[fic] Simple Complexity
Title: Simple Complexity
Author: badboy_fangirl
Fandom: Arrow
Characters/Pairings: Felicity POV; Oliver/Felicity
Word Count: ~1700
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (for language) / Everything thru 3x16 "The Offer."
Summary:
Author's notes: I've had some real issues with S3 in general, but Felicity started talking to me yesterday, so I started writing. It's nothing special, it's just an exercise. I've been writing a multi-chapter beast for months now, I needed to break out and just finish something.
Since the first time she saw him in the flesh, there has been some variation of this thought in her head:
She just wants to kiss his face off.
Of course she knew who he was before that, and it was a miracle when he came home alive after five missing years. And yes, she works for his family's company, but she doesn't expect to ever interact with him. Even if he, as was gossiped about all over Queen Consolidated as the intention of Moira Queen, took the reins as CEO.
Oliver, when she first meets him, is silly and secretive and handsome and sexy and she is thrown by his presence in her little cubicle because he's simply enormous. She realizes later, it's not just his height and the width of his shoulders that makes him fill up all the space around her. There is some essence within him that reaches out to her that very first time and slowly begins to draw her in.
Perhaps she is without choice in the whole matter; he is the sun and her orbit is gravitational and expected. She will circle him obediently and distantly, just the way all solar systems work.
Before she can even really explain it, she's trusting him with information that scares her, and then she's constantly in the basement of his night club, not doing the thing that one would think one would be doing in the basement of a night club.
But it's always there, that desire. When he's sad, when he's happy, when he's pig-headed, when he's apologetic. When he's working out. When he's standing next to her. When he's breathing.
She wants to smooth her fingers across his forehead and kiss his worries away.
(It's not like she thinks her kisses are made of magic or anything, she just has a feeling that if she were allowed to kiss him, she would never stop, and thus, she would kiss his face right off. And one can't worry in that state.)
But Felicity is pragmatic. She watches the women who dance in and out of Oliver's life (and bed) and she realizes her position in his life isn't that one. It's actually a sign that she matters more. Not that he doesn't care for them, per se, but it's not what she is exactly looking for either.
(She would hate to kiss his face off, as a one-time thing; or as a few-months-long deal. She would rather be his girl in other ways, in ways that no one else can fill.)
Or at least that's what she tells herself, especially to get through the Isabel fiasco, and then to cope with Sara, whom she loves tremendously. Jealousy is not a pretty emotion; Felicity has no desire to feel it, ever, particularly in regard to Sara and Oliver.
So she finds her way through it; she has just gotten to that place where it doesn't wound her every time she sees them together when suddenly they're not together anymore. And Oliver somehow seems bigger than ever, filling her world, pulling her towards him.
But not too close.
And then Slade, and fake I love yous that feel more real than anything she's ever experienced, not that she's experienced a lot, but come on. For all of Oliver's talents, being a first class liar isn't one of them. She has always known when he was lying, even when she didn't know him that well.
The fact that it doesn't feel like he's lying is both terrifying and exhilarating. Because if Oliver Queen loves her, loves her, Felicity Smoak, there is something crazy unfolding right in front of her and she doesn't say a word about it because she knows that the rapid pace of her thoughts would spill uncontrollably from her lips if she allowed it.
The summer before, after Tommy Merlyn died, Oliver left. He was gone, and she missed him and wondered how she could hurt so badly for someone else. This summer, he is by her side, every day. He smiles goofily. He protests half-heartedly when she insists on buying him a bed, now that he's sleeping at the lair.
The energy between them escalates until he finally asks her out. She is nervous in this ludicrous way, because she already knows everything about him (okay, not everything, but she knows she doesn't know everything and that he will tell her when he's ready) and yet the idea of actually being on a date, and acknowledging that what lies between them is in fact what it is...
(You know, she thinks, given the way he's looking at her these days, he might kiss her face off.)
And then that goes all to hell. Everything goes to hell in a way that makes her long for the summer of Lian Yu and landmines and John saying, "We'll be able to convince him to come home. You have to come with me, Felicity. It will take both of us."
It's that moment, though, the one where she knows Ra's Al Ghul hasn't killed him, and that he has lost his fucking mind, only not in the total batshit crazy way, but just in the general head-up-my-own-ass Oliver Queen way that she says the thing that will hurt him the most.
I don't want to be a woman you love.
She hears his intake of breath. She feels the way her words drive through him like a knife, gutting him and leaving him to figuratively bleed out in the alley way behind Verdant.
And as she walks away, she doesn't even care. For the first time since she met him, she no longer wants to kiss his face off. Smack it off? Sure. Punch it until it's a swollen, bloody mess? Sounds great.
She doesn't sleep with Ray so much because of Oliver as in spite of Oliver. No one would believe her, but luckily she's never felt a need to justify herself, either. When she looks at Ray and that feeling surges through her, and there is someone--finally someone--who she might kiss until her lips are numb without anything else going on...it's just simple. And in that moment, she needs the simplicity of it. It doesn't worry her that Ray might love her, or might never love her. It doesn't phase her that sex with him is satisfying.
