fic: Pieces of Us
Fandom: Arrow
Language: English
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~6.700
Spoilers: 1x23
Relationships: Diggle/Oliver/Felicity
Warnings: hurt/comfort
Disclaimers: I don't own Arrow.
Summary: After the earthquake, Oliver decides to hang up the hood. Though Felicity thought returning to her ordinary life would be easy, somehow she misses chasing after criminals. Written for the shipswap as a gift to jenab
Download link on AO3
Pieces of Us
the end
It feels like something’s ending when in reality Starling City shakes itself free from the rubble and starts to grow anew. It has been a month since the earthquake and the chaotic struggle for understanding how could this happened, how could the very own saint of the city betray them in such a terrible way slowly subsided.
The seemingly never ending line of funerals has brought a heavy darkness that sits in the fissures and crannies of the remains of the broken people. The sun comes up each day, the world showing that it will always move on, and though it washes away the bleakness and the cold, in some places and in some people the deaths did more damage. Oliver Queen is one of them, though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone. He’s more closed up than he was, even to the public he doesn’t play the role of partying playboy.
Felicity knows Oliver never really healed his unseen scars from the island, and she imagines it will only get worse. She tried to talk to him at Tommy’s funeral, but he only accepted her condolences and with a brief shake of his said everything was over. And in that moment, Felicity knew that their team of vigilantes was officially over and Oliver wasn’t going to put on his Hood and pick up his bow to right anything wrong with the city.
She kept - keeps - telling herself that it’s understandable, he lost his best, childhood friend and with him the ability to let himself love Laurel, the epitome of his former, innocent life, the promise of being normal and whole again.
And as Felicity watched Oliver beside the freshly buried grave all stark lines, in black and white, she thought, he seemed like a ghost amidst all the harsh colors of still alive flowers. He looked like he could disappear at any moment, if she blinked, and it was frightening to see Oliver as frail like that. There was none of his usual confidence and unstoppable force, which was sometimes so intense for Felicity, she felt it surreal, like something that only can exist in stories.
But this isn’t a fairy tale, and the hero didn’t get the happy ending, only more scars to bear. And Felicity can’t stop thinking about Oliver and how maybe this will be the last blow he could take, and when he falls into a million pieces, who will be the one to pick up the jagged slivers.
And if Felicity is honest with herself, it feels like dying to simply go to work, doing some incredibly dull job for the company, go to home, rinse and repeat. The same monotonous things she thought she wanted seem bleak, like a mockery of a life, and she misses Diggle and Oliver with a deep ache. She yearns for doing something that will change the world, which is important, even if no one knows about it. Her fingers are itching to hack into some law enforcement database and it’s a torture to not go sniffing around after Lawton. If she finds something, she reasons, she can go to Diggle. And it’s obviously because she wants to catch some high-profile assassin, and not because she longs to be with her friends.
Because they’re friends, right? She can’t stop analyzing their relationships: how Oliver was the one who put them together because of some goddamned calculation, how Oliver could see right through them and notice that spark hidden away in them, which will cause them to go against what society thinks right and be what… heroes? And how does she fit into the picture? Oh, she knows she’s smart and skilled, they can use her as an IT girl, but it felt more than that.
Diggle and Oliver have some kind of a bond, an understanding, and they both saw their share of blood, death and violence and know the feeling when they’re utterly alone in a warzone. Diggle pulls Oliver back from the edge of the dark abyss, which threatens to pull him in. Felicity knows, she watched them many times, that Diggle is Oliver’s moral compass and his way back from the isolation he put himself into. The question is, really, do they need her?
She knows it’s pathetic, but she’s lonely (lonelier than she wants to admit with her whole family gone) and she thought that maybe she finds her place in the world, on the quiet days when there was nothing else to be done only training, she felt like she was at home, like she belonged.
And now as she’s sitting beside her computer, and tries to make sense of what she needs to do, she has this feeling that she wanted to much, dared to hope yet again, and that’s what she got for it in return, her dreams shattered, meticulously cutting her apart from the inside.
The day when Felicity decides to bury her superhero carrier and go back to being ordinary, is the day when Diggle waltzes in with a suspiciously stolen-looking laptop and asks her to get some information from it. Felicity nods and smiles, which reaches her eyes, and notes that she missed doing illegal things with her men. And there comes the usual string of babbling and excuses, but Diggle only smiles and she can see the look in his eyes, which tells a similar story of her own: They became dependent on each other, and this bond it’s like some essential parts of theirs, and without one another they can’t really function.
broken
The thrill of being a part of the Vigilante’s sidekick team is soon replaced by a slight disappointment as Felicity realizes it’s only Diggle who continues the work. But somehow it’s okay, they don’t say it out loud but they’re like the drowning men grasping for anything to help them remain above water. They’re each other’s safety net, and though Oliver’s driving force is missing, they make do somehow and patch up what’s left of them.
Their HQ is now at the Big Belly Burger which seems rather silly instead of the all professional and secretive lair in the basement with the high-tech gears and safely locked doors. Felicity feels a little exposed, sitting in a fast food diner, eating French fries and discussing cases with Diggle.
It’s like they’re only overzealous civilians, even if Diggle had managed to save some stuff from Oliver’s equipments in case he needed them in his pursue after Lawton. Felicity doesn’t note that this Plan B suspiciously sounds like he was prepared for Oliver leaving him - them - behind and it screams the fact that he got used to being alone, a soldier marching on and into the fire no matter what.
The illusion that they’re doing this because it’s something good and important is so thin that even Felicity has her doubts. She admits to herself that being around Diggle has a calming and warming effect on her, and it’s so easy being with him. Partly, because he’s the only one besides Oliver who knows a slice of her life (and an important one at that) which she needs to talk about, and partly because, well, he’s Diggle: polite, smart, strong, and most importantly kind.
If Felicity lets herself think poetically - which she totally doesn’t, she isn’t thinking all nights and days about ways to describe him - he’s like the sunlight: warm, caring, someone who can make her smile and he’s a steady point, every day he’s there, and it’s nice because people have the habit of walking out of her life.
So soon they’re falling into an easy rhythm, Felicity looks after information about Lawton’s whereabouts, which is easy, she has her searching programs set up and they occasionally solving some local crime. And even if they have nothing to do, it’s the excuse for both of them to meet up there, having a dinner together and talk about everything and nothing.
And mostly, they remind each other the time they both spent with Oliver, the time which somehow changed them, and they just can’t go back to being with their old selves. They make sure they didn’t dream and make up this mess of a guy with his whirlwind of crazy and yet tempting ideas about right and wrong which draw them like a moth to a flame.
“I tried to talk with him.” It’s the one sentence that always comes up, but Felicity doesn’t mind Diggle’s persistence over this matter. In fact, she’s happy that there’s a slight chance they all get back together, even if nothing is going to be the same.
“He’s so goddamn stubborn, he thinks it’s his fault,” Diggle says now. They carefully don’t mention anything by name - death, destruction, families falling apart -, but their weight is still heavy on their hearts.
“I wonder who else is like that,” Felicity notes with a smile and she sees Diggle’s mouth quirk up a little.
She likes the way how a little half smile can light up Diggle’s face, even if she doesn’t let herself dwell on the fact why she finds this fascinating, but it warms her up inside and that’s a good feeling, one she doesn’t admit she didn’t have before the guys come barging into her life.
And with sudden clarity it hits her then, they are both alone, even if Diggle could have Carly. But Felicity sees how Diggle looks at his sister-in-law: as if she’s a photo of someone long gone, and in a way she is exactly like that. She’s only a dream, he can’t reach because it’s not solid, it’s only mismatched pieces of false hope. Diggle haven’t talked about it much, but Felicity knows he can’t have a normal relationship because that’s built on trust and honesty, and while Oliver is too eager to be blind of this fact, Diggle accepts it with quiet defeat and resignation.
