Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ocean was endless, cold, and merciless. Waves crashed against the hull of the battered fishing vessel as if trying to tear it apart piece by piece. The sky above was a heavy grey blanket, the kind that promised a storm whether you were ready for it or not.

Oliver Queen gripped the side of the small boat, his knuckles white. His eyes swept across the horizon, searching for a silhouette of land. Five years of searching, five years of fighting to stay alive, and it was still hard to believe they were finally leaving that island behind. Beside him, Felicity Smoak sat hunched against the wooden rail, her soaked blonde hair plastered to her face, breath shallow but steady. She looked different from the girl who had once sat across from him in elementary school, grinning over peanut butter sandwiches and scheming ways to beat the other kids in computer lab. The Felicity beside him now was leaner, harder. A survivor in every sense of the word.

They had known each other since they were six years old — childhood friends who’d grown up in the same circles, though Felicity’s brilliance had always set her apart. She had been his partner-in-crime in school projects, the one who could fix his family’s computers when he’d inevitably broken them, and eventually, the one he’d trusted most with his secrets. Which was how she’d ended up on the Gambit.

Back home, their lives had been a mess of complicated feelings and questionable decisions. Oliver had been dating Laurel Lance — perfect Laurel, the woman everyone thought he’d settle down with — but their relationship had been fragile. That didn’t excuse the betrayal, though. Before the Gambit, Oliver had taken Felicity with him. They hadn’t just been friends anymore. It had been reckless, selfish, and yes, a betrayal. But five years on that island had burned away the shallow parts of him, and what remained was the bond between them — tempered like steel under fire. They came back as a couple now, without guilt for what they were, but with the knowledge they had hurt Laurel deeply.

The fishing boat pitched, and Oliver grabbed Felicity’s hand to steady her. In the distance, a coastline emerged from the mist — home. The city skyline rose up like a promise. Cameras flashed, reporters shouted, but Oliver barely heard them. The moment he stepped off the helicopter, Moira Queen was there, pulling him into a hug so tight he could hardly breathe. “Oliver,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “you’re home.” She held him a moment longer before pulling back to look at Felicity. “And Felicity… I don’t know what to say. We thought we’d lost you both.”

Thea Queen hung back, arms folded but smiling through watery eyes. “I can’t believe it,” she said, before stepping forward to hug Oliver and then Felicity. “Five years and you just… show up. I missed you.”

Oliver smiled faintly, but there was something guarded in his eyes. The weight of what they’d endured — and what was still ahead — pressed heavily on him.

Felicity stood at the window of Oliver’s room later that night, taking in the view of the city she hadn’t seen in half a decade. Oliver was behind her, unpacking what few things he had. “It feels… surreal,” she said softly.

“It’s going to feel that way for a while,” Oliver replied. His voice was quiet, almost reluctant, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile reality they’d returned to. They both knew there were people they’d have to face — Laurel chief among them.

A knock came at the door. “Open up, you beautiful castaway,” Tommy Merlyn announced as he stepped inside. He hugged Oliver tightly, grinning. “I can’t believe it. You’re alive. And you brought Felicity back with you? That’s—wow. Just… wow.” He looked between them with a flicker of curiosity before launching into stories about the city, the people they’d missed, and the trouble Tommy had been up to. Beneath the banter, Oliver could feel the distance. Tommy didn’t know the man standing in front of him anymore — and Oliver didn’t know if he could let him.

Later, Oliver slipped into his father’s study. Moira had given him Robert Queen’s old leather bag earlier, telling him it was all they’d recovered from the wreckage. Inside, he found it: a small, weathered notebook. The pages were filled with names — dozens of them. Each one tied to the decay eating away at Starling City. His father’s words echoed in his memory from that lifeboat years ago: Right my wrongs. Save our city. Oliver’s jaw tightened. He would.

In a darkened warehouse, Oliver donned the hood for the first time since returning. His bow was steady, his movements precise — the product of five years of brutal training and survival. Felicity’s voice crackled in his earpiece from a van outside. “Hunt’s security is heavier than I expected, but I’ve got eyes on you.” Adam Hunt’s men fell quickly, each arrow finding its mark. Oliver left the corrupt businessman a clear message: his time exploiting the people of Starling City was over.

They returned to the mansion in silence. Laurel hadn’t seen them yet, and the confrontation loomed somewhere in the near future. But for now, Oliver and Felicity stood together on the balcony, looking out over the city.

