2. Six Weeks In Hell, Six Minutes In Heaven

willowblack13 asked: Felicity going HAM on LoA for Oliver's death. Basically using her bitch with wifi mojo to tear them apart

Her fingers fly across the keyboard as she sits in the lair, actively seeking out every bank account, every dollar, every penny the organization posses. Vengeance flows through her veins, hot and red, boiling just under the surface of her skin. Her eyes remain glued to the screen, watching the numbers as the scroll past, deciphering every little word and phrase that pops up.

She's in a mission, one that will surely lead to her death if any of this tracks back to her, but she doesn't care. Death is welcome at this point, if it reunites her with the man she loves. Her heart still aches for him, still bleeds for him the way it had when she found out he was dead. It left a gaping hole in her chest, one that she thinks will never be filled again.

She bides her time, drinking coffee and sitting in front of her super powered computers, searching endless strings of code. And when she finds the first breadcrumb, she latches onto it, teasing out every last bit of information she can before using it to find the next one.

It goes on for hours, days, weeks. She would lose track of time if it isn't for the alarm she's set on her phone to remind her she's got another job to go to or she needs to rest her eyes, which she does for only a moment because the only thing she hears when she closes them is his voice, the surety with which he says those three words that have latched onto her aching heart and squeeze it every time she thinks of them. They haunt her dreams and echo in her ears whenever she lets her mind wander from the task.

Right now, she refuses to get distracted. She's found their money pit and is ready to drain it. Glancing down at the clock on the bottom of her screen, she realizes it's been six weeks, two days, and twelve hours since he walked away to his death. It will only take a minute and a keystroke to destroy them the way they destroyed her.

She knows it won't fill the hole in her chest, the void left by his death, but it'll go a long way to help others heal for the destruction and devastation the League has wrought all over the world. Behind her, the door slams, and she ignores it. Two sets of heavy footsteps echo down the stairs, but she ignores them. Her focus is on the screen in front of her and all the havoc she's about to wreak.

Then a hand falls on her shoulder, it's warmth seeping into her cold skin, reigniting the fire in her veins, a hand she thought she'd never feel again. Calloused fingertips rub circles into her flesh making her heart seize in her chest. It can't be. It's not possible, she think. He's gone. He's dead. It must be a hallucination brought on by the amount of sleep she's lost trying to destroy the people who destroyed her.

She's afraid to look up, to take her eyes off the screen even though she can see his reflection in it. She's too scared to think it might just be some crazy dream she's having because there have been so many in the last six weeks that she no longer knows what's real and what isn't. The only constants are her computers and the code that scrolls across her screen. It's all she has to believe in at this moment because having hope will only devastate her.


She hears his voice, clear as day and squeezes her eyes shut against it, wishing away the hallucination before it has a chance to manifest. Tears well behind the lids, threatening to fall at a moments notice as her breathing shallows and her heart begins to race.

"You're not real." She expels the breath she's been holding ever since that hand landed on her shoulder, hoping it alleviates the tightness she feels in her chest at that moment, but it does nothing of the sort. Instead it constricts even more when his fingers grip her tighter, forcing her face to fall into her hands. "You're not real!" she says with force this time, shaking her head, trying to clear her mind.

She's come so far in the past six weeks. She can't let this hallucination break her at the last moment, just when everything has finally fallen into place and all she needs to do is press a single button to finally get vengeance for his death.

"Look at me, Felicity," he says, removing his hand from her shoulder and placing it beneath her chin. It's pried away from where it rests in her palms, his fingertips warm beneath his touch, sending currents of electricity into her cold body. She hasn't felt that warmth in so long.

"Felicity, please," he begs, in a whisper this time, and her eyes pop open.

He's crouching there in front of her looking a little worse for wear, his hair outgrown and beard a little shaggy, but he's there. The light in his eyes is real, not something she imagined. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but her throat closes. Instead, shaky hands rise from her lap, falling to his cheeks, feeling their warmth under her palms. He's really there. He's really alive.

"Oliver?" she finally squeaks out, her voice cracking as she tries to hold back the flood of emotions that suddenly hit her. He nods, a smile touching his lips and the corners of his eyes, and suddenly a strangled sob escapes her throat. His arms wrap around her, pull her into the solid expanse of his chest, and hold her tight as she buries her face in his neck, holding onto him for dear life.

In six weeks she's seen the very depths of hell. In six minutes, she's found her heaven again.