But the sorrow and grief are etched into Diggle’s face, making his lines harder and jagged, and in his eyes, if anyone bothered to look closely (which Felicity does), they could see the cold glint of vengeance. And maybe that’s the main reason why Diggle is separating himself from everyone else, because that cold feeling is taking over him and he can’t really smile or do anything carefree and easy as long as he hasn’t moved on. The sucking void that is left behind after the dead is a dangerous thing, which Felicity knows too well, though she doesn’t share it with him yet. She just does what she can, keeping him company, and hopes that she can save him from going on a reckless crusade alone after his brother’s killer.
~oOo~
For Oliver everything is a blur, like he’s in a storm and no matter how hard he tries to see, there’s nothing out there than the overwhelming blackness and the cold. He feels himself drowning all over again, and his recurring nightmares about the shipwreck are more vivid, they bleed into his daily life and nothing, not even the sunlight can chase that away.
He knows deep down he shouldn’t do this, but he feels himself slip away into that island yet again, alone isolated, steeled for the worst. But it has to be this way, he reasons, because at least the others are safe and no one will die for him ever again.
He pushes away Laurel with the harshest words he can find, he forced himself into a weapon so he knows how to cut people the best. And though his guilt sits heavy on his shoulders, he lets Laurel deal with her grief alone. Yes, he’s selfish, he thinks, because he doesn’t want to lose more people, and he knows he’s like a poison, destroying everyone around him, so it’s only logical to keep them away.
He shuts off Thea too, though his heart breaks into more pieces, but at least she has that Roy kid no matter how much of a Vigilante fan he is, he’s a safe and steady point for her. And Oliver makes sure no one ever hears or sees the Hood again.
As he constantly fends off Diggle’s inquires, he wonders how come he never saw what he had. All this time since he got back from the island, he suffered with the lies and being alone and how he couldn’t trust anyone and couldn’t connect to people. And yet he had his team, and now it takes every inch of willpower not to call them back. And he shouldn’t drag them into this mess what’s his life again, because he couldn’t even save Tommy.
He muses about how blind people can be: wanting something they don’t need at all cost and because they’re so careless with what they have they lose what is the most important. And he thinks about how much he can take before everything is scooped out of him and nothing will be left behind just a hollow shelf of himself.
The hardest times are always the ones when he has to face them and lie, he can rationalize when he’s alone all he wants but when he meets their eyes he can hardly muster the words. They’re not criminals, they’re not cunning evil masterminds, and they haven’t ever betrayed him.
So when Felicity surprises him and finds him on the ruins of Verdant, pretending to watch over the rebuilding of his club, he can’t really think of anything to say. He can only stare and drink in every drop of her, and he only notes now (or at least he admits it now) how fitting is for Felicity to wear these bright colors, because she is vibrant, constantly moving, talking, a ball of energy. (Which he misses with surprising ferocity. Which he needs.)
“You know,” Felicity says without any preamble, “if you want to talk about your day, I’m still here.”
He smiles bitterly, thinking about how she echoes him, and in a way, no he’s the one who would desperately need some help. But he can’t reach out.
“Felicity…” He trails off, and his voice sounds broken even to him. He briefly wonders if he’s ever going to heal his scars, or he’s damned to be damaged forever, as in a punishment for his family’s sins. “I can’t.”
“Well… you know where to find me.” Felicity’s voice is so somber, so in contrast with her constant babbling, that he can’t do anything, just stare at her receding form and wish with all of his heart if he could be whole again or at least know where to start picking up his broken pieces.
~oOo~
Felicity tries to think about how she ended up here, while she slows down her breathing, which is easier said than done when she can hear it echo all around her. She can’t think of anything else than the throbbing pain in the back of her skull, and the confining space she’s in, even though she doesn’t see anything other than darkness. She can’t decide if it’s better or worse, because at least she can pretend for a while that she’s lying in some dark room, however she hears the deafening silence, she tastes the stale, murky air and the dirt on her tongue.
She whimpers and casts away her thoughts of being captured and in her mind she relives her last memories, which aren’t that comforting either: She was kidnapped and then threatened to break into the FBI database. She tried to stall it but she broke easily, which she’s ashamed of. She’s not some fearless, trained soldier, though she has a kind of composure, she can do undercover work. But knowing Oliver and Diggle are close and ready to help and facing a death alone are two different things.
And as soon as the word ‘death’ crosses her mind, she acknowledges that she’s in a damn coffin, buried alive only God knows where. It’s because somehow - though if Felicity has to guess it had something to do with a certain leather-clad crazy woman - the bad guys knew she worked with the Vigilante. So in retaliation it wasn’t enough for them to simply kill her, they would make an example out of her.
She wonders if a quick death would be more welcomed than a slow, suffocating one. But this thought is quickly swept away by guilt. She still has hope that Diggle will find her, and hope is something her parents didn’t have.
But as soon as she let herself think about them, the damage is done and a half-hysterical sob rips through her throat and all she can see is the white flowers, the shiny, polished, black caskets and the freshly dug graves in the ground.
She chokes on the smell of wet dirt, and frantically hits the wooden walls around her, she feels each punch reverberating through her bones and the pain seems like Death itself calling her. She feels herself slipping away and she doesn’t know if it’s because the panic or the lack of oxygen.
This is it, she thinks, her nightmare is coming true, and she feels her heart beating so strong, it’s like a frightened bird trying to get out of a cage, or a trapped woman under the earth. She sees her recurring nightmare in vivid colors: her parents calling her from underneath, with open, rotten arms to join them.
She’s so wrapped up in her own personal hell, she doesn’t realize that the too loud pounding is not her heart, and when hands reach for her, she automatically thrashes, scratches and screams. She wants to be alive, and she won’t go down without a fight.
She only ceases to struggle, when she registers the familiar strong and warm fingers around her wrists and the broad chest she’s being held against. When she looks up, she’s in some cemetery, sprawled on Oliver’s lap in an awkward tangle.
But she doesn’t move, she can’t, all of her energy has been siphoned away, so she just relaxes and leans against Oliver. The fact that he’s in his Hood is an extra salve to her wounds.
“I thought you’re done with all of this,” Felicity notes weakly, listening to Oliver’s heartbeat. It’s a magical thing, it’s life and sure, and that’s what she needs the most.
“I thought the same about you, but apparently we’re both wrong,” he replies with a soft chuckle. And this is one of the rarest moments when Oliver is really like an ordinary man, when he lets himself feel. But the fragile, delicate idyllic scene withers, like a flower, and the cold wind blows it away, as Oliver flashes a glance at her that could frighten any criminal into running.
But she only stares at him; she’s like a solid rock against a violent current. She definitely knows - feels - she’s on top of him, but the seriousness in his eyes cut any inappropriate thought in half.
“I left you to be safe, and this is what happens,” Oliver says sternly, and Felicity can see that even though his hood is down, he put on his mask to scare of people, to seem something indestructible.
“Don’t be a martyr, Oliver.” Her voice is a match to his and even he seems surprised for a second, though he covers that up quickly. “I - we - knew the risks when we joined to be your sidekicks and I thought we talked about this, not even once. So… end of discussion.”
And with that she tries to get up, which only results in an ungraceful stumble. Oliver is obviously there to catch her and though Felicity loves the way he feels, she only scoffs at her bad luck. She wants to prove she’s tough and she can’t even stand up. (She blames the stupid clods of earth.)