“We survived hell,” Felicity murmured, leaning against him.

Oliver’s eyes scanned the twinkling lights below. “Now we save this city.”

The night air was cool, and for the first time in years, Oliver felt something close to hope.

Chapter Text

The Queen mansion was quiet when Oliver woke. Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, a stark contrast to the harsh, unforgiving sun of the island. Beside him, Felicity stirred, stretching under the blankets. They’d slept far better than they had in years — not because they felt safe, but because exhaustion had finally claimed them.

Oliver eased out of bed, pulling on a shirt. The air smelled faintly of coffee and something baking downstairs — Moira’s way of pretending life was normal again. But “normal” had been left behind the moment the Gambit went down.

Thea was sitting cross-legged on her bed, scrolling on her phone when Oliver knocked and poked his head in. “Hey, Speedy,” he said, the old nickname rolling off his tongue.

She looked up sharply, eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. “Don’t call me that. I’m not twelve anymore.”

He stepped inside, leaning against her doorframe. “You’ll always be twelve to me.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the years apart heavy between them. Then she got up and hugged him fiercely. “You really are here,” she whispered.

Oliver smiled faintly. “Yeah. And I’m not going anywhere.”

By late morning, Oliver was in the backseat of a Queen Consolidated town car with Moira, headed to his press conference. Felicity wasn’t far — she’d taken the seat opposite him, her hands folded neatly in her lap, wearing a demure blouse that was more “billionaire’s girlfriend” than “tech genius.” They both knew appearances mattered.

Reporters crowded the steps outside the building. The air buzzed with cameras clicking and questions being hurled — Where have you been? How did you survive? What really happened on the Gambit? Oliver kept his expression polite but unreadable, sticking to the prepared answers.

Inside, he shook hands with executives and board members, all sizing him up as if to decide whether he was still worth the company’s legacy. Felicity kept just behind him, her presence steady and grounding.

That afternoon, Oliver found himself standing outside Laurel’s law office, nerves twisting in his stomach. Felicity had stayed outside in the car — they’d agreed this was something he had to face alone.

Laurel looked up when he walked in, her expression somewhere between shock and fury. “Oliver.”

“Laurel,” he said quietly.

Her eyes were cold. “You’re alive.”

“I am.”

There was a long, tense pause before she asked, “Why are you here?”

He wanted to tell her everything, to explain what had happened on the Gambit and the island, but the truth would only make it worse. “I just… I needed to see you.”

Her voice hardened. “You cheated on me, Oliver. With Felicity. And then you both disappeared.”

His chest tightened. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t get to be sorry,” she snapped. “You don’t get to come back and expect things to be like they were.”

He nodded, accepting the blow. “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

Leaving Laurel’s office meant facing Detective Quentin Lance, who had clearly been waiting for him. The older man’s glare was ice cold. “You have some nerve showing your face around here, Queen.”

“I’m just here to see Laurel,” Oliver said evenly.

“You stay away from my daughter,” Lance warned. “Haven’t you done enough damage?”

Oliver didn’t answer, because there was nothing he could say to change Lance’s mind.

That night, Oliver was back in the warehouse lair he’d begun setting up as his base of operations. Felicity sat at a folding table, laptop open, a half-eaten takeout container next to her.

“Second name?” she asked without looking up.

“Martin Somers,” Oliver said, stringing his bow. “He’s tied to the Triad.”

Felicity’s fingers flew over the keys. “I’ve got his business holdings, known associates, and a list of his offshore accounts. You’re going to need to move fast — the Triad doesn’t play nice.”

By midnight, Oliver was perched on a rooftop near Somers’ docks. Below, men moved crates under the cover of darkness. His arrows flew true, disabling guards with precision. When he finally cornered Somers, the man tried to bluster, but the sight of an arrow inches from his throat stole his bravado.

“Stay away from Emily Nocenti,” Oliver ordered, referencing the dock worker who was about to testify against him. “If she so much as stubs her toe, I’ll know.”

Somers swallowed hard. “Alright. You win.”

Oliver returned just before dawn, slipping into the mansion quietly. Felicity was already there, seated at the kitchen counter with a mug of tea.

“Any problems?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Handled.”

She studied him for a moment. “Laurel?”

“She’s… not ready to forgive me. And I can’t blame her.”

