Hello! I literally jumped out of bed at seven in the morning and started writing this story so it's based on a bad dream and a song stuck in my head. I hope you'll like it, it kinda broke my heart to write. I make myself sad.

I don't own Oliver or Felicity or Arrow or the lair, although owning the lair would have been really cool. It's a hard life.

I also don't own the icon used in the fic, credit goes to the awesome person who made it (whoever that is).

Major Arrow spoilers ahead, and read the A/N at the end.


He sat in the corner staring at the door.

Oliver has become very accustomed to this spot of the lair in the past few months. He always turned off the lights and sat in that corner against the column. Waiting. Always waiting. For her.

She has waited for him many times before.

She has waited for a year before he finally kissed her. She has waited for another before the words "I love you" had escaped his lips. She has also waited for him to open up to her.

Bit by bit, one baby step after another, Felicity has witnessed Oliver's change. She made it happen. She'd stroke his head when he woke up from a nightmare, despite how dangerous sleeping next to him could be; she never let him sleep alone. She'd soothe and comfort when he woke up gasping for breath. She'd offer him tea and turn on all the lights in her small apartment. She'd lead them to the sofa, turn on the TV, and start babbling about the latest show she watched until his breathing comes back to normal and his lips twitch in amusement. She babbled a lot. He always kissed her to stop the babbling.

They stayed at her apartment most nights; they'd return there after a date or a long night at the lair. Felicity would drag him there when he overworked himself or needed reminding that he's just as human as the rest of them.

Even heroes need rest, Oliver. Is what she used to say, and she always said it with that exasperated tone she had, scrunching up her nose slightly and crossing her arms. But her eyes remained fond and loving. He loved her eyes.

Back when she used to drag him home each night, she'd order a ridiculous amount of Chinese takeaway, that they'd eat out of boxes, and then complain about having too many left over boxes for days. She'd rent them a movie that was made in the 5 years Oliver spent on the island, and watch his reactions as he watched the movie. She told him she loved his smart remarks. He told her he loved her taste in movies. After that they'd do whatever she felt like. Sometimes she'd ask him to dance with her. Sometimes she'd watch old reruns of shows and cry at some parts as he held her and tried real hard not to smile. Other times, they'd just lay down on her sofa, their feet entangled, her head on his chest as she read a book and his hand playing with her hair as he went through some folder Diggle gave him. At those times, Felicity would drop whatever she's reading when she felt him tensing up then pull the folder out of his hands, kiss his cheek, and make him voice his thoughts out loud. For him, Felicity's apartment was the world made small.

For long after Tommy's death, Oliver threw himself into being The Hood. He would come each night worn out and tired but sit here in this very spot until he fell asleep with his head laid back against the wall. It took her a couple of months, but one night she finally broke through to him and made him sleep at the couch in his office upstairs. After that, she'd stay late every night and talk him into going up to his office. It became a ritual. The first of many they'd later have.

Felicity was the one who got him to cry for the first time after Tommy's death. It was exactly four months after his best friend died, and she hugged him tight through it all. She didn't let go when he started shouting that it should have been him, she didn't let go when he tried to get out of her grasp and shut off again, she didn't let go even when he physically tried to push her away. She never did let go. That night was the first time she slept by his side. He held on to her all night long. After that, he was always the one reaching out for her.

She started out as the IT girl, became his friend, then his best friend, then the love of his life. She'd have been his wife if it weren't for that night. That one night that destroyed Oliver's world all over again.

He sat straighter now as he replayed that night in his head. He had played the memory so many times that it became worn out at the edges, the pictures a little blurry and the sound as if coming through thick water. It resembled a nightmare. It was every nightmare he's had since that day.

He felt the wetness on his cheeks as he stared at the chair where she used to sit. The computer screens that she used to excitedly point at, now stared accusingly back at him.

You could have saved her. The chair screamed.

It should have been you. The screens corrected.

So he finally allowed it; with a long exhale, he allowed the memories of that night to abuse him all over again.

He had invited her out on a date to a restaurant that night, the same one they had their first date on. It wasn't the fanciest place in town but that's because Felicity never liked such places; she said they made her too nervous and like she'd end up stabbing herself with one of the many forks if she embarrassed herself. So their first date ended up in a cozy restaurant at the edge of the Glades, with candles and quite music playing in the background. He decided that a dinner there would be the perfect start to their night. He planned on proposing that night. He'd take her to their apartment later –because it became theirs the first time she found his clothes thrown in her washing machine and had a stern talk with him about it being the first century and Oliver Queen, this place is yours as it's mine so I'm doing your laundry but you're cleaning the living room. - where he had prepared the cheesiest pathway of rose petals to the living room, in which he'd turn on the music, dance with her, then get down on one knee. He knew she'd say yes.

They never made it to the dinner.

She did make it to the restaurant. He was late. She got shot.

He had ordered her a handmade ring, he picked the design out of a catalogue of jewelry masterpieces –where each piece was only made once on order then taken out of the book- and waited patiently as Thea remarked on each and everyone he picked, he asked for the inside to be engraved and they told him that it would take extra time that way and he thought they had all the time in the world. God was he wrong.

The shop said that they'd send the ring to him with an agent when it was done, it'd arrive precisely at the evening of the night he planned on proposing. It took a bit longer than planned for the man to arrive. Exactly ten minutes late. It took Oliver another twenty to get to the restaurant.

