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Her soul felt heavy, grief and guilt an oppressive weight smothering her; yet she also felt fragile and brittle, as if she could splinter apart and drift off into the aether if she let herself accept the truth of what they had discovered.
Her father was evil.
There was no other way to describe him. The man she remembered, to a child little more than a vague outline of a tall presence, a smile, and a deep rich laugh, was gone. In his place, a harbinger of pain and suffering, with no remorse or humanity left. What he was planning…what he had already wrought upon her friends, on Oliver…
The things she had experienced over the past few years, the dangers she had encountered and the people she had confronted…they had made her confident, capable, resilient. But that resilience was waning.
Wood tempered by a flame was made strong, but hold it over a flame too long and it would just burn.
This latest threat was too close. It was her father. Not Tommy’s father, or Oliver’s friend, or a distant demon invading their city. This was her enemy. Her fight. It had been brought right to her door. And she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to battle it.
She needed a break. Just a short reprieve to draw the strands of herself back together. To at least present the illusion that she was in control and not on the brink of flying apart.
So she escaped. She escaped the lair and its pervading atmosphere of tense anticipation, and she escaped the weight of sympathetic stares and well-meaning but misplaced sentiments.
She came home.
To the place of sanctuary she was building with the man she loved.
There had barely been enough time to unpack their belongings before the proverbial shit hit the fan, let alone decorate. So they had yet to stamp their presence on the walls of their newly-purchased townhouse. But their shoes were side-by-side at the door. The coffee mug with her lipstick stain was in the sink next to his sports bottle. The delicious smells of last night’s dinner (which he cooked) still lingered on the air.
And the souvenirs from their road trip were on display over the mantlepiece of the fire.
The keyring from the diner where they first stopped after leaving Starling. As Oliver had paid for their burgers, she had lingered at the small display by the door, running her fingers over the selection of cheap tourist souvenirs proudly proclaiming Waterville as the home of the 'Big Bend Roundup'.
“Pick one”, Oliver had whispered in her ear after sneaking up behind her, grinning at her as she jumped in surprise. She had given him a sceptical look but settled on a bright yellow keyring which he promptly paid for.
“The first of many”, he’d said, as they’d walked back to the car hand in hand.
Then there was the cute little Robin Hood-themed teddy bear Oliver had won for her at the Carnival in Portland, by expertly hitting all eight bulls-eyes with a plastic bow and arrow set.
And the photos. So many photos. On the beach in San Diego, by the Waterfall in Colorado, on the boat while whale-watching, even a candid shot of them on her Mom’s sofa.
It had surprised her how willing her big, tough, brooding boyfriend was to pose with her. In fact, it was usually Oliver who would stop passers by and fellow tourists, hand them the camera and ask for a photo. Whether he did it with this in mind (an eventual home, displaying the journey of their relationship) or whether it was just an excuse to wrap his arm around her and see her smile (not that he needed an excuse), she never asked him.
She picked up one of her favourites photos. Oliver was gripping the handle of a hiking stick (which she, of course, teased him mercilessly for buying), his other hand grasping her waist, just as tightly. They had been hiking for a couple of hours by that point. The sun had been out but it was a pleasant heat, not stifling and overwhelming, and there was a cooling breeze. Which meant she wasn’t the sweaty, red-faced, frizzy-haired wreck she had promised Oliver when he had suggested the excursion. Which also meant that when he suggested the photo, she readily agreed. Her smile was big and cheesy (she was so ridiculously happy to be there with him, to be anywhere with him) but it was his smile she concentrated on.
He had shed the mantle of the Arrow almost immediately after they drove off in the Porsche. And she was left with a man who smiled readily. Who joked with her and teased her. And he shared with her. His thoughts and feelings and dreams and fears. He told her more about his five years away in the first two weeks of their trip than she had ever heard before. When he woke from his nightmares, he didn't hide or turn away, he reached for her; sometimes just to assure himself of her presence; sometimes in desperation, hungering for her touch as if it could burn away his demons.
And she never doubted his feelings for her because he told her all the time what she meant to him. In words (whispered declarations as he moved inside her, half-mumbled I love you's as he drifted off to sleep) and actions (rubbing her feet after a long day of sight-seeing, travelling ten miles out his way to pick up her very favourite flavour of ice cream, buying her earrings and scarves and even, one time, a hat, just because "they reminded me of you").
It still astounded her, that a man who had lived through such a crucible could emerge, not just sane, but with such an amazing capacity to love. And to be the recipient of that love…a love with no conditions or caveats, with no expectations…she was the luckiest IT girl in the world.
Already she could sense the light of that love and the memories of their trip together splitting through the storm cloud currently shading her. The edges of the photo frame she held were digging into her palms but the sharp bite was an anchor, drawing in the loose edges of her psyche, like filaments to a magnet. She felt more grounded now. She was coming into focus. And so was her determination. Oliver had faced so much over the past decade but he was here with her, making a life with her. And despite the threats they currently faced, he wasn't wavering in his belief that they could overcome them. As a couple. As a team.
The click of the door opening startled her, but the soft “Felicity?” that followed, calmed her suddenly racing heart.
Oliver.
Of course he had come after her. To his credit, he’d waited a full twenty minutes.
And, it turned out, that was all the time she had needed, to regroup and gather herself. To find her strength. She could do this. THEY could do this.
With a final glance at the happy, carefree couple in the photo, she raised her eyes to meet Oliver’s worried, tentative gaze.
And she smiled at him.