Felicity reached across the counter, her hand brushing his. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Saving the city… and maybe salvaging what we can with the people we left behind.”

Oliver managed a small smile. “One step at a time.”

Outside, the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon. Inside, Oliver Queen — billionaire, survivor, vigilante — prepared for the next name on the list.

Chapter Text

Felicity paused at the threshold of the Queen mansion, letting her eyes take in the familiar yet somehow altered surroundings. She had been around this house countless times—playing in the gardens as a child, sitting quietly in the drawing room while Oliver and Tommy debated strategy—but this was different. Now, she was living here, officially, as Oliver’s girlfriend.

A soft chime from the front doors drew her attention, and Sarah Lance stepped into the hall, her posture confident, her eyes assessing Felicity for a fraction of a second before breaking into a warm, mischievous grin.

“You made it,” Sarah said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually return to the city—or if you’d just sneak back like some mysterious ghost.”

Felicity laughed softly, tension easing from her shoulders. “I wanted to come quietly. I wasn’t sure how everyone would react, especially you.”

Sarah waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t overthink it. You’re alive. That’s enough for me.”

From the staircase, Thea appeared, leaning lightly on the banister. “It’s good to see you, Felicity. Starling City hasn’t been the same without you.”

Sarah shot Thea a warning glance. “Careful. You don’t get to claim all the praise. She’s mine to tease.”

Before Felicity could respond, the unmistakable sound of the front door opening drew her attention to Tommy Merlyn. He swept into the room with the familiar confidence she had known for years. “Felicity,” he said, pulling her into a quick hug that held a mixture of relief and joy. “You’re really here.”

“I am,” Felicity replied, smiling. “It’s… strange, but good.”

Tommy’s eyes glinted as he stepped back. “You know, I was just thinking about that night five years ago at the Merlyn gala. Remember?”

Felicity’s lips curved into a faint smile at the memory. “You mean the night we somehow got locked out on the terrace and had to sneak back in like thieves?”

“Exactly that,” he said, grinning. “I swear I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

Felicity felt warmth creep into her chest. Memories like that reminded her of why she had always valued this circle of friends—the laughter, the loyalty, the shared recklessness. It had been five years since she had last spent time in Starling City before disappearing with Oliver, and the thought of reconnecting with them was both comforting and nerve-wracking.

Oliver arrived then, slipping quietly into the room. He paused, taking in the scene: Felicity surrounded by Sarah, Tommy, and Thea, laughter filling the space, familiarity comforting yet tinged with the weight of what had been lost. He allowed himself a brief smile.

“Morning,” he said evenly, his gaze lingering on Felicity.

Sarah smirked. “Morning, Queen. Don’t get too smug. I’m only here for Felicity.”

Felicity rolled her eyes playfully. “You’re impossible. And yes, I saw that look.”

The afternoon moved on, and Felicity found herself in the drawing room with Moira, who regarded her with an elegant, measured expression, hands clasped as she leaned against a chaise lounge.

“You’ve been around the house often enough,” Moira said, her voice smooth but authoritative, “but living here is a different matter entirely. You understand that, yes?”

“I do,” Felicity replied, sitting across from her. “I know the mansion, I know the family, but this is my first time actually living here with Oliver. I’ll respect the house—and you.”

Moira’s lips curved faintly. “Good. You’re welcome here, Felicity, but remember that this home is as much mine to oversee as it is anyone else’s. Balance and respect are required.”

Felicity nodded, the weight of Moira’s expectations sinking in without being burdensome. “I understand. I’ll do my best.”

Later, at the Foundry, Felicity immersed herself in the task of tracking Deadshot. Maps and surveillance feeds covered the walls, and she moved between terminals, plotting guard rotations, city streets, and escape routes.

During a lull, she paused, remembering nights from roughly five years ago when Oliver, Tommy, Sarah, and she had explored rooftops and city streets after gala events or parties. They had climbed, raced, and laughed like no one else existed outside their little world. Oliver had taken the lead, daring them to match his feats, while Tommy and Sarah had teased and challenged each other at every step. Those nights had been reckless, but alive in a way that Felicity cherished.

A quiet ping on one of her screens pulled her back. Deadshot had made a move, and the maps and projections immediately consumed her focus. Oliver, perched on a rooftop, moved like a shadow, silent and precise. Felicity’s voice in his comms guided him, calm and steady.

“Two guards patrolling the east entrance. You have a fifteen-second window before they rotate. Clear path,” she said.

