fic: a little more to life somewhere else (Arrow/The Flash; Felicity/Barry; pg)
I don't even know, but I wanted to post before it's totally jossed.
a little more to life somewhere else
Arrow/The Flash; Felicity/Barry; pg; 2,215 words
"I think we could be happy."
Title from Tom Petty. Spoilers for "The Calm." At AO3.
~*~
a little more to life somewhere else
After all the other surprises the night John's daughter was born--both good and bad--Felicity supposes she can't blame Oliver for forgetting to tell her that Barry came out of his coma. She only finds out when Barry shows up at her door the next morning, looking windblown and pleased with himself. She blinks at him a couple of times, thinking maybe she's the one who's still asleep, until he says, "Hi," with a secret little smile that she's not sure she could have imagined on his face.
"Oh my god, Barry, you're awake!" She throws her arms around him and clings tight, because she's learning to hold onto the good things while she can, and because she doesn't want to think about the bad ones for a while.
"Yeah," he says, giving her a half-grin. "Caitlin said you'd come by to visit a lot, and I wanted to thank you."
"Of course," she says. "Not that you wanted to thank me! That I visited. You're my friend. I was worried about you. It's not every day you get struck by lightning."
He laughs. "No, it's not." He looks around the hallway of her building. "Can I come in?"
"Oh, oh, yeah, right, of course." She steps aside to let him in and then closes the door and leads him into the kitchen. "Coffee? I think I have some doughnuts left."
"Sounds great."
He's practically vibrating even without the caffeine infusion, so she gets them both settled on the couch with coffee and a package of stale powdered mini doughnuts. She'd be more embarrassed about the lack of food, but Barry knows what her life is like, even if he doesn't know the particular horrors of the past couple of nights. He's one of the few people she doesn't have to explain it to.
"So, I didn't just get struck by lightning," he says. He tells her about what's happened to him, the super speed or whatever he's calling it, and he lifts his shirt and flashes her a nice set of abs. "Can you believe it? Lightning gave me abs."
"We should all be so lucky." His eyebrows fly up and she bites her lip, backtracks, and says, "I mean, you look great. I'd love to see what else the lightning gave you. Uh. I mean, the super speed."
"I know what you meant." He gets up and grabs her hand. "Come on. Let me show you."
She believes what he's told her, but seeing it is a whole other level of amazing. She tracks him through the city on her cell phone and he's not even winded when he gets back to her a few seconds later.
"That wasn't my top speed," he says.
"Really? Because it looked pretty fast to me."
He laughs again, and picks her up and spins her around in a dizzying circle. "Pretty cool, huh?"
She nods, a little giddy, and for a second she thinks he's going to kiss her, and she wants him to and she doesn't want him to. She doesn't know what she wants. No, that's not true. She can't have what she wants, but she doesn't want to be that girl, either, who uses him as a substitute, so she leans away and the tension breaks.
He looks down and away, rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, and says, "I should get back. I have to get to work."
"Oh, yeah, me too." She hasn't told him about being exiled to the late shift at the Buy More (which isn't the biggest or most pressing news, but is easier to talk about than everything else), but now that he's awake, they can actually talk. She's spent so much time talking to his sleeping form that she'd almost forgotten what it was like to have him answer back.
He's good at it, though, when she calls him early in the morning after a long night of being there for Oliver but not being allow to be there in the ways she wants. He doesn't call her on it, though, just lets her ramble and, more and more often, picks her brain for advice on his own foray into being a hero.
He introduces her to Iris the next time she's in Central City, meets up with both of them over coffee at the place Iris works. Iris smiles a wide, genuine, beautiful smile and then gives her an abbreviated version of the shovel talk when Barry goes to the counter to get their drinks.
"He's the best brother--the best friend--a girl could have," Iris says, leaning in close, and now the smile is gone and she looks deadly serious. "And he talks about you a lot. Please don't break his heart."
