A small trickle of dried blood stands out on her pale skin from where it had bled initially. With a shake of her head, she wonders how she hadn’t noticed this before now. The shoots of pain make her tighten her hand on Oliver’s and she screws her eyes shut as her stomach churns.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Oliver retorts through gritted teeth as he begins to assess her injury.
Felicity tries to chuckle - tries to focus on his voice instead of the flaring pain in her leg - but it comes out as more of a breathy choking noise, “How many times have you had to replace ripped women’s clothing…”
It’s a jumbled mess of words, but his eyes cut to hers in a glare when hers flutter open and something in her chest flips as she realizes what she’s just said.
“What’s going on?” Digg shouts from the front of the car, breaking the intense moment and Oliver tears his eyes from hers.
“It’s glass,” he states, throatily. “A good-sized piece. We need to get her to a hospital…”
She tenses underneath his touch and with effort drags her eyes to the rear-view mirror. Diggle has pulled the car over and he catches her pleading gaze.
“The club, Digg,” she tells him, and the man nods before Oliver can protest.
His questions fall on deaf ears as Diggle speeds down the street, taking the quickest way he knows to get there.
Oliver keeps his hand on her thigh, but doesn’t put any pressure on the wound. She can feel her body going into shock, the coldness in her extremities, and the racing of her heart. She needs him to talk to her, to give her something to focus on.
Her hand finds his arm and squeezes, trying to tell him she’ll be alright.
His blue eyes fraught with worry lock with hers and she tries to give him a smile. That look is back in his eyes - the one she’d seen when he’d pushed her hair out of the way just after they’d crashed through the window. The last time he was here in this city, he’d seen a friend’s blood on his hands, and Tommy had died. She sees him tunneling back to that place - the hard and hollow look filtering through his eyes.
He must notice the look in her gaze, because he starts talking then. About everything and nothing.
She tries to follow his words, but all she can really make out is, “You’re going to be okay, Felicity. You’re going to be okay.”
One returns to her face, pushing strands of her blonde hair out of her eyes. The other stays near her wound, trying to stop some of the bleeding. The glass has shifted from it’s original place, and the wound is now bleeding profusely.
“Guess we get to show you the place earlier than we thought…” she whispers between deep ragged breaths against the agonizing pain.
A frown crinkles his forehead but she doesn’t get to explain any further because the car comes to a stop and everything is suddenly moving. The door to the car flies open and Digg is standing there with a frantic look in his eyes.
Felicity tries to tell them she can walk, but Oliver gives her a glare, and scoops her up in his arms. She winces as her leg moves and turns her head into Oliver’s shoulder hoping she can block out some of the pain.
Diggle takes the lead, walking to the back entrance and pushing in the new code. The door clicks open and he holds it as Oliver enters first. It’s pitch black inside, and she feels Oliver tense.
“Stairs are the same,” she says softly and Oliver begins his descent, trying to jostle her as little as possible.
“Why are we here?” he finally growls, and the sound makes her shudder.
“Because I trust you guys and this is where I want to be,” she tells him earnestly. “Take about five more steps forward.”
He pauses only momentarily, inhaling sharply, and then does as she directs. She reaches out to her left blindly and smiles when her hand finds the power switch.
The pain in her leg flares as she moves, but there’s a fluttering of her heart for a completely different reason. She knows he’s not ready to see this yet.
But she doesn’t have a choice.
“This isn’t how I wanted to show you this,” she mumbles, “But here we go. I made a few...changes down here.”
Her hand pushes up and she hears the electricity kick on, the humming of the computers as the lights come to life. It thrills her to see the space she’d worked so hard on, lit up and fully on display.
Oliver stills, and she looks up into his face. Shock and uncertainty linger in his blue eyes and she wonders if she’s made a big mistake. There’s a hardness in his jaw but as his gaze sweeps over the space, it softens and then he looks down at her.
She’s gripped her hand in the lapel of his jacket without realizing it and she waits with baited breath for him to say something.
“You...You did all this…” he breathes in wonder, confusion marring his beautiful features.
Forgetting why she’s being carried in the first place, she nods and tries to slip from his arms which is the worst thing she could do because a jarring flash of pain radiates up her entire side as the piece of glass shifts. She cries out, black dots obstructing her vision, and Oliver tightens his hold on her as she tries to muffle her noises in his jacket.
