Chapter Text
It’s a quiet night; the city has been surprisingly devoid of crime, and the team has spent the entire time practising their skills. Felicity is happy to see Sara smile once again. She doesn’t do it often—but then she never has for as long as Felicity’s known her—but it’s an improvement from the past two months when Sara, though showing no obvious signs of unhappiness, had kept quiet and to herself.
“Home?” Felicity asks her sometime in the wee hours of the morning.
The woman glances at Felicity, seeming startled by her suggestion, and replies, “I sleep in the Foundry.”
“I know,” Felicity tells her. “I’m asking you if you wanna go home. To my place, I mean.”
Sara casts a look at Oliver, as if asking him for his permission. The man shrugs and wipes his face with a towel. They carry out the entire conversation without speaking, whilst Felicity drums her fingers impatiently on the table; though she does the exact same thing with Oliver when it comes to work, she resents the fact that they’re talking about her like she’s not in the room.
“Yeah, I guess,” Sara says then, putting away her wooden practice staff. Felicity is not pleased to hear that the other blonde does not at all sound enthused.
She had thought Sara wanted this. She has been trying, for the past two weeks, to include Sara in the activities she usually does with Oliver. Yet, if Sara is looking forward to a night with her that much, then maybe she has misinterpreted what Sara needs; maybe the woman is looking solely for a friendship rather than for anything more intimate.
“I’m not his property,” Felicity blurts once Sara has climbed into the passenger seat of her car and closed the door.
It’s just the two of them in the car, but Sara freezes all the same, looking guilty. “What?”
“Oliver,” Felicity says irritably. “I’m not his property. You don’t have to ask him each time you come home with me. I mean—”
“I didn’t ask him because I thought you were his property,” Sara gasps before Felicity can dig a deeper hole for herself. “I would never think of your relationship like that. I just—I would have asked you, too, if I’d been going with him.”
Felicity sighs to herself.
It’s been thirteen days, but Sara clearly still struggles to navigate whatever the three of them have; she lets Oliver hug her and accepts the kisses Felicity often presses to her cheek, but has never initiated any signs of affection towards either of them. Tonight has shown, too, that she is reluctant to accept the gestures that go beyond what could simply be construed as platonic.
It makes Felicity think that Sara is second-guessing her decision.
“You don’t have to ask either of us if you’re gonna do something with the other,” Felicity says, pulling out of her parking spot by the curb and onto the street. She loves driving after midnight; the roads are gloriously empty, and it makes her feel as if they belong to her. “If it’s not an equal partnership, then it’s not a partnership at all.”
There is a beat, and then two, and then Sara says to her, “I’ve never done this before.”
“Yeah, well, neither have I.”
“No,” Sara corrects. “I mean relationships. I’ve never done … committed relationships before.”
Felicity does a double-take, so startled she almost forgets to keep her eyes straight ahead. (She may love driving past midnight, but that doesn’t make her any less of a conscientious road user.) “But Nyssa…”
“Nyssa is the daughter of the Head of Assassins,” Sara says, sounding vaguely amused. “We didn’t do much cuddling. Or sleepovers of the non-sexual kind. Or coffee dates—or any kind of public date, for that matter. We had dinner—just the two of us—a few times, from the safety of wherever we were hiding out. When we were done, she would make me fight her so that her lover’s skills would be at least somewhat up to par.”
“Muy romantic,” Felicity mutters.
“You’re all gung-ho about making this work, Felicity, but I don’t think you know what it means to be with someone like me.”
There is the slightest falter at the end of Sara’s statement, but Felicity knows that they won’t be addressing it. She peeks at Sara out of the corners of her eyes: The other woman has her head held high and is seemingly unaffected by their topic of conversation, but in her lap, the fingers of one hand have curled around the shirt sleeve of the other.
Like Oliver, Sara feels most secure when she is holding a weapon.
Like Oliver, Sara has a nervous tell, even if it is one that is much less consistent or pronounced.
Like Oliver—
“Oliver tells me that all the time,” Felicity remarks casually, “even before you joined us. I tell him that he’s in now, and he can’t leave until he’s sick of me.”
And because Sara turns her head, Felicity knows she’s surprised the other woman. “You’re allowed to grow,” Felicity presses on as she makes a right turn at an intersection. “You’re allowed to not have had a committed relationship with coffee dates and domestic bliss before, and still want to try. You’re allowed to want new experiences. But, Sara, I’m allowed to grow too, and I can’t know what it’s like to date you unless you let me. So, let me—please.”
Sara doesn’t answer, but she does uncurl her fingers from her sleeve and flatten them against her thighs.