For once, Felicity thinks before she speaks. Even though she's faced down scarier people without flinching, she really doesn't want to hurt Barry, but she knows she's not the one with that power. She can see the way Barry looks at Iris, even if Iris can't; she can recognize it, even if she's never actually seen it on her own face. It's the way she looks at Oliver (the way he won't let himself look back). Felicity swallows down her denials. "Yeah," she says as brightly as she can. "Barry is great and I'd never want him to get hurt." She's never been a good liar, but luckily that, at least, isn't a lie.
He comes back with her double shot caramel macchiato and hands Iris her chai latte, and Felicity doesn't know how Iris doesn't see it, but then, she thinks, maybe Iris doesn't want to. Felicity wishes she knew how to do that, but she knows what's been seen can't be unseen, even if it can be ignored for a while.
*
Felicity can't do for Barry what she does for Oliver, not on the regular, anyway, but what she can do is listen. She knows how hard it is to live this kind of life, where only a handful of people can know how they spend their time, and how hard it is to make or keep friends outside that small circle.
"And I know how uncomfortable it can be when things get weird with emotions," she says to him late one night over FaceTime, ignoring the way his mouth tightens, because she's met Iris's boyfriend now and knows they're in the same boat, "but you're not Oliver, okay? Maybe he can't be the Arrow and also have a life outside it, but you can. You should."
"I'm trying," he says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You look tired. You should get more sleep."
"Gee, thanks."
She laughs softly, not much humor in it. "I mean, look, why don't I come out there next weekend? We can marathon Battlestar Galactica before it disappears from Netflix, eat Cheetos and drink cheap wine, and not think about metahumans or mob bosses for a few hours."
"Okay," he says, and then he smiles. "Thanks, Felicity."
"For you, anytime."
Oliver tries to guilt her out of going, tells her he needs her in the lair to coordinate, but she shakes her head. "You have Roy and John and Laurel. You'll be fine without me for a couple of days." She knows she's integral to the team, and that whatever else she and Oliver feel or felt for each other, that they're partners and friends, but she's still not over the sting of seeing Laurel train to take on Sara's mask, to know that Laurel won't let Oliver sideline her just to keep her safe. "And anyway, my manager already approved the time off. I'm not backing out now."
Oliver frowns at her, but it doesn't have the same effect it used to. She won't let it.
*
They're halfway through the second bottle of shiraz and all the talk of the Arrow of Apollo is making Felicity think maybe they should have watched Deep Space Nine instead, when Barry tips over sideways and rests his head on her shoulder. The wine doesn't affect him much--something about his metabolism being super speedy now too--but having a job and being a superhero and trying to find out who killed his mother have all taken their toll on him. He looks sweet and young and a little sad, and she wants so badly for him to be happy. It hits her, suddenly, that she wants to make him happy. She shifts her arm so he can rest against her more comfortably, and she presses her face to the top of his head, breathing in the warm scent of his hair. She forces herself to breathe through the surprising tightness in her chest, and laughs a little at her own stupid predictability.
She turns off the television and dozes with him, warm and comfortable, until he wakes up with a start.
"Oh," he says, blinking at her sleepily. "Felicity."
"Hi," she says softly, and leans in to kiss him. He tastes of sleep and red wine, and she feels a little thrill when he touches his tongue to hers for a moment before he pulls away to look at her for a long moment, both of them much more awake than they were a few seconds ago.
He touches her cheek. "I'm not Oliver."
"I know," she says, lifting her chin and daring him to contradict her. "I'm not Iris."
Whatever he sees on her face must satisfy him, because he nods once and then he kisses her, sweet and slick and a little rough, and she feels as if she's racing along at a hundred miles an hour in his arms even though they're lying still.
They make out until Felicity is dizzy with it, her breathing coming short and ragged, and her skin hot and tight with desire. She wriggles beneath Barry and lets her knees fall open so he can move between them, the weight of him pressing her down into the cushions. She tips her head back to give him better access and gasps when he bites at her lower lip.
"What are we doing?" he murmurs even as he's kissing his way down her throat and across her collarbone.
"Well," she says, running her fingers through his hair, "when a man and a woman really like each other..." He stops her laughter with another kiss, his fingers slipping up underneath her MIT sweatshirt to brush against the curve of her breasts, and she shifts to pull it up over her head, the cool air making her skin prickle. She hadn't planned on this happening, so she's wearing a plain white cotton bra, but Barry gazes at her with wonder in his eyes, and that erases any self-consciousness she might feel.