She tells herself, this is exactly what this is supposed to be like. And she hasn't slept with anyone since she met Oliver Queen because maybe she thought it was supposed to be something else. But it's not, and it's okay, and she's fine with it.
And she even gets over being so mad at Oliver, which really, is a feat in and of itself.
She loves Oliver. Like, unconditionally loves him. Like, can't imagine her life without an Oliver-shaped person in it. And it could have been completely different, but this is what it is now. So she accepts that, and tells him to do the same, not because of some complex idea to drive him crazy, but because they are a good team. He told her she was his partner once, and he is hers, in every sense of that word. They complete a dynamic where they are able to accomplish things, with Roy and Digg and now Laurel as appendages to that.
(John would argue he was first, but she knows how this works, pilot and navigator. Oliver is the pilot, she is the navigator.)
(Oliver is the sun, and she is Venus.)
(Oliver is her friend, and he chose that, and she is fine with it.)
The relief she feels when Oliver gets it again, when he is straight about his destiny as the Arrow, is purely professional. As far as it can be professional when your night job is saving a city from its own darkness and your partner is a guy who you would have once kissed his face off, if given the chance.
The ache of death is postponed, at least for now. There will come a time when Oliver Queen won't be in her life, and it could happen in any number of ways. But for now, he is. So she tells him that's what she wants, that's all she needs.
And she continues on.
"Felicity," he says one day, when they're alone in the lair. She turns towards him, her hands busy on the keyboard of her computer, but slowing as her eyes meet his. He is sharpening some arrowheads, and has been quiet all evening as Roy and Digg and Laurel are elsewhere.
The city has been in a strange state of stasis, but they know that never lasts long.
"Hmmmm?" she responds.
"You said this was my choice, us not being together." He pauses, his eyes shifting downward, examining his own hands before coming back to her face. "If I wanted to make a different choice...is that something even on the table, or would I just be screwing up what we've got here?"
Somewhere in Starling City, Ray is doing something; working on his invention, trying to figure out just what Oliver does as the Arrow and if that's something that shouldn't be going on.
There are people eating dinner, lovers out on dates, newlyweds playing with their baby. Felicity was hacking the computer systems of a man they suspected was running drugs into the city.
It is just another day; it is nothing special.
But Oliver's face. The hope in his eyes. The worry in his brows. The little sigh that lifts his chest slightly as he watches her.
(She never let herself dwell too long on that one kiss they shared, because Felicity Smoak doesn't do torture, and that's all that would have been.)
A few moments later, her phone rings, but she doesn't hear it.
She's too busy sitting in his lap, kissing his face off.
Author: badboy_fangirl
Fandom: Arrow
Characters/Pairings: Felicity POV; Oliver/Felicity
Word Count: ~1700
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (for language) / Everything thru 3x16 "The Offer."
Summary:
Author's notes: I've had some real issues with S3 in general, but Felicity started talking to me yesterday, so I started writing. It's nothing special, it's just an exercise. I've been writing a multi-chapter beast for months now, I needed to break out and just finish something.
Since the first time she saw him in the flesh, there has been some variation of this thought in her head:
She just wants to kiss his face off.
Of course she knew who he was before that, and it was a miracle when he came home alive after five missing years. And yes, she works for his family's company, but she doesn't expect to ever interact with him. Even if he, as was gossiped about all over Queen Consolidated as the intention of Moira Queen, took the reins as CEO.
Oliver, when she first meets him, is silly and secretive and handsome and sexy and she is thrown by his presence in her little cubicle because he's simply enormous. She realizes later, it's not just his height and the width of his shoulders that makes him fill up all the space around her. There is some essence within him that reaches out to her that very first time and slowly begins to draw her in.
Perhaps she is without choice in the whole matter; he is the sun and her orbit is gravitational and expected. She will circle him obediently and distantly, just the way all solar systems work.
Before she can even really explain it, she's trusting him with information that scares her, and then she's constantly in the basement of his night club, not doing the thing that one would think one would be doing in the basement of a night club.
But it's always there, that desire. When he's sad, when he's happy, when he's pig-headed, when he's apologetic. When he's working out. When he's standing next to her. When he's breathing.
She wants to smooth her fingers across his forehead and kiss his worries away.
(It's not like she thinks her kisses are made of magic or anything, she just has a feeling that if she were allowed to kiss him, she would never stop, and thus, she would kiss his face right off. And one can't worry in that state.)
But Felicity is pragmatic. She watches the women who dance in and out of Oliver's life (and bed) and she realizes her position in his life isn't that one. It's actually a sign that she matters more. Not that he doesn't care for them, per se, but it's not what she is exactly looking for either.
(She would hate to kiss his face off, as a one-time thing; or as a few-months-long deal. She would rather be his girl in other ways, in ways that no one else can fill.)
Or at least that's what she tells herself, especially to get through the Isabel fiasco, and then to cope with Sara, whom she loves tremendously. Jealousy is not a pretty emotion; Felicity has no desire to feel it, ever, particularly in regard to Sara and Oliver.