Diggle’s voice booms around them then and she feels Oliver take a careful, easy steps forward until the cold metal of the medical table looms beneath her.
She shivers as her skin hits the smooth surface and Oliver immediately changes tactics and sets her down lengthwise on the table but keeps his arms around her back to prop her up.
Felicity leans against his strong shoulder as she looks at her torn skirt and the bloody glass sticking from her skin. In some ways, she doesn’t seem like it’s her leg she’s looking at, until the pain pulses back through her and she clamps down on her bottom lip.
Oliver finds one of her hands and holds on to it as Diggle begins to inspect the wound. He looks up at her, silently telling her that this is going to hurt, before he gently probes the area.
“It’s deep,” Digg says after a few minutes and she turns her head from where she’s planted it against Oliver’s neck. “But it doesn’t seem like it’s hit anything vital. Now, we just have to take it out…”
Felicity nods her head. “Please...it...it hurts,” she says gasping for breath as tears ran unchecked down her cheeks from even the gentlest pressure.
Oliver grunts and Diggle’s gaze flicks up. She wants to turn her head to see the expression on his face but knows that means moving and she can’t do that without more pain. Too much more and she’s afraid she’s going to pass out.
Diggle moves and then reappears seconds later with a needle and tweezers, gauze and a few other materials.
“It’s a local,” he tells her before he injects it into the area just above wound.
She barely feels the prick of the needle above the roaring in her head from the other pain, but she feels it a moment later as it slips into her already inflamed skin. She cries out hoarsely, and Oliver holds her tightly as she presses her head back into his shoulder, her eyes screwing shut to try and block it all out.
Then slowly, it begins to subside. They give the anesthetic some time to work before Diggle steps back up to her, picking up the large tweezers.
Felicity realizes for the first time that Oliver’s right arm is looped around her middle, hand splayed against her stomach, holding her to him. Her hands clutch at his strong forearm, holding it tightly as Diggle begins to work.
It only takes a few tries before the shard of glass is slowly extracted from her leg, and she turns her face back into Oliver’s neck, bile rising in her throat. His free hand finds her cheek and he strokes his fingers over her skin and back into her hair.
She feels pressure on her leg, but the anesthetic is working and there is no flare of pain, just a dull ache.
As Diggle cleans it with antiseptic and picks up the sutures, she once against closes her eyes. She can barely stand to watch Oliver or Digg patch up their own wounds, she can’t see it happening to herself. Oliver catches her off-guard and places a soft kiss on her hair when she turns this time. She takes a deep breath and then focuses on the steady beat of his heart. His fingers begin to run up and down her back in a soothing pattern and she feels the heaviness in her eyelids and lets herself drift.
“It’s over, Felicity,” Diggle states suddenly, and it pulls her from her half-asleep state.
Her eyes fly to the now covered patch of skin and she breathes a sigh of relief.
“The local should wear of in a half an hour. Then you’re going to need pills. It’s still going to hurt,” he explains but she can see the relief in his eyes and feels it herself as well.
When Oliver’s free hand reaches from behind her to the torn edges of her skirt, she freezes. His fingers push it up farther and his hands ghost across her skin.
“Oliver...what?” she manages, just barely able to feel his touch, but the sight alone takes her breath away.
“I’m checking to see if there’s anything else we missed,” he tells her, his voice emotionless and hard, but she can hear the hint of worry.
She releases his forearm with one hand and covers his roaming one. Her hands are shaky, but he steadies her and she twists as much as she can to see his face.
“I’m okay,” she tells him, knowing he needs to hear this. That frantic look is back in his eyes and she can tell he doesn’t believe her.
“If it will make you feel better, as soon as I can walk again, I’ll go to the bathroom and check myself, but you can’t...do that…” she murmured, heat rising to her cheeks at the unbidden images that flash through her mind.
He finally nods, and the look in his eyes darkens the tiniest bit.
She shifts to try and get more comfortable, realizing she will not be moving until the anesthetic wears off. While, Oliver is firm and warm at her back, her hip protests the position, and she draws in a ragged breath.
“Let’s get you to the couch,” he murmurs, and she shivers slightly at the way his breath ghosts across her face.
She can only nod, not trusting her voice at the warring emotions raging inside her. But the comfort of the couch sounds more than perfect right now.