“Though one thing is technically your fault,” she says jokingly, but when Oliver winces almost imperceptibly, she rushes on. “Your crazy ex was the one who told the bad guys about me. You maybe want to pick your next girlfriend better, someone quiet and nice, without the jealousy issues. You know, someone who’s willing to share you -”
Her brain only catches up when Oliver laughs.
“That would be a plus, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t mean it like that…” And she starts to make up excuses for her nervous babbling, leaving out the obvious one of course. Oliver’s presence makes her head spin and he lets her forget about her tiny broken part.
need
Felicity has this need she can’t exactly describe, but it’s like something is stuck under her skin, and it’s making her restless, her mind always racing and she’s relentlessly fidgeting and pacing. It eases only then, when she decides to tell Diggle all about her family and how she lost them.
She relaxes when Diggle doesn’t look at her with pity, but with understanding and reaches over the table to squeeze her hand. And that rather ordinary looking scene is something Felicity will remember a long time, because it’s the epitome of what she hoped for: pure acceptance. She etches everything in her mind carefully to have something to hold on to on her lonely nights when the ice in her heart threatens to freeze her over. The lingering warmth of his fingers, the feel of his skin, and the open gentleness in his eyes will be her companions on many nights.
Even if they go back to being the Hood’s helpers, Diggle and Felicity don’t change their routine of eating together every night. Felicity notes three things about this. One: even if occasionally Oliver joins them, he makes up excuses (even worse ones than his first lies to her), but he clearly has no problem with being around them at their lair or anywhere else. Two: Carly seems to think she knows something about them, because Felicity sometimes catches her smiling a pleased smile. Three: Diggle and Felicity touches more often when they talk, outside of training. It’s like they’re gravitating toward each other, like magnets, it’s instinctive and she doesn’t even think about it when she reaches for him to place a hand on his arms. They have a bond, which washes away slowly all the gritty darkness that the sorrow left behind.
And she’s glad she has finally someone to talk about the little things she doesn’t want to forget: her father’s obsession with marshmallows and her mother’s insistence that French is the most beautiful language. In return Diggle tell all about Andy’s pranks. Together they forget about the pain, and remember to be alive.
~oOo~
If Diggle is the sunshine in Felicity’s life then Oliver is the moonlight. Yes, she’s aware how stupid that sounds, but it’s the truest way she can describe what he is. Diggle and Oliver are two sides of the same coin; they together make something whole. Diggle is the gentle one, and as the moon steals its light from the sun that’s how Diggle’s kindness seeps into Oliver, softening his rough edges.
But even after all these time, Oliver can’t shake off the effect of the island, and Felicity knows it’s not something he’ll ever do. It tore him apart, shredded everything he believed in and when he got back, his own mother betrayed him all over again. And these things won’t get better, there will be always some roughness to him and wildness. He wasn’t soft before the island, even Felicity knows that. So it’s no wonder that there’s danger lurking in his every move, and when he’s close she feels like she’s near a live wire. It’s like Oliver is made up of whispered promises, intoxicating thrill and sharp things, everything you shouldn’t touch and want and yet you fall into its trap.
And when she finds herself on an undercover mission, being Oliver’s dance partner on some fancy party, she has to bite the inside of cheek to keep from babbling. She’s not exactly nervous about the work they have to do, because if she’s in front of a computer, she’s in her safe zone. But being around Oliver is a whole different thing.
It used to be a ridiculous crush, because every woman - and man - with eyes could appreciate what Oliver Queen is. And even when he started his absurd shirtless training around her, it was nothing else than enjoying the view. Yet as she started to get to know him, something changed, and it hits her hard now how much she want this scene between them real.
She doesn’t want to be just in name only date, she yearns for something real, not just an act. It’s a need so strong she has to flex her hand to not pull Oliver to her and kiss him. She feels his warmth, his hard muscles, smells his aftershave, and while he’s looking for everywhere, searching for a threat and assessing their surroundings, Felicity only can see him. Her every sense is overwhelmed, she can’t think straight and Oliver has to lean closer to get her attention, which only makes the situation worse.
“Don’t worry, we had harder jobs than this,” he whispers and it isn’t calming, it has the exact opposite effect, sending a shiver down her spine.
Her heart starts to beat faster, and it has nothing to do with anxiety and everything with his breath tickling her skin and his fingertips caressing her hip through the thin fabric of her dress. She makes the mistake of looking up to his eyes, and she feels herself falling, she even wonders if Oliver is the one who is holding her up. She sees something dark in his gaze, something she can’t put her finger on it and it’s gone before she can figure it out.
It’s so full of cliché, she knows, but it feels like they’re all alone in the dance room, in the whole wide world, and all she can think of how perfectly their bodies seemed to fit together, and she really shouldn’t follow this line of thoughts… She curses inwardly, wishing for some clothes that doesn’t leave her shoulders bare, or one which isn’t so thin. Though as she is now, she thinks a brick wall between them would be the only solution.
“It’s the dress, it’d be better without it,” Felicity blurts out without really thinking. And when Oliver raises one eyebrow and half smiles, she processes what she said. “Not like that…” she starts and feels herself blushing.
It’s kind of became a pattern, and she knows she’s babbling more and unfortunately, a good portion of it is innuendo, but surely Oliver doesn’t think much about it because he’s used to it. Sometimes Felicity wonders if Oliver knows that she isn’t only attracted to him, or if he’s using this somehow. Though as the thought crosses her mind, she sweeps it away: Oliver doesn’t manipulate or use people, he tries to do the right things.
And this firm sense of right and wrong is one of the things that made her attraction to Oliver more. But what it is exactly, she doesn’t know, because it can’t be love, she reasons, because she wouldn’t let herself fall for someone who would most likely hurt her. And it’s not because Oliver would do that on purpose: no, but he built a defensive wall so high, he even shuts out his family, and it was a miracle he even let Felicity and Diggle work with him.
Oliver is a little like her: lost and alone in his own hell, fighting with his demons. But he needs more time than her to start to open up wholly to someone, and this is what makes Felicity deem her confusing feelings as a quick flame and nothing more. It’s just a need to fix someone, and she thinks nothing of the fact that she would gladly march into the fire for him.
~oOo~
The shift happens on the anniversary of her parents’ death. She spent the whole day in the freezing November air, but the cold that seeps into her bones has nothing to do with that. Felicity walks mechanically to the diner to meet Diggle, but nothing really reaches her. She sees everything as bleak and blurry, like she’s walking in a memory or a dream, and nothing feels real. There’s a brief moment when she question if she’s real at all and she has to dig her nails into her palms to feel pain, to know she’s here and alive.
When she’s finally at their usual table that’s when things start to come into focus and in the center of everything is Diggle. He seems real and solid, and that’s what she needs the most. They talk as usual and the gentle touches bring back the color and life all around her, easing the weight on her chest, until she can easily breathe.
But she doesn’t expect what happens next: They are saying goodbye, and the lights of the street lamps paint everything soft and glowing. It’s a quiet and moment she associates with Diggle, something to comfort her. But then Diggle hesitantly pulls something out of his coat pocket and hands it to her.
“I know it doesn’t seem much… or maybe it’s a bad idea, but… I’d like you to have it,” Diggle says, his voice wavering a little.
Felicity recognizes the thin book, The Little Prince, and understands completely. She remembers snippets of it, because her mother used to read it to her. She thinks of thorny roses, who hide their fears and doubts behind false bravado, foxes, who let themselves be loved and in return took the risk to getting hurt. And more importantly she thinks of the tinkling stars and the possibility of someone you lost being there and happy.
The cavalcade of emotions is too much to bear, she makes a sound that is half laugh and half sob, and then reaches for the book.
“Thank you,” she says and means it, because it’s a reminder of things she shouldn’t forget.