Oliver’s arrows flew with surgical precision, neutralizing threats without leaving a trace. When he finally confronted Deadshot, the tension was immediate.

“Step away from Emily Nocenti,” Oliver commanded.

Deadshot faltered. “Fine. You win.”

By early morning, Oliver returned to the mansion. Felicity was waiting in the drawing room, coffee in hand, the quiet hum of the city filtering through the windows.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Handled,” Oliver replied, setting down his bow.

Her gaze softened. “And Laurel?”

“She’s hesitant. Justifiably,” he said.

Felicity reached for his hand. “One step at a time,” she said. “With her… and with the city. We’ll manage.”

The first rays of sun stretched across Starling City, and Felicity realized that home wasn’t just the mansion or the streets or even the Foundry. It was laughter, memories, and the people who had stayed constant despite time, distance, and danger. She was back, finally, and it felt like coming home.

Chapter Text

Felicity leaned against the edge of the Foundry’s main table, eyes scanning the maps and surveillance feeds as Oliver moved silently through the shadows above the city streets. He had been tense all morning, and she could feel the undercurrent of frustration pulsing in his voice through the comms.

“You’re too close,” she said softly, watching him adjust his footing on the rooftop. “Step back before you get spotted.”

Oliver’s jaw tightened, but he obeyed, perching on the edge and peering into the alley below. “I can handle it,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice betrayed his focus on something more than just the criminal down there.

“You think you can handle it,” she replied firmly. “I know you. Don’t let him make you do something you’ll regret.”

He paused, exhaling slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Maybe it is, if you let me help,” she said, and for a brief second, her hand hovered near his comms pack, a silent reminder that they were in this together. She was always there, a steady presence keeping him from tipping over the edge into rage.

The mission today centered on Peter Declan, a man wrongfully imprisoned for the murder of a business associate. Evidence had been withheld, and the real culprit had powerful ties—ties that made Oliver’s instinct lean toward vengeance rather than justice. Felicity’s calm voice grounded him, reminding him that they were a team, not just vigilante and hacker, but partners in both work and life.

As they moved through the city, she guided him, pointing out surveillance cameras, guard rotations, and escape routes. “Three cameras in a line on the east side, each thirty-second delay. Take the middle path, keep low, and watch the corner near the dumpster.”

He nodded, eyes narrowing as he assessed the information. He had done this alone before, but Felicity’s input gave him precision and clarity he had never quite experienced. He trusted her—he had to—but this went beyond mission trust. He relied on her presence, her steadiness. She reminded him that even when the darkness was tempting, there was a line they didn’t cross together.

The flashback hit him suddenly. Five years ago, it had been him, Tommy, Felicity, and Sara, late at night in Starling City, sneaking across rooftops after some social gala they had insisted on skipping. Felicity had been perched on the ledge, holding his hand for balance as Tommy dared him to jump to the next building. Sara had rolled her eyes, arms crossed, but secretly cheered him on. They had laughed so freely that night. For a moment, it seemed impossibly far away, a memory of lighter days. Yet the echo of that laughter grounded him even now.

By mid-afternoon, they had infiltrated the warehouse where Declan’s real evidence was stored. Oliver moved with practiced silence, and Felicity stayed close behind, covering angles and feeding him details through the comms. A guard appeared unexpectedly, and Oliver tensed, hand twitching toward his bow. Felicity’s firm whisper stopped him.

“Wait. Let me redirect him. We do this smart, not fast.”

The guard passed, oblivious. Oliver exhaled, the tension in his shoulders finally loosening. Felicity’s presence had prevented an unnecessary confrontation—again.

After the warehouse was secured and evidence retrieved, they returned to the mansion. Felicity walked beside Oliver, carrying the weight of what they had just accomplished but keeping a lightness in her steps to remind him of home.

Inside, Moira regarded her with measured curiosity. “I see you’ve been busy,” she said, elegantly seated with a cup of tea. Her eyes flicked to Oliver, and then to Felicity. “And… you’ve been working together?”

“We have,” Felicity replied, choosing her words carefully. “We make a good team. And he listens to me… most of the time.”

Moira’s lips curved faintly. “Good. You need someone to keep him grounded. Starling City can be a dangerous place, for those who act alone.”

Felicity nodded. “Exactly. That’s what I’m here for.”

