A/N: I originally planned to start writing this collection when Season 5 begins, but the last few days have given the hopeless romantic in me the inspiration to write again. (Two friends of mine got engaged, separately. Yey! Congratulations!) So here goes...
This Arrow AU family fic collection of drabbles and one-shots will be written in the form of a diary/journal entries, each one taking off from an event in the timeline of the two chapter books I've published here - "MY MOM & MY DAD" and "THE QUEENS," but not necessarily in chronological order. Some entries will be set in the future, beyond the timeline, when the Queens are older. Each entry will be written from the POV of either Felicity or Oliver, or one of their children.
This first chapter is written by Felicity. She writes about how she came to a realization that she had already fallen in love with her friend Oliver.
Felicity's Diary
August 15, 2011
I'm feeling quite "under the weather" today. I just woke up from a really nice nap actually. My fever is down and the throbbing headache is almost gone. I guess the Tylenol that Oliver made me take before they left has kicked in. There's still a bit of congestion, so I'm glad I'm writing down everything I want to say instead of having to speak, because right now, I sound more like a man in an underwater aquarium.
I was in Oliver's arms today. That's right! He was down on one knee, cradling me in his strong, muscular arms. He had an arm underneath me, and even if I was wearing a sweater on top of this gray tank top, I could still feel the warmth of his skin across my back. His hand held my nape; they were a bit rough, but that didn't matter. His tender touch gave me the tingles all over, especially when his other hand brushed away a stray strand of hair from my face as he looked into my eyes. Our faces were just a few inches apart. I couldn't breathe, I had forgotten how to speak, and I felt like I'd literally melt under the intense gaze of his amazingly dreamy blue eyes. For a moment there I thought for sure that he was going to kiss me. And then I just had to sneeze! Ugh! Talk about ruining the moment.
Well, it wasn't all fluffy and romantic as I would have wanted it to be anyway. I wasn't really in his arms because he wanted me to be – like if he had embraced me on purpose. It was more because he had to. You see, I had lost my balance and fallen backwards, and Oliver caught me just in time before I hit the back of my head against the corner of the dresser and completely landed on the floor. I'd been feeling so dizzy and woozy all day because of the colds and headache, and when you combine that with my natural clumsiness and the nervous electricity in the air due to having a really handsome hunk inside my bedroom, then... I think you get the picture.
But you know, something tells me that I will always remember that as one of our "moments." Embarrassing, yes. But special, too. The huge and largely unexpected sneeze sent us both crashing on the floor and then rolling over the carpet, laughing our hearts out. As soon as I recovered from the sniggering and the giggling, I had decided that there's really nothing in this world quite like being in Oliver Queen's arms.
There's just something about the way we touch, which has been becoming more frequent in the past couple of weeks. I can feel sincerity. I can also feel respect. And if I'm really being honest, I'd say I can sense... deep emotion. That's all I'm ready to call it, for now. His actions seem to tell me that he has feelings for me now, but he hasn't actually said anything concrete so far, so... I don't think it's fair to him for me to conclude that he feels the same way about me. I also don't think it's right for me to assume.
As far as I'm concerned, I'd be lying if say that I haven't started to have feelings for Oliver. It's really hard not to. He's so kind and gentle and thoughtful and sweet. I can't even picture him as the broody and serious type of guy that Stephen teases him for every once in a while. And he's so good with Emily! Sometimes – okay, I admit, several times – I imagine what it would be like for him to be her Dad, which would lead to me imagining what it would be like for him to be my... Oh! Sometimes I feel like I'm such a pathetic wishful thinker. But I can't help it. He's just so wonderful! I'm sure he's not perfect, but duh? Who is? He's shared stories of how he'd made mistakes in his sordid past – too many to mention, so he admits – but this changed version of him is really impossible for me not to fall in love with.
In love... Wow! Get a grip, Felicity! You have just admitted to your inanimate journal that you are in love with Oliver Queen. How did that happen? When did that happen?
Well... I can't say exactly when that happened. Between now and the first time we met in the park when he and his son Stephen's basketball accidentally bounced off and hit my daughter Emily on her head, we'd just been friends. Really good friends. We'd talk for hours while our kids played in the sandbox, or in the playground, or on the court. Emily and I had had several picnics with them where we'd take turns preparing food and drinks. I've enjoyed doing crossword puzzles with him. I've also been having fun listening to his corny jokes and laughing at them, too, I might add. We've enjoyed taking strolls in the park, and almost always, he and Stephen would walk us back home after each pleasant afternoon at the park. We've enjoyed having him and his son over in our home quite a few times as well. Today they offered to take Emily to the park for a Disney-sponsored event promoting Frozen 2 because I'm too sick to take her. (And that is why I'm home alone, writing – or more accurately – typing away my thoughts and feelings to you before the boys and my girl come back.)