And even though they still haven’t dealt with the fact that Sara keeps looking to either her or Oliver before making a move, Felicity considers it a success.
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She lets Sara, who had been working out the whole night, take the first shower. Sara hesitates, but when Felicity unceremoniously throws a towel into her face, she lets out a bark of astonished laughter and relents. As she goes into the bathroom, Felicity digs out a men’s shirt (bought for herself by herself, thank you very much) and a pair of cotton sweatpants from her drawers and lays them on the bed.
Sara pads barefoot down the hallway a few minutes later, looking somewhat self-conscious in Felicity’s clothes as she rounds the kitchen counters to where Felicity stands at the stove making tea.
“That was extremely fast,” Felicity comments. “Please tell me you shampooed. Not that you stink—you smell good, in fact—but I have never in my life taken a shower that quick.”
Sara hums. “I did shampoo, but I didn’t wanna use up too much of your hot water.”
But it’s so weird, Felicity thinks.
When she’s in her Canary outfit, Sara’s almost larger than life; she stands with her back straight and her eyes feral and her presence domineering. Even back when they were just friends, Sara had always projected a quiet sort of confidence that had practically sent Felicity into fits of envy. The Sara she is familiar with was sure in words and action, neither babbling nor fumbling around awkwardly like Felicity often does. Sara is fierce and smart and capable, and that’s why Felicity has always looked to her in awe.
Ever since the Day of Many Surprises, however, Felicity’s noticed that Sara’s turned almost into a shrinking violet. Professionally, she is still as kickass as ever, but she has become even more hesitant than before to engage in conversations that aren’t strictly work-related. Felicity cannot figure it out.
She knows that Sara’s confidence has at times been superficial (because even heroes have cracks in their hearts), but it makes her uncomfortable to see Sara trying so hard to blend inconspicuously into the background—because this is a Sara who doesn’t believe she is important; this is a Sara who believes her needs matter less than everyone else’s.
And it’s the complete opposite of how Felicity wants Sara to feel.
With a sigh, she takes the whistling kettle off the stove and pours boiling water into the mug sitting on the counter.
“Make yourself at home,” she says, pushing the mug of tea towards Sara. “I’m gonna take a shower, and when I come back, we’re gonna need to talk.”
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When Felicity returns to the living room, Sara’s seated on one end of the couch, knees drawn to her chest and elbows tucked in. Her two hands cradle the mug of tea.
Felicity sighs again and goes to sit down. Sara eyes her over the rim of the mug, curious but silent. Felicity opens her arms.
“C’mon,” she encourages.
Sara’s brows shoot into her hairline.
Felicity fights the urge to just drop her arms and forget about it. “What, do I not look like a hugger to you or something?”
It takes a moment, but Sara eventually scoots closer, twisting her body so that it leans against Felicity’s side and Felicity can curl her arm around the other woman. It’s close, but not overly intimate, and Felicity decides that it’s enough for now.
“Is it weird?” Sara asks.
“What? Hugging?”
She shakes her head. “Me, being attracted to you. I know you said you didn’t mind, but … does it make you feel like you’ll have to do things you don’t want to?”
Felicity considers responding indignantly, because hello, they’re hugging, and she wouldn’t have wanted this relationship if she’d thought it would be weird, would she, but decides that it would only put Sara on the defensive. “No,” she answers. “I’ve never been with a woman before, but it’s not really something I’m opposed to trying. And, I mean … sex is just sex; it’s all about the sensations, and it doesn’t matter whose hand or mouth or whatever is causin’ them. Right?”
Sara shrugs unhelpfully.
“Not that I’m saying we should have sex now,” Felicity continues. “But if or when we do try, I don’t think it’d be weird—unless you’re really bad at what you do. Which I doubt, because Nyssa looks like she’d be hard to please…”
She squeezes her eyes shut in the face of Sara’s laughter.
“Nyssa wasn’t always easy to please, I guess,” Sara muses. “But then again, she really liked me, and that helped.”
“I really like you, too,” Felicity offers, opening her eyes again. “Not so much in the rrr-I-wanna-rip-your-clothes-off-now way—”
“Unlike you with Ollie?” Sara teases with a smirk.
“Oliver doesn’t wear clothes,” Felicity says before she can stop herself. Aaaaand there they go. (She can’t see her own face, but she’s pretty sure she’s turning red.) “That’s not what I meant to say,” she squeaks feebly.
Sara gives a snort. “Well, I don’t blame you. He is fantasy fodder.”
But there’s a hollow tone to her voice that makes Felicity pause. “You know you are too, right?” Felicity asks.
Sara silently tightens her fingers around the handle of the ceramic mug.