"Listen," she says, serious now, "I like that you're here instead of brooding alone in the dark and worrying about the ten thousand things that could possibly go wrong. And you should know that I like you. I like you a lot, and I don't mean like a brother, and I don't just want to be friends." She takes a deep, shaky breath and moves his hand to cover her breast, pressing up into his palm. "And maybe that's not the epic romance either of us dreamed of, but it's ours, if we want it. And I think it could be good." She can feel the sting of tears behind her eyes, but she holds his gaze. "I think we could be happy."
"Yeah," he says, kissing her again. "I'd like that."
*
Felicity starts spending as many weekends as she can with Barry. John goes home to Lyla and the baby. Oliver trains with Roy and Laurel, and works on ways to root out the rot that infests Starling City. He's still consumed with his crusade, but it's not her job anymore to pull him out of it, and her life is no longer consumed by it, too.
"You look happy," he tells her one day, head cocked to the side and a small, sad smile on his face.
Felicity pauses for a moment to think, and then she smiles back. "Yeah," she says. "I am."
It's a good night--they stop the Sportsmaster from blowing up the Starling City Arena--and Felicity texts Barry before she heads home.
He's there when she opens the door, and he jumps up off the couch when he sees her. "Is everything all right? Did Oliver need my help? Your text--"
She stops him with a kiss. "I said I needed to see you, and I mean it." She walks him back to the couch and climbs into his lap when he drops onto it, already unbuttoning his shirt.
"Whoa, this is moving a little fast, don't you think?" he says, his hands settling on her hips.
"I think that's my line," she says, laughing against his mouth. "Dork."
"Takes one to know one." Then they're too busy kissing to talk for a little while. It's not until she's got his shirt off and she's unbuttoning his fly that he says, "You're in a good mood tonight."
"I am," she says. "I'm happy, Barry. You make me happy."
"Right back atcha," he says, smiling wide and bright, and kisses her again.
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/697385.html.
people have commented there.
a little more to life somewhere else
Arrow/The Flash; Felicity/Barry; pg; 2,215 words
"I think we could be happy."
Title from Tom Petty. Spoilers for "The Calm." At AO3.
~*~
a little more to life somewhere else
After all the other surprises the night John's daughter was born--both good and bad--Felicity supposes she can't blame Oliver for forgetting to tell her that Barry came out of his coma. She only finds out when Barry shows up at her door the next morning, looking windblown and pleased with himself. She blinks at him a couple of times, thinking maybe she's the one who's still asleep, until he says, "Hi," with a secret little smile that she's not sure she could have imagined on his face.
"Oh my god, Barry, you're awake!" She throws her arms around him and clings tight, because she's learning to hold onto the good things while she can, and because she doesn't want to think about the bad ones for a while.
"Yeah," he says, giving her a half-grin. "Caitlin said you'd come by to visit a lot, and I wanted to thank you."
"Of course," she says. "Not that you wanted to thank me! That I visited. You're my friend. I was worried about you. It's not every day you get struck by lightning."
He laughs. "No, it's not." He looks around the hallway of her building. "Can I come in?"
"Oh, oh, yeah, right, of course." She steps aside to let him in and then closes the door and leads him into the kitchen. "Coffee? I think I have some doughnuts left."
"Sounds great."
He's practically vibrating even without the caffeine infusion, so she gets them both settled on the couch with coffee and a package of stale powdered mini doughnuts. She'd be more embarrassed about the lack of food, but Barry knows what her life is like, even if he doesn't know the particular horrors of the past couple of nights. He's one of the few people she doesn't have to explain it to.
"So, I didn't just get struck by lightning," he says. He tells her about what's happened to him, the super speed or whatever he's calling it, and he lifts his shirt and flashes her a nice set of abs. "Can you believe it? Lightning gave me abs."
"We should all be so lucky." His eyebrows fly up and she bites her lip, backtracks, and says, "I mean, you look great. I'd love to see what else the lightning gave you. Uh. I mean, the super speed."