As her fingers brush against his, she knows it’s a tipping point to acknowledge what their relationship has become. And she doesn’t pull away; neither of them breaks the connection, and the minutes stretch out longer and longer.
Finally Felicity moves, leans in closer, drawing out the moment enough for Diggle to change his mind, but it doesn’t happen. Instead she’s kissing him, Diggle, the silent, protective force who was always there in the background. All she can feel is his soft lips on hers, the solid muscles under his shirt and his heart beating against her chest. It’s everything what life is, and now she needs to cling to the living and pull herself back from the land of the ghosts that haunt her.
Surely and slowly warmth washes over her as they stand there kissing for what seems like eternity. She doesn’t feel cold anymore, though it will be a long time until they finally talk about this night.
dreams
Oliver isn’t surprised he’s dying; it was only a matter of time, really. The only shock is how the searing agony is like fire; he always thought death would come as something cold and suffocating like the sea. But at least, he isn’t dying in vain, he, like his father, sacrifices himself for someone he cares about and he couldn’t think of a more fitting end.
“Oliver, stay with me.” It’s Diggle, he would know anywhere that voice. “Come on, man, you’re not dying on me.”
It’s a nice sentiment, Oliver muses, but it’s as hollow and meaningless as all the greatest lies of life - ‘It’s going to be better’ or ‘Everything is all right.’ Because in the end, Oliver doesn’t know what he wants, he hasn’t decided if he’ll drown or let himself be saved. Death seems simple and peaceful now and he still feels guilty for being alive instead of his father. It would be so damn easy to choose to fade away into nothingness.
Maybe the Oliver before the island would choose the easy way out, but he’s changed. While most people are lucky to have their big life changing experience as some trivial mistakes, he’s gone through Purgatory - sometimes he thinks it’s literally -, and the loss, violence and inhuman extremities made him sharp, crude, and yet hollow and oddly fragile.
And this thought is what brings him to the surface: He found what he was looking for, someone who would fill that awful, gaping hole inside of him. But as life would have it, it wasn’t that easy as he hoped deep down. It wasn’t Laurel, precious, good, eager Laurel, who could fully understand and repair him; it was both Felicity and Diggle. With half leg in the grave, he really muses about how fucked up his life is, because he can’t choose one or the other, he needs both of them, but he’s Oliver Queen, he never really knew normal and ordinary.
Somehow amidst all the blood and throbbing pain, he manages to grab Diggle’s shirt.
“I wanted you to know…” he starts, but he can’t really put it into eloquent words, especially when he’s really sure he chose the right thing to do too late. So he does what he can do the best in this situation, he presses his lips against Diggle’s. It’s only a brief kiss, a brush of lips, really, and it’s taste of blood and salt, and Diggle even freezes for a moment, but Oliver doesn’t regret it.
“Oh, no, you don’t get the easy way out,” Diggle says, pulling away, and getting Oliver up. “I want the whole package, a full love confession with flowers and everything.”
Oliver can’t help it but laughs, even if it hurts like hell, and thinks he’ll order a whole florist shop just to see Diggle’s reaction. And yes, now he’s optimistic about the future, he sees something bright, and he feels he can find strength in a promise of a new beginning.
~oOo~
When Oliver wakes up, he’s in an all too familiar and uncomfortable hospital bed. He can only register the faint scent of disinfectants and the flower bouquet on his bedside table, when all of a sudden a pink and blonde whirlwind of color bursts into his view.
He doesn’t have time to react, Felicity almost lunges at him and kisses him with a ‘Thank God, you’re alive.’ It’s a sudden and short kiss, but it’s still feels like a summer storm, electric and sweet. When Felicity starts to stammer some excuse, he doesn’t really hear, he just smiles and pulls her against him, even if it means she’s awkwardly lying beside him on the bed.
“Don’t think I’ll let you go now,” he says, and hugs her closer, enjoying every little bit of her warmth. And though he doesn’t say it out loud, he means more than here and now.
His close brush with death made him rethink things. And he sees it’s a pattern for him: always bottling up and keeping his emotions under control and only when violence and danger come barging in his life, he lets himself care but usually it’s too late, too little, and that’s how he lost McKenna too.
So now, he decides that he will be selfish, and he tries to make the most of it whatever the three of them are. He knows it isn’t ordinary, but when you hunt down criminals with arrows, you really don’t get to determine what’s normal.
He fears that Felicity will run now, he thinks anyone sane should do that, but she only relaxes, and leans her head against his shoulders, trying to watch out for his wounds.
“You know it’s getting really hard to explain your accidents to your family,” she says half-jokingly, and Oliver tries not to think about the fact that the only one who will visit him in the hospital under the name of family is Thea. He dismisses the picture of everyone dying and betraying or leaving him and focuses on Felicity’s bright smile.
He wants to reply, to ask what their cover story is now, but then Diggle comes into the room, but stops short, when he sees them in bed together. Oliver is good at reading people, so he can catch a few of the quickly changing emotions in Diggle’s eyes: relief, shock, a kind of hurt, desperation, and then resignation.
“I can come back later, if you want,” Diggle notes and doesn’t even wait for the answer, he starts to turn away.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, though maybe this bed might be too small for all of us,” Oliver quips.
The reaction is a bright red blush from Felicity and some unintelligible mumbling and a raised eyebrow from Diggle. Oliver laughs surprisingly easily, like just being near the two of them lifts a weight off him, and in a way it does.
“Oh, come on,” Oliver continues, “I’m not blind, I see how you look at each other.”
Of course, he does, but up until now, he managed to put aside his feelings, and hoped that the two of them would be happy together. That was the best solution he could think of, but after seeing them tiptoe around each other, this absolutely ridiculous idea sparked in his mind, and it never quite died down.
“Oliver, you don’t mean it.” Diggle is the one who replies, and though they don’t name it, they both now what they are talking about.
“Why not? I’m Oliver Queen, notorious playboy, and it’s not like I don’t have experience in threesomes.” Which is true, but he knows that this won’t be hard or complex because of the sex, that’s the easy part. The real tough question is if he’s finally ready to let people in completely, but with both of them he’s hopeful, they saved him already more than once.
And though Felicity just blushes a deeper shade, Diggle takes it stoically, which almost makes Oliver laugh. Diggle, always the soldier, analyzing and over thinking everything, even this situation.
“I don’t know, maybe because it’s not something widely accepted, because it’s not something that will likely grant the happily ever after.”
“You’re saying this, as it’s already doomed,” Felicity chimes in, looking at him. “But I think it’s worth a shot,” she adds, shrugging one shoulder, like it is the easiest decision in her life.
“Is that simple?” Diggle asks a little incredulously.
“Well,” Felicity says, “for one thing, no one really knows about our other extracurricular activities and you’re not opposed to that. But you know, he has money,” motioning towards Oliver. “We can always move to someplace isolated… like in a luxury villa in some European rural country… or a deserted island.”
Both of the men looks at her questioningly, but with their usual glint in their eyes and half smiles on their lips when Felicity starts to babble.
“To my defense, it didn’t sound so insensitive in my head,” she amends.
And with that it’s pretty much settled, it’s so simple on the surface, but Oliver knows there will be ups and downs. But as he watches over them, he doesn’t mind, life is all about fighting anyway, and now he has more to live for.
Sometimes it feels like fate, that everything was already written, and they unknowingly followed a script, and if he thinks about it hard, he can see all the pieces which led to this moment. If they’re together they find strength in each other, and a chance to mend their broken remnants. He wonders about this kind of attachment, because it’s sure more than simple love, it has no exact name: it’s a need, it’s a lifeline, and they’re part of each other inseparably, like their very blood, they’re oxygen to each other, and they are whole only together. If one goes, all of them wither. But Oliver promises to himself to never let them go.