He arrived as the ambulances left. There was a shooting. At a restaurant. Who would have thought?

He remembers clearly how the fear paralyzed him for a second as he stepped out of the car. He remembers running toward the police car and demanding to know what happened. He remembers that for once, Officer Lance had no snarky remark to make. Instead, the older man has looked at his feet and recited how the shooting took place. He told Oliver that five people were dead, six in a critical condition. Felicity Smoak was one of the latter.

Go to the hospital, after that ambulance. Lance has pointed with a pained expression on his face. You may see her before she… her injury looked bad, son.

Oliver made a chocked noise as the news hit him a thousand miles an hour. And when was the last time Lance had called him son?

He grabbed the green box in his pocket tightly as he sped to the hospital. Later he would learn everything that happened that night. Later he would find the man behind the shooting and make him beg for death. Later he'd make sure that the amount of money stolen won't begin to cover the cost of the surgeries that man would need. For now, he had to make sure she was fine.

He made it to the hospital in a state halfway between shock and frenzy, Diggle two steps behind as Oliver has called and told him what happened. They both ran to the hallway the nurse has pointed at.

At the end of that hallway was the Operation Room. Oliver had the thought that Tommy never made it to an OR; he'd have lived if he had. Felicity will live. She had to.

Except for how wrong that was. The thing about hospitals is that they see more tears than funerals and receive more prayers the churches. Oliver did cry and he did pray. For the first time in seven years he prayed. He learned that prayers aren't always answered.

He remembered the doctor coming out of the OR three hours later, Thea was there by then –he didn't remember how she knew or when she arrived- holding Oliver's hand tightly as her tears dried on her cheeks, Diggle stood up as the doctor approached and Oliver took a deep breath before doing the same. One look at the doctor's face told him all he needed to know. And yet he waited. He wanted that final blow aimed right at his heart. He wanted it to cut him so deep they'll have to rush him into that room and lay him besides the woman he loved. He waited for the words to leave the doctor's mouth.

And they did.

He remembers the words internal bleeding and severe lung damage and the bullet too close to the vital organs and coma with the chances of waking up low to none and finally you need to decide if she's to be kept on life support.. That's assuming she'd survive the next 24 hours. Be prepared for the worst.

For the second time that night, Oliver has started praying.

Felicity did survive the 24 hours. And she spent two weeks after that in an ICU room, then the five months and a half ever since in a memorial ward in the hospital for comatose patients.

A coma. The doctors said she'll never wake up. He still waited for her to do so.

A week after Felicity was admitted into that ward, Oliver has left the hospital for the first time in three weeks; he had a mission to do.

Finding the man who did the shooting wasn't too hard. It took Oliver 12 hours to locate him, and after that The Hood took over; after the man was found dead in an alley, his autopsy showed several broken ribs, a fractured skull and a punctured lung, but those injuries weren't what killed him; it was the arrow –right where the bullet in Felicity's body was found- that finished him off.

That night Diggle found Oliver, who was covered in blood, sitting in the corner of the lair for the first time ever. He made his friend get up and take a hot shower, eyeing his bruised knuckles warily but not commenting on them. Oliver did go into the shower, and he did stand under the stream, but the water that washed away the blood didn't wash away his tears.

Those exact memories were the ones to haunt Oliver's nights ever since. They were worn out and frayed at the edges, they were overplayed, and they hurt all the same.

The vigilante started striking twice as hard in the past few months. The vigilante went out three times a night some days. The Hood cleared off half of the list in five months. He did more work in those months than he would have in a year's time otherwise. He died slowly as each night passed.

He went to the hospital every morning to see her then left, but not before asking the nurse about her. The same question everyday and an answer to match. After a while he just stopped asking.

His days became a painful replica of each other; he goes to see her, he goes to the company, he leaves for the lair and out to get some criminals, he visits her once again, another round of crime fighting –as Felicity used to call it- and then he comes to sit in his corner. He falls asleep there most nights.

Diggle has tried to get him to sleep somewhere else for about two months, and then he just started leaving a blanket laying on the floor and checking on Oliver every now and then.

Oliver didn't talk much anymore; he didn't talk much to begin with, that was Felicity's job. As a couple, Oliver and Felicity were surprising together. He was silent and observing most of the time, while she made wild hand gestures and chattered, and god did he miss her aimless chatter. He'd do anything to hear her rambling one more time. He'd give up his life and fortune just to hear her voice.

And he would hear her voice again. He just knew he would. All he had to do is wait.

Felicity Smoak has waited for a year before Oliver Queen has kissed her. She has waited for another before the words "I love you" had escaped his lips. She has waited an eternity before he opened up to her; and so he'd wait an eternity for her to open her eyes.

He laid his head back against the concrete column. He closed his eyes, praying once again, for her to open hers.

A/N: First of all thanks for reading, I hope it made you sad (that's the right reaction here) but also happy (because come on there was some fluff there). Second of all, Felicity was supposed to be dead in this fic; I started writing it with that intention in mind but halfway through I just couldn't do it, so I ended up talking myself into putting her in a coma instead. Because honestly who would want Felicity Smoack gone, that's just too cruel.

This fic was also intended to be a One shot but now it may or may not have a second chapter, depending on the response it gets.

So, what did you think? please review and tell me your thoughts and if you want a second chapter. Thanks for reading!