"I know what you meant." He gets up and grabs her hand. "Come on. Let me show you."
She believes what he's told her, but seeing it is a whole other level of amazing. She tracks him through the city on her cell phone and he's not even winded when he gets back to her a few seconds later.
"That wasn't my top speed," he says.
"Really? Because it looked pretty fast to me."
He laughs again, and picks her up and spins her around in a dizzying circle. "Pretty cool, huh?"
She nods, a little giddy, and for a second she thinks he's going to kiss her, and she wants him to and she doesn't want him to. She doesn't know what she wants. No, that's not true. She can't have what she wants, but she doesn't want to be that girl, either, who uses him as a substitute, so she leans away and the tension breaks.
He looks down and away, rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, and says, "I should get back. I have to get to work."
"Oh, yeah, me too." She hasn't told him about being exiled to the late shift at the Buy More (which isn't the biggest or most pressing news, but is easier to talk about than everything else), but now that he's awake, they can actually talk. She's spent so much time talking to his sleeping form that she'd almost forgotten what it was like to have him answer back.
He's good at it, though, when she calls him early in the morning after a long night of being there for Oliver but not being allow to be there in the ways she wants. He doesn't call her on it, though, just lets her ramble and, more and more often, picks her brain for advice on his own foray into being a hero.
He introduces her to Iris the next time she's in Central City, meets up with both of them over coffee at the place Iris works. Iris smiles a wide, genuine, beautiful smile and then gives her an abbreviated version of the shovel talk when Barry goes to the counter to get their drinks.
"He's the best brother--the best friend--a girl could have," Iris says, leaning in close, and now the smile is gone and she looks deadly serious. "And he talks about you a lot. Please don't break his heart."
For once, Felicity thinks before she speaks. Even though she's faced down scarier people without flinching, she really doesn't want to hurt Barry, but she knows she's not the one with that power. She can see the way Barry looks at Iris, even if Iris can't; she can recognize it, even if she's never actually seen it on her own face. It's the way she looks at Oliver (the way he won't let himself look back). Felicity swallows down her denials. "Yeah," she says as brightly as she can. "Barry is great and I'd never want him to get hurt." She's never been a good liar, but luckily that, at least, isn't a lie.
He comes back with her double shot caramel macchiato and hands Iris her chai latte, and Felicity doesn't know how Iris doesn't see it, but then, she thinks, maybe Iris doesn't want to. Felicity wishes she knew how to do that, but she knows what's been seen can't be unseen, even if it can be ignored for a while.
*
Felicity can't do for Barry what she does for Oliver, not on the regular, anyway, but what she can do is listen. She knows how hard it is to live this kind of life, where only a handful of people can know how they spend their time, and how hard it is to make or keep friends outside that small circle.
"And I know how uncomfortable it can be when things get weird with emotions," she says to him late one night over FaceTime, ignoring the way his mouth tightens, because she's met Iris's boyfriend now and knows they're in the same boat, "but you're not Oliver, okay? Maybe he can't be the Arrow and also have a life outside it, but you can. You should."
"I'm trying," he says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You look tired. You should get more sleep."
"Gee, thanks."
She laughs softly, not much humor in it. "I mean, look, why don't I come out there next weekend? We can marathon Battlestar Galactica before it disappears from Netflix, eat Cheetos and drink cheap wine, and not think about metahumans or mob bosses for a few hours."
"Okay," he says, and then he smiles. "Thanks, Felicity."
"For you, anytime."
Oliver tries to guilt her out of going, tells her he needs her in the lair to coordinate, but she shakes her head. "You have Roy and John and Laurel. You'll be fine without me for a couple of days." She knows she's integral to the team, and that whatever else she and Oliver feel or felt for each other, that they're partners and friends, but she's still not over the sting of seeing Laurel train to take on Sara's mask, to know that Laurel won't let Oliver sideline her just to keep her safe. "And anyway, my manager already approved the time off. I'm not backing out now."
Oliver frowns at her, but it doesn't have the same effect it used to. She won't let it.
