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Like A Queen

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Oliver smiles at the sight that greets him when he finally wanders into the living room one late Saturday morning.

Before the kidnapping and her shooting, Felicity had already spent many of her nights sleeping over at the Queen residence so there wasn’t even a hint of an adjustment period when she was moved into the guest room she had come to consider her own for the duration of her recovery. There was, however, a little bit of an adjustment period when, after a few days of bed rest and a few weeks of physical therapy, she decided to spend a week at her own apartment. No one is entirely sure who took it worse – Oliver or Thea. Still, her time away didn’t last very long as she left Sunday night and came back to inhabit her favorite cozy sheets that same Friday and now here she is, just where she has been found the past handful of Saturdays, sitting on his couch in her sweatpants and one of his old shirts, with her hair piled messily a top her head while she plays on her tablet and his sister rests her head comfortably on her good shoulder.

Except, as he leans over the back of the couch to drop kisses on their heads he notices that she is not playing some silly game, but looking at apartments.

“Oliver, please tell your sister these apartments are perfectly acceptable for me,” she teasingly demands after flashing him her bright morning smile.

Thea huffs and he frowns in confusion. “What’s wrong with the apartment you have now?”

“My lease will be up next month and, since I’ll be getting a substantial raise when I start as the new Head of Applied Sciences, I thought I’d move myself on up to a place around here.” She holds her tablet up a little higher for Thea to see. “Look, this townhouse is practically around the corner. I wouldn’t be that far away.”

“Whatever you say, Mama Bear. I’m going to go and finish up some business at the club. I’ll see you guys tonight,” she says, giving her a sweet smile before shooting her brother a rather pointed look as she walks past him and out the door.

“I thought she’d be happy I was moving closer to you guys,” Felicity says with a worried pout.

Oliver uncomfortably shifts his feet as he stares down at his toes with deep concentration.

“You know, you don’t have to move in to a new apartment. You could just move in here. With us. With me.”

“And what, just turn the guest room into my room? I mean sure, half of my stuff is already in there but-“

He cuts her off with a quiet, nervous laugh. “Felicity, it’s already your room. What I mean is that you move your things from your room to my room so my room becomes our room.”


She is looking up at him with wide-eyed, her mouth pink and parted and utterly kissable, her glasses somehow sitting at the very tip of her perfect nose, her hair still damp from her shower, and her face clear of make-up leaving every single freckle that sprinkles her nose and the apple of her cheeks entirely visible. He thinks that this is the face he wants to wake up to every single morning for the rest of his life; this is the last face he wants to see before he dies.

 Once again, thinks Fuck it.

He made a promise to her and her mother and he is going to keep that goddamn promise.

“I – You - Wait here a second,” he tells her before turning right around and rushing away.

She hears him run up the stairs two at a time; intently listens to him rummage through his closet, and then come back down in no time at all. He comes around the back of the couch, positions himself in front of her, and starts doing what looks like the world’s most awkward cha-cha before finally deciding to drop down on one knee.

It takes Felicity maybe a moment too long to notice the small black box in his hands, but when he opens it, it doesn’t take her nearly as long to notice the elegant emerald ring nestled inside.

Oliver always thought that when the moment came he would be a sweaty, nervous wreck with his heart hammering away in his chest and pounding in his ears. He thought that he would find himself mumbling and stammering away in an oddly cracked voice with tears in his eyes. But now, here he is kneeling before her with a ring in his hand, looking up at her as she sits cross-legged on his couch with an adorably astonished look on her face, and he is calm. His heart is beating slow and steady, his voice is strong and sure, and he swears his vision has never been clearer.

“You once asked me if I had any happy stories and I told you that I had had five years where nothing good happened. Felicity, the truth is those five years ended the day I walked into your office with a shot up a laptop and a half-assed lie. After everything I had done I thought that I didn’t deserve to be happy, and a part of me didn’t even want to be happy; but that’s just what you’ve made me – happy. Sometimes I look at you and I can’t believe you’re real. You are the kindest, smartest, bravest, most remarkable person I have ever met. You make me strong. You make me feel like I can do anything and be anything, and that includes being the kind of hero the city deserves, the kind of hero, the kind of person, you deserve.

“Felicity, I love you. I meant it that night in the mansion and I’m sorry because I’m an idiot and I haven’t told you every single day since then but I promise you, if you let me, I will tell you ‘I love you’ every day for the rest of my life. If you let me, I will try to make you as happy as you have made me.”

His heart starts pounding away again because he can see through his tear-filled eyes that she just sits there for what seems forever, quiet and cross-legged on his couch with that adorably astonished look on her face and tears in her eyes and so still that, for a second, he wonders if she is still breathing.

“Umm,” his voice cracks. “You – Do you… D-Don’t you have something to say to me?”

 “I don’t know what to say, you haven’t asked me anything yet!” she happily sobs, finally letting out the breath she seems to have been holding in.

Oliver’s smile is as bright as hers and so wide his face kind of hurts when he gently takes her hand holds the ring up to her finger.

“Felicity Smoak, will you marry me?”

He barely gets the words out before she quite literally throws herself at him, the both of them falling backwards onto the overly expensive Oriental rug and landing in the space in between the coffee table and the ottoman.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she gasps, giggles, and kisses into his mouth.


They get married in city hall three months later and when she signs her name as ‘Felicity Smoak-Queen’ for the first time, she finds that, oddly enough, it doesn’t look or feel weird at all.