When did I fall in love with Oliver? I don't know. I guess it just happened over the summer, somewhere along the friendship way. When did I know that I was falling for him? That's a question I can probably answer more definitely. I think. I think it was last Friday... or the other Friday... or the Friday before that. Let's see.
The Friday before the other Friday, Oliver and I were sitting on my favorite park bench as usual. He was telling me stories of how he and his younger sister Thea usually got into trouble when they were little. I'd been laughing at their crazy antics that nearly got them grounded every time. And just as he was narrating how they had chased away their last "official" governess and gotten her fired, a nasty little birdie flew overhead and dropped some of its poop onto his left shoulder. Imagine how amused I was! Oliver was so engrossed in his storytelling that he had no clue what had just happened, even when my eyes had opened wider and I'd started chewing on my bottom lip. I didn't know how to tell him, coz it was just as funny as the anecdote he was sharing at the moment. He thought I was laughing along at his story when I was actually laughing at the shitty spot on the otherwise perfect shirt that clung to every curve of his very attractive torso. By the time he had stopped chuckling, he wondered why I still couldn't stop snickering and smirking. That's when I had to tell him. He looked at his shoulder and saw the bird poop, and that's when I heard him curse for the first time. He was so embarrassed!
I quickly grabbed the pack of baby wipes that I always bring along in our toddler's bag. (Seriously speaking, baby wipes is one of the most ingenious inventions of mankind in the 21st century. I never leave home without it.) I began to wipe the bird poop off his shirt, rubbing on the grubby spot a little harder to make sure that not a trace of the foul fowl waste was left on his shirt. It took a little longer to remove all of the green and white stuff. Just as I was about done and ready to withdraw my hand from his damp shoulder, he caught me by the wrist and began rubbing my skin gently with his thumb on my pulse point. That startled me a bit, causing me to drop the baby wipes I was holding, but it was quite a lovely surprise that he had held my wrist for a few seconds, and then slowly took my hand in his, intertwining our fingers. My heart was beating so fast! It was as if I had just sprinted a hundred meter dash (which, I have never ever done before, so how on earth am I making that comparison at all? I'll never know!). He was staring at me with eyes that seemed to burn with more than mere fondness. I felt so shy that I broke the gaze and looked down on the baby wipes that fell on his lap, trying in vain to hide the blush that was taking over my cheeks. I don't even remember now what had happened next that caused him to let go of my hand. Everything went all blurry after that because I was too happy and nervous to even think.
I don't know why that moment became so special. That wasn't the first time Oliver had touched me or held my hand. We had shaken hands that afternoon when we first met, though for some reason he wouldn't let go of my hand. He had stared at me with a wide grin on his face, and it wasn't until Emily had tapped on his hand and told him to let go that he finally did. That time I had felt nothing of it. It was just me trying to be nice and polite to a total stranger (well, not exactly a total stranger because I had read about Oliver Queen from magazines and had seen him on TV news a number of times since we'd moved to Starling City).
The second time we had held each other's hands was in the hospital waiting room, when Emily was rushed to the E.R. of Starling General because of her allergic reaction to the nuts in the Snickers that Stephen had given her by mistake. That time, his presence and his touch had simply been a source of comfort to me during a stressful time. He was there for me, and I felt grateful to him for saving Emily's life. I didn't even think twice about us holding hands and me leaning on his shoulder as I pondered on what could have happened to my daughter if he hadn't picked her up and rushed to the hospital on foot. He's been such a wonderful friend, and I'd like to think he also considers me as a good friend. He'd said so himself that evening.
That evening had been spent relaxing in my living room after I had come home from my "monumental day-off." When Emily was in the hospital, Oliver found out that I had never really had a day to myself since Emily and I had moved to Starling City because I had no one to look after her and no budget for a babysitter. Oliver and Stephen had offered to be Emily's sitter that day so that I could have a day-off to enjoy myself. I had a very refreshing and revitalizing day at the resort spa a few miles outside of Starling City, and that day was capped by a pretty profound, heart-to-heart talk with Oliver. That night as we lingered on the couch with our children sleeping on our laps, I thanked him for making me feel so special. Somehow that expression of gratitude led us both to open up about our painful pasts. He shared his failures with his first wife Laurel, whom he had cheated more than once when they were still dating, and whom he had only married under obligation because he had gotten her pregnant. He shared his regrets about finally learning to love her only to lose her to cancer when Stephen was little. I, on the other hand, shared about how I had failed myself and my parents when I fell for Ray Palmer, who had gotten me pregnant out of wedlock after my graduation from MIT, and who had dumped me as soon as he'd learned he was going to be a father. I think that night was when our friendship had taken on a deeper level of trust, transparency, and accountability. We had bonded quite profoundly at that moment. As tears slid down our cheeks, we held hands that night and encouraged each other to keep going, despite the tough times we both had gone through early in life. We assured each other that we'd be there for each other through good times and bad, as any good friend would.