“I can’t make myself magically start thinking about you the way I do Oliver,” Felicity tells her. “But sometimes it takes a while for a spark to generate. And there is nothing about you that is remotely unattractive to me. I mean, those abs are a work of art. And is your hair really as soft as it looks?”
Sara chuckles softly. “You’re welcome to touch the hair, if you want.”
“Mmm, thanks, but not yet,” Felicity murmurs. “I’m waiting for the day you kiss me, and I can do that whole burying-my-fingers-in-your-hair thing books are always writing about. Wouldn’t be half as much fun if it wasn’t because I was caught up in the moment.”
“You could kiss me,” Sara points out, lifting a shoulder and then dropping it.
“I could,” Felicity returns. “But I already do on the cheek, and your expression is totally conflicted every time I do it.”
Sara sobers then. She slides her body down, low enough that she can lean her head on Felicity’s shoulder. “I am terrified that I’ll scare you away,” she says, her voice stilted.
“Why?” Felicity questions softly.
“Because the chemistry between you and Oliver—it’s explosive,” Sara mumbles. “You and I don’t have that chemistry. Not naturally. And every time I think about kissing you or—or touching you, I imagine you … not liking it, at best. It’s hard to want to kiss or touch you after that.”
She looks heart-achingly stricken by that thought.
“Oliver and I didn’t start out with the chemistry we have now, either,” Felicity divulges. “I mean, I always thought he was hot, but he wasn’t like … I-must-have-him-or-I’ll-die kinda hot. Which he is now—and if you tell him I said that, I will find a way to retaliate—but that’s because he’s touched me one time too many and he’s always shirtless on the salmon ladder and his Arrow voice does funny things to me. I would never have known that if he hadn’t let me in, though. And then he would just be the abstract concept of Oliver Queen who was very hot but whom I didn’t have constant fantasies about mauling.”
Sara remains quiet, but Felicity can tell by her expression that she’s thinking about it.
“I don’t know you well enough to make you my fantasy fodder,” Felicity adds. “But if I have nothing to work off of, then it’s gonna be harder for me to make it happen.”
She hears Sara’s breath hitch, but she doesn’t let on. She simply rests her cheek against Sara’s silky hair and lets the other woman process whatever is going through her head.
“Give me time?” Sara asks suddenly.
Felicity brushes her lips across Sara’s hair and promises, “As much time as you need.”
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Sometime in the middle of the night, not long after they had gone to bed, she feels Sara jerk awake and tense up. She opens her eyes sleepily to check on the woman beside her, but in the distance, she hears the front door shut quietly and a lock turn.
“It’s just Oliver. He has a spare key and he drops by sometimes,” she slurs in reassurance. (Because he does have a spare key, and no criminal in their right mind would have so much social etiquette as to use her front door.) Sara, of course, doesn’t let down her guard.
Felicity knows, even without looking at the doorway, the exact moment Oliver steps into the room, because Sara relaxes so much that she practically melts into the mattress.
She must think Felicity’s fallen back to sleep, though, because her voice is a whisper when she calls, “Ollie?”
Oliver hums and pulls back the sheets. “Go back to sleep, Sara.”
“Do you want me to switch places with you?” she asks.
There is a pause where Oliver is clearly weighing his options. Felicity waits with bated breath. The answer is ‘no,’ she wants to say, because Sara is still new to all of this and still needs to learn that she doesn’t have to be shunted aside so that others can be happy.
But then Oliver is still new to all of this, too, and even though he hasn’t said as much, Felicity knows that he’s just as fearful of losing her.
She knows them. She knows that for however strong their bond is, they both want her in their lives for the things they can’t find in each other—the hope; the light; the chance to put their dark past behind them. She’s okay with being the person they rely on for that.
But they are not her, and they can’t see the things she sees: That she can love both of them. She’d thought about that—and a myriad of other things—before she’d even proposed a three-way relationship to Sara, and she doesn’t have a single doubt that she’s capable of loving both Sara and Oliver equally and unreservedly.
She can only hope that they one day come to the same realization she has.
“Go back to sleep, Sara,” Oliver repeats, and Felicity lets out the breath she’s held. “We can switch places in the morning.”
He climbs into bed then. Felicity rolls closer to Sara, draping an arm across her partner’s waist and searching the opposite side of bed for Oliver’s hand so that they can intertwine their fingers. He catches hold of her hand and clasps her in between both palms, bringing her knuckles to his lips; in that manner, with the heat of his breath upon her skin and Sara’s pliable body in between theirs, Felicity burrows her nose into the crook of Sara’s neck and closes her eyes.
They’re not where they should be yet. Everything’s still new and rough and awkward and uncertain for them.
But Felicity also doesn’t have a single doubt that they will get there.
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