Language: English
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~6.700
Spoilers: 1x23
Relationships: Diggle/Oliver/Felicity
Warnings: hurt/comfort
Disclaimers: I don't own Arrow.
Summary: After the earthquake, Oliver decides to hang up the hood. Though Felicity thought returning to her ordinary life would be easy, somehow she misses chasing after criminals. Written for the shipswap as a gift to jenab
Download link on AO3
Pieces of Us
the end
It feels like something’s ending when in reality Starling City shakes itself free from the rubble and starts to grow anew. It has been a month since the earthquake and the chaotic struggle for understanding how could this happened, how could the very own saint of the city betray them in such a terrible way slowly subsided.
The seemingly never ending line of funerals has brought a heavy darkness that sits in the fissures and crannies of the remains of the broken people. The sun comes up each day, the world showing that it will always move on, and though it washes away the bleakness and the cold, in some places and in some people the deaths did more damage. Oliver Queen is one of them, though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone. He’s more closed up than he was, even to the public he doesn’t play the role of partying playboy.
Felicity knows Oliver never really healed his unseen scars from the island, and she imagines it will only get worse. She tried to talk to him at Tommy’s funeral, but he only accepted her condolences and with a brief shake of his said everything was over. And in that moment, Felicity knew that their team of vigilantes was officially over and Oliver wasn’t going to put on his Hood and pick up his bow to right anything wrong with the city.
She kept - keeps - telling herself that it’s understandable, he lost his best, childhood friend and with him the ability to let himself love Laurel, the epitome of his former, innocent life, the promise of being normal and whole again.
And as Felicity watched Oliver beside the freshly buried grave all stark lines, in black and white, she thought, he seemed like a ghost amidst all the harsh colors of still alive flowers. He looked like he could disappear at any moment, if she blinked, and it was frightening to see Oliver as frail like that. There was none of his usual confidence and unstoppable force, which was sometimes so intense for Felicity, she felt it surreal, like something that only can exist in stories.
But this isn’t a fairy tale, and the hero didn’t get the happy ending, only more scars to bear. And Felicity can’t stop thinking about Oliver and how maybe this will be the last blow he could take, and when he falls into a million pieces, who will be the one to pick up the jagged slivers.
And if Felicity is honest with herself, it feels like dying to simply go to work, doing some incredibly dull job for the company, go to home, rinse and repeat. The same monotonous things she thought she wanted seem bleak, like a mockery of a life, and she misses Diggle and Oliver with a deep ache. She yearns for doing something that will change the world, which is important, even if no one knows about it. Her fingers are itching to hack into some law enforcement database and it’s a torture to not go sniffing around after Lawton. If she finds something, she reasons, she can go to Diggle. And it’s obviously because she wants to catch some high-profile assassin, and not because she longs to be with her friends.
Because they’re friends, right? She can’t stop analyzing their relationships: how Oliver was the one who put them together because of some goddamned calculation, how Oliver could see right through them and notice that spark hidden away in them, which will cause them to go against what society thinks right and be what… heroes? And how does she fit into the picture? Oh, she knows she’s smart and skilled, they can use her as an IT girl, but it felt more than that.
Diggle and Oliver have some kind of a bond, an understanding, and they both saw their share of blood, death and violence and know the feeling when they’re utterly alone in a warzone. Diggle pulls Oliver back from the edge of the dark abyss, which threatens to pull him in. Felicity knows, she watched them many times, that Diggle is Oliver’s moral compass and his way back from the isolation he put himself into. The question is, really, do they need her?
She knows it’s pathetic, but she’s lonely (lonelier than she wants to admit with her whole family gone) and she thought that maybe she finds her place in the world, on the quiet days when there was nothing else to be done only training, she felt like she was at home, like she belonged.
And now as she’s sitting beside her computer, and tries to make sense of what she needs to do, she has this feeling that she wanted to much, dared to hope yet again, and that’s what she got for it in return, her dreams shattered, meticulously cutting her apart from the inside.
The day when Felicity decides to bury her superhero carrier and go back to being ordinary, is the day when Diggle waltzes in with a suspiciously stolen-looking laptop and asks her to get some information from it. Felicity nods and smiles, which reaches her eyes, and notes that she missed doing illegal things with her men. And there comes the usual string of babbling and excuses, but Diggle only smiles and she can see the look in his eyes, which tells a similar story of her own: They became dependent on each other, and this bond it’s like some essential parts of theirs, and without one another they can’t really function.
broken
The thrill of being a part of the Vigilante’s sidekick team is soon replaced by a slight disappointment as Felicity realizes it’s only Diggle who continues the work. But somehow it’s okay, they don’t say it out loud but they’re like the drowning men grasping for anything to help them remain above water. They’re each other’s safety net, and though Oliver’s driving force is missing, they make do somehow and patch up what’s left of them.
Their HQ is now at the Big Belly Burger which seems rather silly instead of the all professional and secretive lair in the basement with the high-tech gears and safely locked doors. Felicity feels a little exposed, sitting in a fast food diner, eating French fries and discussing cases with Diggle.
It’s like they’re only overzealous civilians, even if Diggle had managed to save some stuff from Oliver’s equipments in case he needed them in his pursue after Lawton. Felicity doesn’t note that this Plan B suspiciously sounds like he was prepared for Oliver leaving him - them - behind and it screams the fact that he got used to being alone, a soldier marching on and into the fire no matter what.
The illusion that they’re doing this because it’s something good and important is so thin that even Felicity has her doubts. She admits to herself that being around Diggle has a calming and warming effect on her, and it’s so easy being with him. Partly, because he’s the only one besides Oliver who knows a slice of her life (and an important one at that) which she needs to talk about, and partly because, well, he’s Diggle: polite, smart, strong, and most importantly kind.
If Felicity lets herself think poetically - which she totally doesn’t, she isn’t thinking all nights and days about ways to describe him - he’s like the sunlight: warm, caring, someone who can make her smile and he’s a steady point, every day he’s there, and it’s nice because people have the habit of walking out of her life.
So soon they’re falling into an easy rhythm, Felicity looks after information about Lawton’s whereabouts, which is easy, she has her searching programs set up and they occasionally solving some local crime. And even if they have nothing to do, it’s the excuse for both of them to meet up there, having a dinner together and talk about everything and nothing.
And mostly, they remind each other the time they both spent with Oliver, the time which somehow changed them, and they just can’t go back to being with their old selves. They make sure they didn’t dream and make up this mess of a guy with his whirlwind of crazy and yet tempting ideas about right and wrong which draw them like a moth to a flame.
“I tried to talk with him.” It’s the one sentence that always comes up, but Felicity doesn’t mind Diggle’s persistence over this matter. In fact, she’s happy that there’s a slight chance they all get back together, even if nothing is going to be the same.
“He’s so goddamn stubborn, he thinks it’s his fault,” Diggle says now. They carefully don’t mention anything by name - death, destruction, families falling apart -, but their weight is still heavy on their hearts.
“I wonder who else is like that,” Felicity notes with a smile and she sees Diggle’s mouth quirk up a little.
She likes the way how a little half smile can light up Diggle’s face, even if she doesn’t let herself dwell on the fact why she finds this fascinating, but it warms her up inside and that’s a good feeling, one she doesn’t admit she didn’t have before the guys come barging into her life.
And with sudden clarity it hits her then, they are both alone, even if Diggle could have Carly. But Felicity sees how Diggle looks at his sister-in-law: as if she’s a photo of someone long gone, and in a way she is exactly like that. She’s only a dream, he can’t reach because it’s not solid, it’s only mismatched pieces of false hope. Diggle haven’t talked about it much, but Felicity knows he can’t have a normal relationship because that’s built on trust and honesty, and while Oliver is too eager to be blind of this fact, Diggle accepts it with quiet defeat and resignation.