Three times Oliver had already held my hand before the bird poop and baby wipes incident, but there had been no surge of electricity for me back then, no butterflies in my stomach, no rapid heartbeat, and no cheeks flushing red. But that afternoon, there had been. Undeniably so. What had changed?
Then there was the Friday after that. We were sitting on the park bench again, talking and sipping the coffee he had brought. I was the one telling stories of growing up in Vegas, and of course, everyone who knows me knows how animatedly I do that. My free hand was gesturing while I talked, matching the various expressions on my face. I wasn't expecting Oliver to move the hand that was holding his coffee as I swiped my free hand in the air. I accidentally knocked his coffee cup out of his hand, spilling the hot, dark brown liquid on his jeans. Once again, I grabbed baby wipes from our bag and began dabbing several pieces on the soiled portion of his jeans. I'd been too busy apologizing over and over again that I hadn't realized how I'd been rubbing and pressing down on his very well-toned thighs. I don't know whether it was the hotness of the spilled coffee or the fact that my hand was on his thighs, but the moment I picked up on the fact that Oliver was undoubtedly very uncomfortable with the situation, I gasped and apologized even more for making such an awkward situation even worse. I stopped what I was doing and handed him some fresh baby wipes so that he could clean up his jeans himself. I hoped he hadn't noticed how red my face had turned in humiliation, because I sure had noticed how his face had flushed as red as a tomato. Embarrassed, I cleared my throat, excused myself, and stood up to throw the used wipes into the nearest trash bin, taking the time to compose myself after a very, very awkward situation. We haven't talked about that incident yet, and I doubt we ever will, at least, maybe not in the near future.
And then there was last Friday. Just last Friday we were at the park again. Stephen and Emily were playing in the sandbox. Oliver and I were sitting on our favorite bench eating hotdogs with ketchup, mayo, mustard, and pickle relish on top. Sometime during a satisfying conversation about improvements in the IT department of Queen Consolidated since I came on board a little over two months ago, I took a bite into my hotdog sandwich sideways and unintentionally dipped my cheek into the toppings. I chuckled at that, feeling the mustard and ketchup touching my skin. Instinctively, I reached for my handy, ever-reliable cleaning material, but I was unpleasantly surprised to discover that I had run out of wipes. No! I'd forgotten to bring the new pack I'd bought just the day before. I rummaged in the bag for anything else I could use to wipe my face clean, but before I could find the tissue, Oliver reached out and squeezed my arm. He said softly, "Hey, let me get that." He let go of my arm and brought out his handkerchief, which he used to wipe off the mustard and ketchup from my cheek. He put away his handkerchief, so I thought he was done. But as I smiled and thanked him politely, he reached back up with his hand and cupped the left side of my face with it, caressing with his thumb the very spot he had just wiped clean. Oh, how is it that a simple, caring gesture can feel so absolutely amazing?! I closed my eyes, leaned into his palm, and sighed contentedly, peacefully. It felt like coming home. My hand lifted on its own accord and gripped his forearm, and when I opened my eyes, Oliver was smiling affectionately at me. My heart felt like it was ready to burst! To say that I was very happy is an understatement. We just sat there smiling at each other, frozen as in a tableau, unwilling to let each other go. We were literally "saved by the bell," as an ice cream cart rolled by, causing Emily and Stephen to run back to us, screaming for ice cream.
There was definitely something there, for me, at least. And right now, I honestly don't know how to deal with it. I mean, acknowledging that I have feelings for Oliver, an attraction even, is one thing. Wishing that he feels the same way about me is another. And let's just say that even if he feels the same way I do, just how do we move forward from being friends to being lovers? Would things change between us in ways we might regret? Questions, questions. (Sigh...) I guess I'll just have to wait and see, and rein in my emotions in the meantime. Self-control, girl. You can do it!
Oh, well... Blame it on bird poop and baby wipes!
A/N: So what do you think? I hope you liked this first treat. If you have read either or both of the multi-chapter fics from which this new collection is based, let me know if you have any suggestions for which episode in the stories I should get my next chapter from. Any ideas? Comments are very much welcome!