A/N: This is going to have feels. But hopeful feels. I hope. :) Set as Felicity is walking away from Oliver.
Enjoy! And no fear, I’m off to write some fluff now, so it won’t be all angst and sadness. Promise. (porsches and sunsets)
The mile long walk to the plane was over before she knew it. Somehow she’d followed the path, unseeing, unfeeling because her heart had been left a few thousand feet behind her.
It was a surprise when she blinked and looked up to see the jet sitting there, stairs down with John waiting at the bottom.
His eyes were low and sad and that more than anything made a sudden warmth race up her neck as tears made her vision blurry.
He reached for her when she was still steps away, giving her time to flash her hand up, “Don’t, John, please…if you touch me I’ll fall apart and I can’t do that right now.”
“Okay,” he replied tightly, hand clenching in a fist as it dropped back to his side. She wrapped one arm around her middle, clutching the rail tightly as she climbed the stairs.
Malcolm was getting Thea settled into a seat when she made her way into the cabin but she barely spared them a glance. They’d get Thea back to Starling. She’d make sure that Oliver’s sister would be safe. But just then Felicity didn’t have anything left to give.
No one bothered her as she headed to the rear of the plane, sinking heavily into a seat as a wave of exhaustion washed over her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had any real sleep. They’d been going for days on end, catching a few hours here and there, and it was now hitting her all at once.
A memory came unbidden causing her heart to clench in want and pain. She hadn’t slept earlier, but Oliver had.
They hadn’t known how long they had but despite that nothing had felt hurried or rushed. Time had seemed to have bent to their will for once and as they lay there amongst the red and gold linens she’d felt content and safe and happy even if they were in Nanda Parbat.
For just a little while nothing else mattered, the world had fallen away and they were just able to be Oliver and Felicity.
They’d talked and touched, both of them needing the reassurance and the reminders that they were really there. She was warm and loved, a smile permanently etched on her face as she watched Oliver’s eyes begin to droop, the path he’d been drawing up and down her ribs slowing until it stopped altogether and when the first gentle snore broke the silence she’d never felt more at peace.
For an hour she lay as still as possible just watching him sleep. He didn’t move, the exhaustion and stress he’d pushed himself to showing in the strain around his eyes. But slowly he looked relaxed, at ease, calm, something she hadn’t seen in him in so long she’d almost forgotten what it looked like.
That’s when she came up with her plan. As she lay there in the dark with the soft sounds of Nanda Parbat reaching her through the open balcony and the flames from the hundreds of candles continued to throw flickering shadows around the room, she knew she couldn’t give him up without a fight.
The words Ra’s had said to her echoed in her head but in her soul she knew he was wrong. There was always another way. She refused to live in a world where Oliver was forced to give up everything that made him the man she loved.
It was crazy and risky and could very possibly lead to their deaths. She had no tech and no plan but what she did know was that Oliver would not go willingly, he’d already sacrificed himself for his sister, for him there was no way out.
When he woke up he did so in an instant, eyes springing open, clear and aware. But when they landed on her they softened. “Hey,” he’d whispered in that soft tone that always made her toes curl.
He’d pressed one more quiet kiss to her lips and then rolled from the bed. She made her way to the opulent bathroom, finding a robe in her size hanging on the back of the door. She didn’t want to know who thought to place it there.
Hands shaking she grabbed her jacket and a small vial of the powder she’d seen the priestess use to subdue Thea earlier. Oliver was dressed and on the balcony when she moved out of view and grabbed up a decanter and two glasses, dumping the vial into one glass before she could second guess herself.
She couldn’t lose him.
It was a mantra playing through her head, establishing a new cadence for her heart to beat to.
It was that thought that made her follow through. That didn’t let her flinch when he fell to the floor in a heap. That directed her to get dressed as quickly as she could, even pulling on his socks and boots, grateful he’d put his own clothes on before she’d knocked him out. Then she’d gotten Digg and Malcolm and for a few minutes she thought they’d had a chance.
And then it had all gone to hell and he was saying goodbye.
But not the actual words because neither of them could do that again.
As the plane lifted off she turned away from the window, unable to watch him disappear beneath her.
She wasn’t going to give up.
Ra’s might have not fought for his family, but she would.
She would get Oliver back.
She would bring him home too.
Her threats hadn’t been mere posturing, or the hysterical empty words of a woman in love. She had a backbone of steel and if she needed to bring a war to the doorstep of the Demon’s Head then war she would bring.
Even if the Demon’s Head was Oliver himself.