She wakes up with a sore neck.

And a headache.

And aches and pains all over her body.

She goes to stretch and finds that there's something in the way. Her brain is too fogged with sleep to know what it is, so blearily she lifts her head and opens her eyes.

It's a leg.

A denim-covered leg.

Felicity blinks, and lifts her head further. She's not wearing her glasses but there's no mistaking the leg's owner.


He's sitting on her sofa, head back, fast asleep. Her head is resting right up against his leg and one of his hands lies lightly on her shoulder.

As she watches, she can see the shift in him from sleep to awake. He doesn't move, doesn't make a sound, but suddenly he's there in the way he wasn't a second ago.

His hand on her shoulder tightens then releases.

"Felicity?" He says, his eyes still closed.


"Go back to sleep."

She stares. She remembers with the wine-soaked recollection of the slightly mortified that she offered him a choice last night.

Stay or go.

He apparently chose to stay and she slept right through it.

Or, at least, she hopes she slept through it. She certainly didn't drink enough for her to forget anything, did she?

Did she?

His hand moves on her shoulder, stroking her clothing.

"Oliver?" She asks, softly.


"If I go back to sleep," she says, more than a little uncertain, "are you going to be here when I wake up?"

"Yes." He smiles. "I'm not going anywhere."

Her heart leaps, and she can't quite believe it.





"I'm not sure I'll be able to get back to sleep."

He snorts, blowing the air out of his nose, then moves, twisting.

His eyes are still closed but apparently he doesn't need them, because he shifts his position, picks her up and lays her back down, so that instead of her lying with her head against his thigh, they're now lying together, her body pressed against his chest, his arm around her.

His other hand comes up and takes hold of her hand, intertwining their fingers together.

"Felicity," he says, when they are apparently both arranged to his satisfaction. "Try."

She lies in his embrace and closes her eyes.

His hand on her back moves on lazy circles.

His hand holds hers tightly.

She knows they'll have to talk about this. And it won't be easy; there are mountains still to climb, battles left to fight, enemies to defeat.

But he's here. And she's here.

And he's holding her hand in a way that suggests he won't ever let go. Not for comfort, not for grounding, not to save her life - just to touch her.

And that's enough.

For now, at least.

Felicity lets her fears go, knowing that whatever dreams may come now will be sweet ones.

Because Oliver is holding her hand.

And for the first time, it means something.