Later, at the Foundry, Felicity leaned over a workstation, rerouting surveillance and analyzing data on the Declan case. Oliver joined her, bow slung over his shoulder, the weight of the day pressing down but eased by her presence.

“You always know what to do,” he said quietly, as if more to himself than to her.

“I just make sure you don’t lose yourself,” she replied. “We’re in this together, Ollie. Every step of the way.”

He allowed himself a small smile, brushing a hand over the back of her wrist. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She tilted her head, letting him see the reassurance in her eyes. “You’d survive. But it wouldn’t be the same. You know that.”

Outside the Foundry, Oliver kept his patrol, with Felicity shadowing him in the city streets, taking notes, making calculations, and keeping him updated on any possible threats. At one point, he wanted to take a more violent approach with a crooked officer, but Felicity’s calm reasoning prevented it.

“You’re not him,” she said quietly. “You’re better than this. You’re in control, not the anger.”

Her words settled over him like a protective layer, and he stepped back, breathing a little easier, allowing his own sense of justice—not rage—to lead the next move.

Meanwhile, the repair of old relationships continued. Tommy was present, assisting at the warehouse before disappearing into the city to keep his own eyes on Declan’s associates. Felicity and Tommy shared a brief conversation over a secure comm before he left.

“You’re really back,” Tommy said. “Starling hasn’t been the same without you.”

“I know,” Felicity replied. “But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

They exchanged a glance filled with years of friendship, mischief, and trust. For a moment, the past and present coexisted seamlessly.

At the mansion, Sara arrived to check on Felicity, cautious but relieved to see her friend alive and well. They shared a quiet moment in the study, talking through the past months, the dangers they’d faced, and the small victories that kept them all moving forward.

The tension with Laurel remained. Felicity caught a brief glimpse of her sister at the scene of the city council hearing, and despite Felicity’s attempts to reach out, Laurel’s stance was firm and distant. Felicity let it go for now, understanding that some wounds took time to heal, even when both parties wanted to mend them.

By the evening, Oliver and Felicity returned to the mansion, the city quieting around them. They shared a small moment in the drawing room, sitting close but saying little. The weight of the day had been intense, but their proximity provided a grounding comfort neither needed to articulate.

“You kept me from going too far today,” Oliver admitted softly.

“You know I always will,” Felicity replied, letting her hand find his. “That’s what we are now—together. A team, in the city and at home.”

He squeezed her hand gently, the tension in his expression softening. “I don’t think I ever realized how much I needed that.”

“You did,” she said simply. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

As the night deepened over Starling City, Felicity felt a quiet satisfaction. They had done right by Declan, they had stayed true to themselves, and they had each other. Home wasn’t just the mansion or the Foundry—it was this partnership, this shared trust, and the knowledge that together, they could face the darkness without losing themselves.

Oliver leaned back, finally allowing himself to relax in her presence. “We make a good team,” he said.

“The best,” Felicity replied, her gaze steady, her presence unwavering. “And we always will be.”

The city stretched beyond the windows, silent for the moment, but the future was uncertain. Still, with Felicity beside him, Oliver felt the sharp edge of control ease, and for the first time in a long time, he could breathe.

Chapter Text

The morning air in Starling City was sharp and brimming with tension. Felicity arrived at the Foundry before Oliver, already immersed in the data feeds, mapping movements, and cross-referencing reports of Count Vertigo’s growing influence over the city’s energy sector. Surveillance footage streamed across the screens, showing Vertigo’s men in black suits entering and exiting high-rise offices, while Felicity’s fingers flew over the keyboard, parsing patterns and predicting his next move.

Oliver appeared quietly, descending the stairs from the rooftop entrance above, bow slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning the monitors. “Status?” he asked.

“Count Vertigo’s shell corporation is moving funds through three subsidiaries simultaneously. If we don’t intercept now, he’ll have access to the city’s energy grid within hours,” Felicity said, pointing at a series of maps and security feeds.

He studied the feeds, taking in her analysis. “You’ve done all of this?”

She shrugged lightly. “You mean besides keeping you from firing arrows into the wrong men again? Yeah… I’ve been busy.”

Oliver smirked faintly, but his eyes softened at her words. Felicity always knew how to temper him, to pull him back from his instincts to use brute force instead of strategy. It was a dance they had perfected together: her logic and calm counterbalancing his impulsive tendencies.