So she finds her way through it; she has just gotten to that place where it doesn't wound her every time she sees them together when suddenly they're not together anymore. And Oliver somehow seems bigger than ever, filling her world, pulling her towards him.
But not too close.
And then Slade, and fake I love yous that feel more real than anything she's ever experienced, not that she's experienced a lot, but come on. For all of Oliver's talents, being a first class liar isn't one of them. She has always known when he was lying, even when she didn't know him that well.
The fact that it doesn't feel like he's lying is both terrifying and exhilarating. Because if Oliver Queen loves her, loves her, Felicity Smoak, there is something crazy unfolding right in front of her and she doesn't say a word about it because she knows that the rapid pace of her thoughts would spill uncontrollably from her lips if she allowed it.
The summer before, after Tommy Merlyn died, Oliver left. He was gone, and she missed him and wondered how she could hurt so badly for someone else. This summer, he is by her side, every day. He smiles goofily. He protests half-heartedly when she insists on buying him a bed, now that he's sleeping at the lair.
The energy between them escalates until he finally asks her out. She is nervous in this ludicrous way, because she already knows everything about him (okay, not everything, but she knows she doesn't know everything and that he will tell her when he's ready) and yet the idea of actually being on a date, and acknowledging that what lies between them is in fact what it is...
(You know, she thinks, given the way he's looking at her these days, he might kiss her face off.)
And then that goes all to hell. Everything goes to hell in a way that makes her long for the summer of Lian Yu and landmines and John saying, "We'll be able to convince him to come home. You have to come with me, Felicity. It will take both of us."
It's that moment, though, the one where she knows Ra's Al Ghul hasn't killed him, and that he has lost his fucking mind, only not in the total batshit crazy way, but just in the general head-up-my-own-ass Oliver Queen way that she says the thing that will hurt him the most.
I don't want to be a woman you love.
She hears his intake of breath. She feels the way her words drive through him like a knife, gutting him and leaving him to figuratively bleed out in the alley way behind Verdant.
And as she walks away, she doesn't even care. For the first time since she met him, she no longer wants to kiss his face off. Smack it off? Sure. Punch it until it's a swollen, bloody mess? Sounds great.
She doesn't sleep with Ray so much because of Oliver as in spite of Oliver. No one would believe her, but luckily she's never felt a need to justify herself, either. When she looks at Ray and that feeling surges through her, and there is someone--finally someone--who she might kiss until her lips are numb without anything else going on...it's just simple. And in that moment, she needs the simplicity of it. It doesn't worry her that Ray might love her, or might never love her. It doesn't phase her that sex with him is satisfying.
She tells herself, this is exactly what this is supposed to be like. And she hasn't slept with anyone since she met Oliver Queen because maybe she thought it was supposed to be something else. But it's not, and it's okay, and she's fine with it.
And she even gets over being so mad at Oliver, which really, is a feat in and of itself.
She loves Oliver. Like, unconditionally loves him. Like, can't imagine her life without an Oliver-shaped person in it. And it could have been completely different, but this is what it is now. So she accepts that, and tells him to do the same, not because of some complex idea to drive him crazy, but because they are a good team. He told her she was his partner once, and he is hers, in every sense of that word. They complete a dynamic where they are able to accomplish things, with Roy and Digg and now Laurel as appendages to that.
(John would argue he was first, but she knows how this works, pilot and navigator. Oliver is the pilot, she is the navigator.)
(Oliver is the sun, and she is Venus.)
(Oliver is her friend, and he chose that, and she is fine with it.)
The relief she feels when Oliver gets it again, when he is straight about his destiny as the Arrow, is purely professional. As far as it can be professional when your night job is saving a city from its own darkness and your partner is a guy who you would have once kissed his face off, if given the chance.
The ache of death is postponed, at least for now. There will come a time when Oliver Queen won't be in her life, and it could happen in any number of ways. But for now, he is. So she tells him that's what she wants, that's all she needs.
And she continues on.
"Felicity," he says one day, when they're alone in the lair. She turns towards him, her hands busy on the keyboard of her computer, but slowing as her eyes meet his. He is sharpening some arrowheads, and has been quiet all evening as Roy and Digg and Laurel are elsewhere.
The city has been in a strange state of stasis, but they know that never lasts long.
"Hmmmm?" she responds.
"You said this was my choice, us not being together." He pauses, his eyes shifting downward, examining his own hands before coming back to her face. "If I wanted to make a different choice...is that something even on the table, or would I just be screwing up what we've got here?"
Somewhere in Starling City, Ray is doing something; working on his invention, trying to figure out just what Oliver does as the Arrow and if that's something that shouldn't be going on.
There are people eating dinner, lovers out on dates, newlyweds playing with their baby. Felicity was hacking the computer systems of a man they suspected was running drugs into the city.
It is just another day; it is nothing special.
But Oliver's face. The hope in his eyes. The worry in his brows. The little sigh that lifts his chest slightly as he watches her.
(She never let herself dwell too long on that one kiss they shared, because Felicity Smoak doesn't do torture, and that's all that would have been.)
A few moments later, her phone rings, but she doesn't hear it.
She's too busy sitting in his lap, kissing his face off.