AN: So. This is where the story ends. When I wrote it, I felt like this was where it should end - but note the time jump between this chapter and the last one. I didn't include the time jump for any particular reason when I wrote it, but now ... well, it's gonna work out, apparently. This story is finished, but I'm going to be creating another series to fill in the years and a few of the cities during the years missing from the time jump. I wanted to upload this in its entirety so that it could stand alone and be a finished product, but there will be more. Again, thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/favorite this - I hope it made you smile!
One last note: back in 2013, a co-worker/friend of mine and his wife lost their two year old daughter to cancer. Her name was Millie, and she was shy, and sweet, and I'll never forget her. The Millie in this is so named for that beautiful little girl.
"Wow! Mom, look at her! Isn't she pretty? I want wings. Daddy, can I have wings?"
"I thought you were afraid of heights?"
"I wouldn't be afraid if I had wings!"
Oliver raises his eyebrows at his wife. She doesn't bother to hide her grin as she shifts their daughter to her other hip.
"Weston, stay here please," Oliver calls as his son starts to move around the statue. "I don't want you to get lost."
"Wouldn't get lost if I had wings!" the six year old replies.
Felicity laughs. Millie lets out a sudden squeal and stretches her hand out toward the statue, so Felicity steps forward and lets her run a small hand over the stone as Oliver follows Weston to the other side.
Despite the buzz of the crowds in the Louvre, Felicity hears her son ask: "Why doesn't she have arms? Or a head?"
When Oliver reappears at her side he slips an arm around her waist and presses a kiss against her temple. "He gets the inquisitiveness from you."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"I don't think I want wings," Weston declares then. He glances up at the statue and then back at his parents.
"Why not?" Felicity asks.
"'Cause I like my arms."
Oliver's laughter is loud as it bounces off the museum walls. He drops his head onto Felicity's shoulder in an effort to be quiet, but his shoulders shake from the effort of trying to contain it, and that only makes her laugh harder.
"How come the statue at home isn't this big?" Weston continues. He's unperturbed at his parents' laughter.
"Because it wouldn't fit otherwise," Oliver answers around his grin.
Together Oliver and Felicity turn their heads to the side. Thea is standing at the top of the stairs and smiles when she sees they're paying attention. Next to her, Roy has a toddler on his shoulders.
"Tommy and Laurel want to get lunch."
"Oh, what time is it?" Felicity gasps and leans her head around Millie to get a look at her watch. "It's almost two," she tells Oliver. "Millie needs a nap before we meet everyone for dinner."
Oliver nods and then addresses Thea. "We'll meet you in the hall," he calls. Then, holding out his hand for his son to grab, "C'mon, Wes, it's time to eat."
"Can we come back, mommy? I like the wing lady!"
"Of course we can come back, baby."
Oliver stops walking long enough to lean over the heads of both of his children and give his wife a kiss.
Later, when he's pushing a stroller with two sleeping children down the side streets of Paris, Oliver pulls a faded statuette from his pocket and hands it to Felicity with a fond smile. She pulls its twin from her purse and a Sharpie; beneath the original date on his, she writes the new one and then waits for him to do the same on hers.
"Gotta have a souvenir," they chorus fondly.
Ahead of them, Caitlin's laugh hangs in the air. She has an arm hooked through Ronnie's, but she's leaning forward to say something to Cisco, who is holding Barry and Iris' two year old daughter; behind them, Tommy and Laurel are sharing gelato with their son Jonah, and Thea is pushing another sleeping baby while Roy studies a city map.
"Digg and Lyla are coming next year," Felicity says as she watches their friends. "They don't have a choice."
Oliver smiles and pulls her in for a kiss. In his pocket, the Victory of Samothrace rests against his leg.
He has won the only Victory that matters: happiness.