But the sorrow and grief are etched into Diggle’s face, making his lines harder and jagged, and in his eyes, if anyone bothered to look closely (which Felicity does), they could see the cold glint of vengeance. And maybe that’s the main reason why Diggle is separating himself from everyone else, because that cold feeling is taking over him and he can’t really smile or do anything carefree and easy as long as he hasn’t moved on. The sucking void that is left behind after the dead is a dangerous thing, which Felicity knows too well, though she doesn’t share it with him yet. She just does what she can, keeping him company, and hopes that she can save him from going on a reckless crusade alone after his brother’s killer.
~oOo~
For Oliver everything is a blur, like he’s in a storm and no matter how hard he tries to see, there’s nothing out there than the overwhelming blackness and the cold. He feels himself drowning all over again, and his recurring nightmares about the shipwreck are more vivid, they bleed into his daily life and nothing, not even the sunlight can chase that away.
He knows deep down he shouldn’t do this, but he feels himself slip away into that island yet again, alone isolated, steeled for the worst. But it has to be this way, he reasons, because at least the others are safe and no one will die for him ever again.
He pushes away Laurel with the harshest words he can find, he forced himself into a weapon so he knows how to cut people the best. And though his guilt sits heavy on his shoulders, he lets Laurel deal with her grief alone. Yes, he’s selfish, he thinks, because he doesn’t want to lose more people, and he knows he’s like a poison, destroying everyone around him, so it’s only logical to keep them away.
He shuts off Thea too, though his heart breaks into more pieces, but at least she has that Roy kid no matter how much of a Vigilante fan he is, he’s a safe and steady point for her. And Oliver makes sure no one ever hears or sees the Hood again.
As he constantly fends off Diggle’s inquires, he wonders how come he never saw what he had. All this time since he got back from the island, he suffered with the lies and being alone and how he couldn’t trust anyone and couldn’t connect to people. And yet he had his team, and now it takes every inch of willpower not to call them back. And he shouldn’t drag them into this mess what’s his life again, because he couldn’t even save Tommy.
He muses about how blind people can be: wanting something they don’t need at all cost and because they’re so careless with what they have they lose what is the most important. And he thinks about how much he can take before everything is scooped out of him and nothing will be left behind just a hollow shelf of himself.
The hardest times are always the ones when he has to face them and lie, he can rationalize when he’s alone all he wants but when he meets their eyes he can hardly muster the words. They’re not criminals, they’re not cunning evil masterminds, and they haven’t ever betrayed him.
So when Felicity surprises him and finds him on the ruins of Verdant, pretending to watch over the rebuilding of his club, he can’t really think of anything to say. He can only stare and drink in every drop of her, and he only notes now (or at least he admits it now) how fitting is for Felicity to wear these bright colors, because she is vibrant, constantly moving, talking, a ball of energy. (Which he misses with surprising ferocity. Which he needs.)
“You know,” Felicity says without any preamble, “if you want to talk about your day, I’m still here.”
He smiles bitterly, thinking about how she echoes him, and in a way, no he’s the one who would desperately need some help. But he can’t reach out.
“Felicity…” He trails off, and his voice sounds broken even to him. He briefly wonders if he’s ever going to heal his scars, or he’s damned to be damaged forever, as in a punishment for his family’s sins. “I can’t.”
“Well… you know where to find me.” Felicity’s voice is so somber, so in contrast with her constant babbling, that he can’t do anything, just stare at her receding form and wish with all of his heart if he could be whole again or at least know where to start picking up his broken pieces.
~oOo~
Felicity tries to think about how she ended up here, while she slows down her breathing, which is easier said than done when she can hear it echo all around her. She can’t think of anything else than the throbbing pain in the back of her skull, and the confining space she’s in, even though she doesn’t see anything other than darkness. She can’t decide if it’s better or worse, because at least she can pretend for a while that she’s lying in some dark room, however she hears the deafening silence, she tastes the stale, murky air and the dirt on her tongue.
She whimpers and casts away her thoughts of being captured and in her mind she relives her last memories, which aren’t that comforting either: She was kidnapped and then threatened to break into the FBI database. She tried to stall it but she broke easily, which she’s ashamed of. She’s not some fearless, trained soldier, though she has a kind of composure, she can do undercover work. But knowing Oliver and Diggle are close and ready to help and facing a death alone are two different things.
And as soon as the word ‘death’ crosses her mind, she acknowledges that she’s in a damn coffin, buried alive only God knows where. It’s because somehow - though if Felicity has to guess it had something to do with a certain leather-clad crazy woman - the bad guys knew she worked with the Vigilante. So in retaliation it wasn’t enough for them to simply kill her, they would make an example out of her.
She wonders if a quick death would be more welcomed than a slow, suffocating one. But this thought is quickly swept away by guilt. She still has hope that Diggle will find her, and hope is something her parents didn’t have.
But as soon as she let herself think about them, the damage is done and a half-hysterical sob rips through her throat and all she can see is the white flowers, the shiny, polished, black caskets and the freshly dug graves in the ground.
She chokes on the smell of wet dirt, and frantically hits the wooden walls around her, she feels each punch reverberating through her bones and the pain seems like Death itself calling her. She feels herself slipping away and she doesn’t know if it’s because the panic or the lack of oxygen.
This is it, she thinks, her nightmare is coming true, and she feels her heart beating so strong, it’s like a frightened bird trying to get out of a cage, or a trapped woman under the earth. She sees her recurring nightmare in vivid colors: her parents calling her from underneath, with open, rotten arms to join them.
She’s so wrapped up in her own personal hell, she doesn’t realize that the too loud pounding is not her heart, and when hands reach for her, she automatically thrashes, scratches and screams. She wants to be alive, and she won’t go down without a fight.
She only ceases to struggle, when she registers the familiar strong and warm fingers around her wrists and the broad chest she’s being held against. When she looks up, she’s in some cemetery, sprawled on Oliver’s lap in an awkward tangle.
But she doesn’t move, she can’t, all of her energy has been siphoned away, so she just relaxes and leans against Oliver. The fact that he’s in his Hood is an extra salve to her wounds.
“I thought you’re done with all of this,” Felicity notes weakly, listening to Oliver’s heartbeat. It’s a magical thing, it’s life and sure, and that’s what she needs the most.
“I thought the same about you, but apparently we’re both wrong,” he replies with a soft chuckle. And this is one of the rarest moments when Oliver is really like an ordinary man, when he lets himself feel. But the fragile, delicate idyllic scene withers, like a flower, and the cold wind blows it away, as Oliver flashes a glance at her that could frighten any criminal into running.
But she only stares at him; she’s like a solid rock against a violent current. She definitely knows - feels - she’s on top of him, but the seriousness in his eyes cut any inappropriate thought in half.
“I left you to be safe, and this is what happens,” Oliver says sternly, and Felicity can see that even though his hood is down, he put on his mask to scare of people, to seem something indestructible.
“Don’t be a martyr, Oliver.” Her voice is a match to his and even he seems surprised for a second, though he covers that up quickly. “I - we - knew the risks when we joined to be your sidekicks and I thought we talked about this, not even once. So… end of discussion.”
And with that she tries to get up, which only results in an ungraceful stumble. Oliver is obviously there to catch her and though Felicity loves the way he feels, she only scoffs at her bad luck. She wants to prove she’s tough and she can’t even stand up. (She blames the stupid clods of earth.)