Felicity wonders if she can put pressure on her leg yet, but before she can ask, Oliver steps to her side and puts one arm under her legs being sure to be careful of her bandage. He lifts her easily and she lets the protest die in her throat, suddenly too tired to care. She doesn’t even bother looping an arm around his shoulders - she knows he won’t drop her.
The light grows dimmer as they walk towards the couch tucked into the corner of the foundry.
When he stops and bends down to place her on the couch, she resists the urge to hold on to him, not wanting to lose his warmth and solidity just yet. But she fights back the urge, and instead, wraps her arms tightly around her stomach.
Sinking into the plush cushions, she grimaces as they pressed into her hip.
“Digg,” she calls out, and she feels Oliver tense above her, prepared for anything.
At Digg’s quick reply, she asks for some ice, and when she sees Oliver’s face, his lips are set in a firm line, obviously remembering what she’d said earlier about her side. She gives him a reassuring smile before beginning to situate herself into the couch.
Oliver shifts in front of her and then she feels something being wrapped around her shoulders. His scent floods her senses and she can’t help the sigh that escapes her lips as she realizes he’s placed his suit coat around her.
She murmurs a thanks as her eyes begin to slip shut, a combination of the drugs and adrenaline crash.
When the couch dips beside her, she blinks her eyes open and sees that Oliver is seated next to her, an arm slung over the back of the couch by her head. He’s looking at her with that ever-present worry, and she moves her head toward him, trying to let him know she’s okay.
She’s not sure what she expects in response, but she’s sure it wasn’t his hand coming down around her shoulder and pulling her into his side.
Her body freezes for a moment before she is sure he’s not going to pull away and then lets herself rest against him. The way her head fits perfectly on his shoulder just below his chin is something she’ll dwell on later.
When something cold is placed on her side, she jumps and Oliver’s whispering an apology into her hair as he replaces the ice on her aching hip. Pretty soon, it begins to numb the pain and she pulls the coat tighter around her shoulders.
“I’m fine,” she tells him softly when she can still hear the elevated state of his heart, and the way his muscles are coiled beneath his shirt; poised for action.
“You were shot at, and jumped through two pane glass windows fifty stories in the air…” he replies with a rueful tone.
“But I’m fine,” she repeats, and she knows she’ll keep repeating it until he believes it.
She notices the pressure of his hand at the edge of her torn skirt again, and she realizes the anesthetic is wearing off when she can actually feel the play of his fingers across her skin.
“You do owe me a new skirt, though,” she says, trying for a teasing tone, hoping to be rewarded with at least a smile.
When a small chuckle rumbles through his chest, the corners of her mouth lift. “I do. And, for your information, I didn’t make it a habit of replacing clothes I’d torn…”
She scoffs, but it’s light and half-hearted. “Of course.”
“But that was then…” he replies softly and she can hear the regret in the timbre of his voice. “And this is different.”
“Does that mean you won’t buy me new clothes when you rip them for other reasons?” she asks before she can stop herself.
The hand on her leg freezes and she instantly replays her words before biting down on her lip. But she doesn’t take the words back.
Oliver lets out a long breath and she knows if she looks up at him, he’ll be smiling. He lets it go and it becomes just one more thing on the list of unfiltered moments between them.
“This place is different too,” he states a few minutes later, and she opens her eyes and takes in the sight before her, knowing he’s seeing the same thing.
Her nerves grow as she waits for his assessment; needing to know what he thinks of all the work she’s put into this place when he was gone. When she’d found the unexplained money in her bank account, she’d been angry. But she’d found a perfect use for it.
“How’d I do?” she finally asks, trying to keep the apprehension out of her voice.
He studies everything for a few more minutes, and then squeezes her shoulder and leans in to her ear. “It’s perfect.”
Her head falls forward in relief and she can’t help the smile that blossoms on her face. Her returning pain is momentarily forgotten.
“There’s so much to show you,” she whispers, and she’s still nervous because he hasn’t even agreed to do this again yet. But unlike earlier, he’s not yelling at them that he won’t.
“First, you need to rest,” he tells her, urging her back against him and she lets herself relax.
“Fine,” she pouts, but it’s half-hearted at best because her eyelids are already closing. “But don’t touch the computers until I wake up.”
She hears him laugh softly and then she’s asleep as something shifts back into place that’s been missing for five long months.