A flashback crept into his mind, warm and electric: five years ago, the two of them had been on a rooftop late at night, Felicity holding his hand for balance as Tommy dared him to jump across buildings. Sara had been perched beside them, arms crossed but secretly cheering. Laughter had echoed through the air, reckless and liberating. The memory grounded him even now; it reminded him that the fight wasn’t just about vengeance—it was about protecting the people who mattered.

“Oliver, look at this,” Felicity said, tapping a screen showing the anticipated path of Vertigo’s convoy. “He’ll be moving the prototype tonight. If we intercept, we need to coordinate timing perfectly—guards, cameras, and rooftop access. Any mistake, and the entire operation fails.”

He leaned close, letting his hand brush hers, just for a second, a quiet reassurance. “We do this together.”

“We always have,” she replied, voice firm.

Later, at the Queen mansion, Moira observed Felicity organizing files, her posture elegant and composed, yet her eyes sharp as ever. “I see you’ve taken to living here quite naturally,” Moira said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “And Oliver… he listens to you?”

Felicity nodded, careful with her words. “He trusts me. We make decisions together.”

Moira sipped her tea, contemplative. “Good. Starling is a dangerous city, and he can’t do it alone. You both need to stay grounded.”

Across the room, Thea peeked from behind a column, watching the interaction with curiosity and a bit of relief. Felicity had always been a presence of stability, someone Thea could trust implicitly, even if she wasn’t sure how to express it.

Tommy arrived later, slipping quietly into the drawing room. “I hear the city’s being a little more complicated than usual,” he said. Felicity greeted him with a warm hug, and they shared a brief laugh over a memory from five years ago—dashing across the Merlyn estate rooftops during a storm, soaked but exhilarated. The past and present intertwined seamlessly in those small moments.

Meanwhile, Laurel remained distant. Felicity caught glimpses of her at the courthouse and in social circles, but any attempt to engage was met with polite dismissal or curt nods. Felicity let it go; there were battles she couldn’t fight yet.

By nightfall, Oliver and Felicity moved into the city streets. Felicity stayed in constant contact via comms, providing real-time updates and tactical guidance. At one point, Oliver’s focus wavered, anger flaring at a corrupt officer attempting to block their path.

“Stop,” Felicity’s voice cut through the comms, calm and steady. “You don’t need to escalate. Trust me.”

He exhaled, letting the tension leave his shoulders. “You always know when to step in,” he murmured.

“Because I know you,” she replied.

Together, they intercepted Vertigo’s convoy, moving silently and efficiently. Felicity guided Oliver past guards and cameras, helping him disable security without leaving a trace. Their trust and teamwork were seamless, a silent understanding between two people who had survived near impossible situations together.

The battle with Vertigo’s men was tense, but Oliver never let his anger override strategy, thanks to Felicity’s calming presence. After subduing the guards and securing the prototype, they retreated to a rooftop overlooking the city.

“You were incredible tonight,” Oliver said, letting his guard drop for the first time in hours.

Felicity smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “So were you. But we did it together. That’s the important part.”

Back at the Foundry, they reviewed footage and planned the next steps. The city slept, but Felicity and Oliver were already thinking ahead, ensuring Starling’s safety while repairing the relationships they had left behind.

Sara dropped by, bringing news of Vertigo’s associates scattered across the city. Felicity and Sara exchanged strategies, the two friends seamlessly coordinating as they once had in the early days.

Moira called later in the evening to check on both of them. Felicity handled the call, reporting quietly on the city’s status and Oliver’s condition. “He’s been more grounded than ever,” she said, “because we’re in this together. And I know he won’t lose control with me here.”

By the end of the night, Oliver and Felicity returned to the mansion. They stood together in the drawing room, watching the city lights flicker below.

“You know,” Oliver said quietly, “I’ve realized something tonight. The city will always need me, but I can’t do this alone. I need you.”

“And you have me,” Felicity replied, voice soft but unwavering. “Every step of the way.”

Oliver leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, a quiet moment of solace amid the chaos. “We make a good team,” he murmured.

“The best,” she said.

Beyond the windows, Starling City slept, oblivious to the duo that watched over it. Felicity and Oliver knew the work would never end, but they also knew that, together, they were unstoppable. Home was not just a place or a building—it was being with someone who knew you completely, who grounded you when the world threatened to drag you under. And tonight, they were home, in each other, and ready for whatever the city would throw at them next.