“Though one thing is technically your fault,” she says jokingly, but when Oliver winces almost imperceptibly, she rushes on. “Your crazy ex was the one who told the bad guys about me. You maybe want to pick your next girlfriend better, someone quiet and nice, without the jealousy issues. You know, someone who’s willing to share you -”
Her brain only catches up when Oliver laughs.
“That would be a plus, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t mean it like that…” And she starts to make up excuses for her nervous babbling, leaving out the obvious one of course. Oliver’s presence makes her head spin and he lets her forget about her tiny broken part.
need
Felicity has this need she can’t exactly describe, but it’s like something is stuck under her skin, and it’s making her restless, her mind always racing and she’s relentlessly fidgeting and pacing. It eases only then, when she decides to tell Diggle all about her family and how she lost them.
She relaxes when Diggle doesn’t look at her with pity, but with understanding and reaches over the table to squeeze her hand. And that rather ordinary looking scene is something Felicity will remember a long time, because it’s the epitome of what she hoped for: pure acceptance. She etches everything in her mind carefully to have something to hold on to on her lonely nights when the ice in her heart threatens to freeze her over. The lingering warmth of his fingers, the feel of his skin, and the open gentleness in his eyes will be her companions on many nights.
Even if they go back to being the Hood’s helpers, Diggle and Felicity don’t change their routine of eating together every night. Felicity notes three things about this. One: even if occasionally Oliver joins them, he makes up excuses (even worse ones than his first lies to her), but he clearly has no problem with being around them at their lair or anywhere else. Two: Carly seems to think she knows something about them, because Felicity sometimes catches her smiling a pleased smile. Three: Diggle and Felicity touches more often when they talk, outside of training. It’s like they’re gravitating toward each other, like magnets, it’s instinctive and she doesn’t even think about it when she reaches for him to place a hand on his arms. They have a bond, which washes away slowly all the gritty darkness that the sorrow left behind.
And she’s glad she has finally someone to talk about the little things she doesn’t want to forget: her father’s obsession with marshmallows and her mother’s insistence that French is the most beautiful language. In return Diggle tell all about Andy’s pranks. Together they forget about the pain, and remember to be alive.
~oOo~
If Diggle is the sunshine in Felicity’s life then Oliver is the moonlight. Yes, she’s aware how stupid that sounds, but it’s the truest way she can describe what he is. Diggle and Oliver are two sides of the same coin; they together make something whole. Diggle is the gentle one, and as the moon steals its light from the sun that’s how Diggle’s kindness seeps into Oliver, softening his rough edges.
But even after all these time, Oliver can’t shake off the effect of the island, and Felicity knows it’s not something he’ll ever do. It tore him apart, shredded everything he believed in and when he got back, his own mother betrayed him all over again. And these things won’t get better, there will be always some roughness to him and wildness. He wasn’t soft before the island, even Felicity knows that. So it’s no wonder that there’s danger lurking in his every move, and when he’s close she feels like she’s near a live wire. It’s like Oliver is made up of whispered promises, intoxicating thrill and sharp things, everything you shouldn’t touch and want and yet you fall into its trap.
And when she finds herself on an undercover mission, being Oliver’s dance partner on some fancy party, she has to bite the inside of cheek to keep from babbling. She’s not exactly nervous about the work they have to do, because if she’s in front of a computer, she’s in her safe zone. But being around Oliver is a whole different thing.
It used to be a ridiculous crush, because every woman - and man - with eyes could appreciate what Oliver Queen is. And even when he started his absurd shirtless training around her, it was nothing else than enjoying the view. Yet as she started to get to know him, something changed, and it hits her hard now how much she want this scene between them real.
She doesn’t want to be just in name only date, she yearns for something real, not just an act. It’s a need so strong she has to flex her hand to not pull Oliver to her and kiss him. She feels his warmth, his hard muscles, smells his aftershave, and while he’s looking for everywhere, searching for a threat and assessing their surroundings, Felicity only can see him. Her every sense is overwhelmed, she can’t think straight and Oliver has to lean closer to get her attention, which only makes the situation worse.
“Don’t worry, we had harder jobs than this,” he whispers and it isn’t calming, it has the exact opposite effect, sending a shiver down her spine.
Her heart starts to beat faster, and it has nothing to do with anxiety and everything with his breath tickling her skin and his fingertips caressing her hip through the thin fabric of her dress. She makes the mistake of looking up to his eyes, and she feels herself falling, she even wonders if Oliver is the one who is holding her up. She sees something dark in his gaze, something she can’t put her finger on it and it’s gone before she can figure it out.
It’s so full of cliché, she knows, but it feels like they’re all alone in the dance room, in the whole wide world, and all she can think of how perfectly their bodies seemed to fit together, and she really shouldn’t follow this line of thoughts… She curses inwardly, wishing for some clothes that doesn’t leave her shoulders bare, or one which isn’t so thin. Though as she is now, she thinks a brick wall between them would be the only solution.
“It’s the dress, it’d be better without it,” Felicity blurts out without really thinking. And when Oliver raises one eyebrow and half smiles, she processes what she said. “Not like that…” she starts and feels herself blushing.
It’s kind of became a pattern, and she knows she’s babbling more and unfortunately, a good portion of it is innuendo, but surely Oliver doesn’t think much about it because he’s used to it. Sometimes Felicity wonders if Oliver knows that she isn’t only attracted to him, or if he’s using this somehow. Though as the thought crosses her mind, she sweeps it away: Oliver doesn’t manipulate or use people, he tries to do the right things.
And this firm sense of right and wrong is one of the things that made her attraction to Oliver more. But what it is exactly, she doesn’t know, because it can’t be love, she reasons, because she wouldn’t let herself fall for someone who would most likely hurt her. And it’s not because Oliver would do that on purpose: no, but he built a defensive wall so high, he even shuts out his family, and it was a miracle he even let Felicity and Diggle work with him.
Oliver is a little like her: lost and alone in his own hell, fighting with his demons. But he needs more time than her to start to open up wholly to someone, and this is what makes Felicity deem her confusing feelings as a quick flame and nothing more. It’s just a need to fix someone, and she thinks nothing of the fact that she would gladly march into the fire for him.
~oOo~
The shift happens on the anniversary of her parents’ death. She spent the whole day in the freezing November air, but the cold that seeps into her bones has nothing to do with that. Felicity walks mechanically to the diner to meet Diggle, but nothing really reaches her. She sees everything as bleak and blurry, like she’s walking in a memory or a dream, and nothing feels real. There’s a brief moment when she question if she’s real at all and she has to dig her nails into her palms to feel pain, to know she’s here and alive.
When she’s finally at their usual table that’s when things start to come into focus and in the center of everything is Diggle. He seems real and solid, and that’s what she needs the most. They talk as usual and the gentle touches bring back the color and life all around her, easing the weight on her chest, until she can easily breathe.
But she doesn’t expect what happens next: They are saying goodbye, and the lights of the street lamps paint everything soft and glowing. It’s a quiet and moment she associates with Diggle, something to comfort her. But then Diggle hesitantly pulls something out of his coat pocket and hands it to her.
“I know it doesn’t seem much… or maybe it’s a bad idea, but… I’d like you to have it,” Diggle says, his voice wavering a little.
Felicity recognizes the thin book, The Little Prince, and understands completely. She remembers snippets of it, because her mother used to read it to her. She thinks of thorny roses, who hide their fears and doubts behind false bravado, foxes, who let themselves be loved and in return took the risk to getting hurt. And more importantly she thinks of the tinkling stars and the possibility of someone you lost being there and happy.
The cavalcade of emotions is too much to bear, she makes a sound that is half laugh and half sob, and then reaches for the book.
“Thank you,” she says and means it, because it’s a reminder of things she shouldn’t forget.
