Smoke and Mirrors

Sobering Confessions

When Oliver walks into base, it's to the sound of giggles. His eyebrows knit together at the sound, staring at the room that Felicity and Sara have redecorated over the last week. Where there were only workbenches and the remains of a factory, there is now a sofa, a television, and a coffee table. It's taken Felicity just a week to make this feel like home.

Home. He wonders if he'll ever be able to see his again.

When walks into the room, it's to find Sara draped over the couch with a blonde, causing him to shake his head. They're watching some sort of reality show, and there are a few wine glasses and bottles of beer scattered across the coffee table.

Figuring that if Sara brought her down here, the unfamiliar blonde probably knows about their living situation, he only calls, "Hey, have you seen Felicity?"

He stops when they break into another fit of giggles, staring at the two women. Now that he's paying attention, the new woman has on glasses and is wearing a set of pajamas with flying pigs on them. Her hair falls in waves down her back, and Oliver has to admit Sara has good tastes. Without a stitch of makeup and with a few blemishes showing, she's still stunning with her bright blue eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Felicity is dead," the blonde declares, in that familiar breezy voice, with just the right hint of sarcasm laced through it. It takes her three tries to get it out, but there's no mistaking Felicity's voice, even when she's so drunk her words are slurring. "We killed her two days ago, remember?" Felicity motions to herself. "Since I'm legally dead and I'm getting really tired of being a hermit, I thought I'd change my look to the exact opposite of Felicity Smoak." She motions to herself with a frown. "And now I've become my mother."

"Then your mom is hot," Sara manages, slurring worse than Felicity.

When he first met Felicity, he thought her looks matched her writing style: gritty and edgy, with just a little hint of something sinister. It's strange not seeing those qualities now, but he has to admit that no one will accuse her of being Felicity Smoak now. She slides her hair behind her ear, flashing the industrial piercing there. Maybe the old Felicity isn't completely gone.

"Speaking of my mother," Felicity continues with a slur, clicking off the television, "I want to contact her after the funeral tomorrow." Oliver starts to protest, but she holds up a hand. "You said I could, Oliver. No take-backsies." He chuckles at her words. "I don't want her living with this. We're nothing alike and we don't always get along, but it's always been the two of us against the world."

Even with two parents at home, Oliver never experienced that kind of relationship with his parents, but he admits it sounds nice. "If you'll point her out to me after the funeral, I'll catch up to her and arrange a meeting place," he finally agrees.

Felicity's eyes widen. "You'll help me?" she asks, as if it's some sort of surprise.

"Aww, Ollie's being sweet," Sara sing-songs.

Oliver ignores her. "I'm not going to leave you out there by yourself with Abstergo agents everywhere," Oliver replies, trying to refrain from rolling his eyes. "It's better if I'm the one to make contact with your mother if it's at a funeral where everyone knows you." He turns. "I'm going to bed so we can do this in the morning."

He's taken all of two steps when he hears her call behind him, "Wait! Wait for me!" Turning, he watches as she rises to her feet and stumbles a few steps. When she trips over the leg of the coffee table, Oliver manages to catch her before she goes down.

Her hands go to his biceps as she stares at him with unfocused eyes. She squeezes his arms twice. "You're very muscle-y," Felicity declares. "I've noticed that before, but mostly it's just in passing as I think about how ridiculously handsome you are." Oliver can feel his face grow hot; of all the women who made advances to him in the Brotherhood, not one commented on his looks. They were more interested in his title and winning his favor. "But now I'm realizing that you could probably kill me with your bare hands if you wanted to."

Brushing a strand of hair away from her face, he replies, "I could never hurt you." When he saw her in that abandoned building a week ago, bruised and bleeding, he knew he couldn't kill her. Especially not when her only concern was for her mother. If he's being honest with himself, he probably couldn't have from the moment he started reading her blog... thing.

When she rolls her eyes, the motion nearly makes her fall over. He steadies her again. "I know that," she responds with a huff. "I'm just saying you could. If you wanted to. Which you don't." Even drunk and half-dazed, her smile is blinding. "I'm glad you're going with me tomorrow. You... make me feel safe."

Oliver snorts. The last feeling anyone has ever had around him is safety. His own instructors in the Brotherhood were afraid of him. Despite his disbelief, something about her words makes his chest feel warm. "You've had a lot to drink tonight," is all he says. "I think your judgment is a little impaired."

"Maybe," she agrees with a smile, "but I'd say the same thing sober."