*
They're halfway through the second bottle of shiraz and all the talk of the Arrow of Apollo is making Felicity think maybe they should have watched Deep Space Nine instead, when Barry tips over sideways and rests his head on her shoulder. The wine doesn't affect him much--something about his metabolism being super speedy now too--but having a job and being a superhero and trying to find out who killed his mother have all taken their toll on him. He looks sweet and young and a little sad, and she wants so badly for him to be happy. It hits her, suddenly, that she wants to make him happy. She shifts her arm so he can rest against her more comfortably, and she presses her face to the top of his head, breathing in the warm scent of his hair. She forces herself to breathe through the surprising tightness in her chest, and laughs a little at her own stupid predictability.
She turns off the television and dozes with him, warm and comfortable, until he wakes up with a start.
"Oh," he says, blinking at her sleepily. "Felicity."
"Hi," she says softly, and leans in to kiss him. He tastes of sleep and red wine, and she feels a little thrill when he touches his tongue to hers for a moment before he pulls away to look at her for a long moment, both of them much more awake than they were a few seconds ago.
He touches her cheek. "I'm not Oliver."
"I know," she says, lifting her chin and daring him to contradict her. "I'm not Iris."
Whatever he sees on her face must satisfy him, because he nods once and then he kisses her, sweet and slick and a little rough, and she feels as if she's racing along at a hundred miles an hour in his arms even though they're lying still.
They make out until Felicity is dizzy with it, her breathing coming short and ragged, and her skin hot and tight with desire. She wriggles beneath Barry and lets her knees fall open so he can move between them, the weight of him pressing her down into the cushions. She tips her head back to give him better access and gasps when he bites at her lower lip.
"What are we doing?" he murmurs even as he's kissing his way down her throat and across her collarbone.
"Well," she says, running her fingers through his hair, "when a man and a woman really like each other..." He stops her laughter with another kiss, his fingers slipping up underneath her MIT sweatshirt to brush against the curve of her breasts, and she shifts to pull it up over her head, the cool air making her skin prickle. She hadn't planned on this happening, so she's wearing a plain white cotton bra, but Barry gazes at her with wonder in his eyes, and that erases any self-consciousness she might feel.
"Listen," she says, serious now, "I like that you're here instead of brooding alone in the dark and worrying about the ten thousand things that could possibly go wrong. And you should know that I like you. I like you a lot, and I don't mean like a brother, and I don't just want to be friends." She takes a deep, shaky breath and moves his hand to cover her breast, pressing up into his palm. "And maybe that's not the epic romance either of us dreamed of, but it's ours, if we want it. And I think it could be good." She can feel the sting of tears behind her eyes, but she holds his gaze. "I think we could be happy."
"Yeah," he says, kissing her again. "I'd like that."
*
Felicity starts spending as many weekends as she can with Barry. John goes home to Lyla and the baby. Oliver trains with Roy and Laurel, and works on ways to root out the rot that infests Starling City. He's still consumed with his crusade, but it's not her job anymore to pull him out of it, and her life is no longer consumed by it, too.
"You look happy," he tells her one day, head cocked to the side and a small, sad smile on his face.
Felicity pauses for a moment to think, and then she smiles back. "Yeah," she says. "I am."
It's a good night--they stop the Sportsmaster from blowing up the Starling City Arena--and Felicity texts Barry before she heads home.
He's there when she opens the door, and he jumps up off the couch when he sees her. "Is everything all right? Did Oliver need my help? Your text--"
She stops him with a kiss. "I said I needed to see you, and I mean it." She walks him back to the couch and climbs into his lap when he drops onto it, already unbuttoning his shirt.
"Whoa, this is moving a little fast, don't you think?" he says, his hands settling on her hips.
"I think that's my line," she says, laughing against his mouth. "Dork."
"Takes one to know one." Then they're too busy kissing to talk for a little while. It's not until she's got his shirt off and she's unbuttoning his fly that he says, "You're in a good mood tonight."
"I am," she says. "I'm happy, Barry. You make me happy."
"Right back atcha," he says, smiling wide and bright, and kisses her again.
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/697385.html.
people have commented there.