As her fingers brush against his, she knows it’s a tipping point to acknowledge what their relationship has become. And she doesn’t pull away; neither of them breaks the connection, and the minutes stretch out longer and longer.
Finally Felicity moves, leans in closer, drawing out the moment enough for Diggle to change his mind, but it doesn’t happen. Instead she’s kissing him, Diggle, the silent, protective force who was always there in the background. All she can feel is his soft lips on hers, the solid muscles under his shirt and his heart beating against her chest. It’s everything what life is, and now she needs to cling to the living and pull herself back from the land of the ghosts that haunt her.
Surely and slowly warmth washes over her as they stand there kissing for what seems like eternity. She doesn’t feel cold anymore, though it will be a long time until they finally talk about this night.
dreams
Oliver isn’t surprised he’s dying; it was only a matter of time, really. The only shock is how the searing agony is like fire; he always thought death would come as something cold and suffocating like the sea. But at least, he isn’t dying in vain, he, like his father, sacrifices himself for someone he cares about and he couldn’t think of a more fitting end.
“Oliver, stay with me.” It’s Diggle, he would know anywhere that voice. “Come on, man, you’re not dying on me.”
It’s a nice sentiment, Oliver muses, but it’s as hollow and meaningless as all the greatest lies of life - ‘It’s going to be better’ or ‘Everything is all right.’ Because in the end, Oliver doesn’t know what he wants, he hasn’t decided if he’ll drown or let himself be saved. Death seems simple and peaceful now and he still feels guilty for being alive instead of his father. It would be so damn easy to choose to fade away into nothingness.
Maybe the Oliver before the island would choose the easy way out, but he’s changed. While most people are lucky to have their big life changing experience as some trivial mistakes, he’s gone through Purgatory - sometimes he thinks it’s literally -, and the loss, violence and inhuman extremities made him sharp, crude, and yet hollow and oddly fragile.
And this thought is what brings him to the surface: He found what he was looking for, someone who would fill that awful, gaping hole inside of him. But as life would have it, it wasn’t that easy as he hoped deep down. It wasn’t Laurel, precious, good, eager Laurel, who could fully understand and repair him; it was both Felicity and Diggle. With half leg in the grave, he really muses about how fucked up his life is, because he can’t choose one or the other, he needs both of them, but he’s Oliver Queen, he never really knew normal and ordinary.
Somehow amidst all the blood and throbbing pain, he manages to grab Diggle’s shirt.
“I wanted you to know…” he starts, but he can’t really put it into eloquent words, especially when he’s really sure he chose the right thing to do too late. So he does what he can do the best in this situation, he presses his lips against Diggle’s. It’s only a brief kiss, a brush of lips, really, and it’s taste of blood and salt, and Diggle even freezes for a moment, but Oliver doesn’t regret it.
“Oh, no, you don’t get the easy way out,” Diggle says, pulling away, and getting Oliver up. “I want the whole package, a full love confession with flowers and everything.”
Oliver can’t help it but laughs, even if it hurts like hell, and thinks he’ll order a whole florist shop just to see Diggle’s reaction. And yes, now he’s optimistic about the future, he sees something bright, and he feels he can find strength in a promise of a new beginning.
~oOo~
When Oliver wakes up, he’s in an all too familiar and uncomfortable hospital bed. He can only register the faint scent of disinfectants and the flower bouquet on his bedside table, when all of a sudden a pink and blonde whirlwind of color bursts into his view.
He doesn’t have time to react, Felicity almost lunges at him and kisses him with a ‘Thank God, you’re alive.’ It’s a sudden and short kiss, but it’s still feels like a summer storm, electric and sweet. When Felicity starts to stammer some excuse, he doesn’t really hear, he just smiles and pulls her against him, even if it means she’s awkwardly lying beside him on the bed.
“Don’t think I’ll let you go now,” he says, and hugs her closer, enjoying every little bit of her warmth. And though he doesn’t say it out loud, he means more than here and now.
His close brush with death made him rethink things. And he sees it’s a pattern for him: always bottling up and keeping his emotions under control and only when violence and danger come barging in his life, he lets himself care but usually it’s too late, too little, and that’s how he lost McKenna too.
So now, he decides that he will be selfish, and he tries to make the most of it whatever the three of them are. He knows it isn’t ordinary, but when you hunt down criminals with arrows, you really don’t get to determine what’s normal.
He fears that Felicity will run now, he thinks anyone sane should do that, but she only relaxes, and leans her head against his shoulders, trying to watch out for his wounds.
“You know it’s getting really hard to explain your accidents to your family,” she says half-jokingly, and Oliver tries not to think about the fact that the only one who will visit him in the hospital under the name of family is Thea. He dismisses the picture of everyone dying and betraying or leaving him and focuses on Felicity’s bright smile.
He wants to reply, to ask what their cover story is now, but then Diggle comes into the room, but stops short, when he sees them in bed together. Oliver is good at reading people, so he can catch a few of the quickly changing emotions in Diggle’s eyes: relief, shock, a kind of hurt, desperation, and then resignation.
“I can come back later, if you want,” Diggle notes and doesn’t even wait for the answer, he starts to turn away.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, though maybe this bed might be too small for all of us,” Oliver quips.
The reaction is a bright red blush from Felicity and some unintelligible mumbling and a raised eyebrow from Diggle. Oliver laughs surprisingly easily, like just being near the two of them lifts a weight off him, and in a way it does.
“Oh, come on,” Oliver continues, “I’m not blind, I see how you look at each other.”
Of course, he does, but up until now, he managed to put aside his feelings, and hoped that the two of them would be happy together. That was the best solution he could think of, but after seeing them tiptoe around each other, this absolutely ridiculous idea sparked in his mind, and it never quite died down.
“Oliver, you don’t mean it.” Diggle is the one who replies, and though they don’t name it, they both now what they are talking about.
“Why not? I’m Oliver Queen, notorious playboy, and it’s not like I don’t have experience in threesomes.” Which is true, but he knows that this won’t be hard or complex because of the sex, that’s the easy part. The real tough question is if he’s finally ready to let people in completely, but with both of them he’s hopeful, they saved him already more than once.
And though Felicity just blushes a deeper shade, Diggle takes it stoically, which almost makes Oliver laugh. Diggle, always the soldier, analyzing and over thinking everything, even this situation.
“I don’t know, maybe because it’s not something widely accepted, because it’s not something that will likely grant the happily ever after.”
“You’re saying this, as it’s already doomed,” Felicity chimes in, looking at him. “But I think it’s worth a shot,” she adds, shrugging one shoulder, like it is the easiest decision in her life.
“Is that simple?” Diggle asks a little incredulously.
“Well,” Felicity says, “for one thing, no one really knows about our other extracurricular activities and you’re not opposed to that. But you know, he has money,” motioning towards Oliver. “We can always move to someplace isolated… like in a luxury villa in some European rural country… or a deserted island.”
Both of the men looks at her questioningly, but with their usual glint in their eyes and half smiles on their lips when Felicity starts to babble.
“To my defense, it didn’t sound so insensitive in my head,” she amends.
And with that it’s pretty much settled, it’s so simple on the surface, but Oliver knows there will be ups and downs. But as he watches over them, he doesn’t mind, life is all about fighting anyway, and now he has more to live for.
Sometimes it feels like fate, that everything was already written, and they unknowingly followed a script, and if he thinks about it hard, he can see all the pieces which led to this moment. If they’re together they find strength in each other, and a chance to mend their broken remnants. He wonders about this kind of attachment, because it’s sure more than simple love, it has no exact name: it’s a need, it’s a lifeline, and they’re part of each other inseparably, like their very blood, they’re oxygen to each other, and they are whole only together. If one goes, all of them wither. But Oliver promises to himself to never let them go.