Russian Vodka [ Olicity | 5x03 | Missing Scene ]
It was the sharp scent of vodka that hit him first.
Oliver frowned, slowing down as he walked around the corner, his hands still greasy from motorbike oil, after having sent Lyla home for the night.
His eyes moved around the dimmed lights in the Arrow cave (and he did call it that in his head), lights he’d dimmed because he’d decided to have an early night and catch some sleep for once.
His forearm throbbed against the bandage and he twisted his arm to relieve the ache, his eyes wandering around, trying to locate the source of the scent of vodka.
Noiselessly walking up the stairs to the computers, his eyes honed in on the source.
A source under the computer table.
A source humming some off beat tune.
A drunk source in a pink dress and fuck-me heels.
His lips twitched even as his brows furrowed at finding Felicity there, under the table, of all places. Was she fixing something?
He walked towards the table, eyed her chair rolled to the left, and pulled it behind him, sitting down quietly, just observing her (something that he absolutely loved to do. He’d never known a human face had been capable of so many expressions till he’d seen her, and over the course of the years, he still had no idea what kind of face she would make for what kind of news).
Her legs were folded under her, her head hanging as her fingers clung to the mouth of the bottle, shoulders slumped in defeat. Oliver knew something had been bothering her for a while, knew he had lost his right to ask but also knew that she would tell him, in her own time, so he hadn’t pressed.
Oliver watched patiently as her head lifted slightly, her eyes stopping on his shoes as she blinked adorably (he never thought he’d use the word, not until he met her), once, twice, before slowly, very slowly, perusing his jeans covered thighs, lingering on his hips (not the best thing given the position she was in), his torso, his neck, eyeing that vein on the side he knew she loved, and finally came to rest on his eyes.
He raised an eyebrow.
She blinked again.
“Was god drinking Russian vodka when he made you?” she slurred, her voice barely audible. Oliver deliberately kept his face stoic.
“I stole your vodka btw,” she whispered secretively, looking around as though someone would hear.
He bit the inside of his cheek from smiling. “I can see that,” he whispered back.
She nodded seriously. “I know you only drink vodka with John. And since he is not here, I decided to pay some attention to this poor, neglected bottle,” her words mixed slightly as she mumbled, and Oliver faked seriousness.
“That’s a very good thing you did, Felicity.”
“I also did a very bad thing, Oliver.”
The pain in her whispered words made him alert, his muscles tensing. She wasn’t supposed to feel any more pain than she already had. That was for him and him only. Not her. Never her.
Oliver waited, willing himself to stay relaxed, to let her talk.
She brought the bottle to her lips, took a long swallow and heaved in a loud breath, hiccuping on a sob.
“I killed so many people,” she spoke in that broken, whispered voice, tears streaming down her face. “I killed so many sons and daughters and parents. Rory’s entire family, friends, everyone gone because I hit a button and made it so. Who made me god? How could I decide which place to kill? I told him the truth tonight and the look on his face. Oh, god Oliver...”
Oliver gripped the edge of the chair, swallowing down the urge to take her in his arms and shield her from all the pain. God, she astounded him. Her strength knocked him down every single time. The fact that it had barely been a few days since Rory came on and that she’d confessed the truth, given him closure and herself that clarity, shamed him in so many ways for so many of his mistakes.
“I’m glad you told him,” he told her, the conviction in his voice audible to even his own ears. “But it wasn’t your fault, Felicity. Sometimes there is no right choice. There’s only wrong and less wrong. We just have to choose and live with it.”
God, he could count the number of choices he’d had to make like those. Sara or Shado? Lie or not lie? Kill Slade or let him live? Be with Felicity or not be with Felicity? Trust again or not trust again? The list never ended…
Felicity looked down at his shoes for a long moment. “But how do you live with it, Oliver?” She moved her eyes to his, blinking at her tears. “How do you live every day, staring at the mistakes you made, knowing that you’d still make the same choice again if given a second chance? How do you live with that guilt of doing the wrong thing but knowing you’d still do it? How?”
Oliver swallowed. How did he? He honestly didn’t know. Some days it became clear, some days just dragged. How did he?
“John told me something back when I’d returned,” he spoke. “That we can stare down death with something to live for, or not.” He took a deep breath. “Something to live for is better.”
Felicity stared down at the floor again. “But how can I live knowing so many people died because of my actions? What do I live for? For that?”
Unable to hear that agony in her voice, Oliver leaned forward, forgetting the grease on his hands and all the distance they’d been keeping between them, leaned forward in the chair and took a hold of her face in his hands, just like he’d done the first time he’d kissed those lips, and tilted her head back, locking their eyes together.
“You live for our mission,” he murmured quietly, forcefully, to let her understand this. “You live because you are the bravest person I know, and it’s that strength which guides me and this team and saves a million lives every single day. You live because without you, everyone we know, everyone we don’t, every single person of this city would have died ten times over. You live, because you are much bigger, much stronger than your mistakes, Felicity.”
Oliver saw her lips tremble as she hiccuped, a small smile turning her lips up. “That was a pretty good speech.”
Oliver felt his lips turn up, remembering the same words in this same place, but such a different time. “Yeah.”
Felicity wiped her eyes with her free hand, her blue eyes shining as she stared back at him while he still held her face. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to lean a little bit closer and brush her lips with his. He wanted to taste the strawberry of her lipstick and feel her breaths against him. He wanted so many things.
But there was something else she wasn’t telling him, something holding her back.
She would tell him, in time.
Leaning forward slightly, he brushed her nose with his, in a way they’d always done together, closing his eyes, savoring the sensation and murmured into the space between them.
“You live for me, Felicity.”
And I live for you.
He knew she heard what he left unspoken. She always did.
Felicity hiccuped, smiling, giving him a slight squeeze. “Thank you.”
Oliver chuckled and sat back, shaking his head. “Let’s finish the bottle.”
“Why, Mayor Queen, are you trying to take advantage of me?” Felicity asked in a high pitched voice, wiggling her eyebrows.
Oliver felt himself grin. “Why, would you let me, Ms. Smoak?”
Felicity grinned, her eyes sparkling as she passed the bottle to him, keeping her eyes on his.
Oliver accepted the bottle, took a healthy swig, felt the burn down his throat, his eyes on her.
And on went the night.
Tagging beautiful peeps under the cut :)