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Adventures First, Explanations Take Such A Dreadful Time

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The first time she actually saw Oliver Queen in person—and not more than a glimpse of him at a regional skating competition where she wasn’t even in the same category and he was probably listening to Laurel Lance explain something—Felicity skated right into the boards.

She probably could have saved it and stayed on her feet. It didn’t even hurt, but she still let out a squeak and careened into a particularly scuffed area of the boards. She flopped to the ice and sighed. Maybe if she stayed there, Coach would just let her give up. She didn’t understand why she needed a new partner after Jeff was a jerk and faked a broken ankle to get away from her. Couldn’t she just quit and work on computers instead?

A shower of ice hit her in the side and then there was Clint Barton, leaning over her and grinning. “What’d you fall for?” he asked.

“The ice looked really super inviting, duh,” Felicity said.

Clint scratched the back of his head. “But you don’t even jump,” he said.

His partner elbowed him out of the way, muttering under her breath in Russian. Ever since moving to Starling City, Felicity couldn’t deny she’d learned to curse in new and inventive ways. She accepted the hand up from Natasha Romanoff with a thanks. “How pink am I right now?”

Natasha wrinkled her nose. “Less pink if you were not wearing that color, I think,” she said in that measured way she had. Where Clint Barton did nothing but smirk at life, it took a long time to tease a smile out of Natasha. “He did not laugh.”


“Queen. He saw you wipe out and he didn’t laugh.” Natasha tilted an eyebrow. “I like him better than Jeff already.”

“Yeah, but he still saw me wipe out first thing,” Felicity said and Natasha shrugged in that very-Russian way she had. With a sigh, the blonde left the pair behind and skated across the ice to where Coach was standing by the hockey team bench. Oliver Queen stood by him, looking kind of sulky now that Felicity was close enough to see his expression. He wore a green hoodie that matched his blade guards.

Coach gave her a questioning look. “Injure anything?”

“My pride? I mean, not that that wasn’t injured to start because I saw Jeff last week and that jerk’s ankle is fine. I only kicked him a little, you know, there’s no reason for him to be such a big baby because he thinks girls are gross.”

Though Coach attempted to look stern, she could tell that he was doing his best not to laugh. She didn’t mind this reaction to her babbling. At least it was honest. “Felicity, I’d like you to meet Oliver. Oliver, this is my brightest student, Felicity.”

“He’s just saying that because of the hair,” Felicity said before she could stop herself.

Oliver’s eyes cut up toward her hair and then back down and to her surprise, he actually broke out into a smile. He shook her hand. “Did he deserve it?”


“Jeff. You kicked him?”

“Only a little and—”

“Felicity,” Coach said warningly.

“He did,” Felicity said, glaring at her coach. “You didn’t like him either.”

“Be that as it may,” Coach said with a sigh, sounding very British, “do refrain from kicking Oliver?”

“I’ll do my best,” Felicity said, and she realized that Oliver wasn’t actually looking at her but at something behind her on the ice. She glanced over and didn’t blame him. Apparently Clint and Natasha were working on their jumps again. “We have to share the ice with them,” she told Oliver, “’cos Coach Fury and Coach Steele are cousins and all. But they’re pretty nice, all told.”

As they watched, Natasha attempted a triple and almost plowed into Clint, who yelped and hopped out of the way, nearly falling flat on his ass. Natasha landed more on less on the correct edge of her blade, wobbled, and then immediately spun in place and sprinted after Clint, who hooted with laughter as he escaped.

“They’re also insane,” Felicity said.

“They are at that,” Coach said. “Well, why don’t we get to it?” He held out his hand for Oliver’s blade guards.

Oliver stepped out onto the ice and peeled off the hoodie, revealing a long-sleeved gray shirt and giving Felicity a peek at some really impressive abs and the scar that must have come from Laurel Lance’s skate gashing him during the competition the year before. Felicity immediately wanted to wince at her jokes about kicking her partner; everybody had seen what had gone down at Junior Nationals between then-sixteen-year-old Oliver Queen and his partner, and nobody really wanted to talk about it.

Felicity had to figure she’d be lucky if she could hold off for twenty minutes before she mentioned it.

“Why don’t you warm up, do a couple laps? Then we’ll try some basic steps and see how you look together?” Coach said. “Nothing too strenuous today.”

“He’s being nice,” Felicity as they skated away, keeping up with each other but not touching. Oliver, of course, looked like he’d been born to wear skates all the time. His form was so easy and unaffected.

“How so?”

“He’s letting you get used to my babbling, really. Not too early to bail, I promise, because it’s only going to get worse.”

“Actually, I like it,” Oliver said. “Laurel—my last partner—at the end, she wasn’t talking to me much, so it’s a refreshing change.”

“You say that now,” Felicity said, giving the boards she’d crashed into earlier a sour look.

Oliver laughed again—it sounded kind of rusty, like he wasn’t used to laughing at all—and held out his hand. “Let’s go faster,” was all he said, and it wasn’t the exertion making Felicity’s heart speed up as she took his hand.


“No, Clint,” Natasha said, as she pushed on the back of her partner’s head, flicking him easily, “I’m not going to play bow hunter again.”

Clint swiveled in his seat on the middle bench. “Felicity?”

“Pass. This calculus homework is kicking my butt.”

“I’m game,” Oliver said, and Felicity looked up in surprise.

Their competition, for once, was in the same arena on the same weekend, which meant that they could all carpool together, so Coach had rented a giant van. The coaches sat up in the front, and as far as Felicity could tell, they’d spent the entire drive complaining about the government, while the assistant coaches took the first bench, leaving the back two benches for the skaters (and some equipment). Oliver had spent most of the drive bent over his cell phone, feet propped up on back of Clint’s seat, while Natasha had read some Russian novel and Felicity had worked on her homework. But now Oliver actually looked interested as Clint passed over the little handheld game.

The pairs skater caught Felicity’s surprised look, for he grinned. “You’re missing out,” Clint said as Oliver bent over the game.

“On bow hunter?”

“It’s quality team entertainment.”

“It’s shooting deer,” Felicity said.

Clint grinned. “Hey, I bet my team can beat—”

“No,” Felicity and Natasha said at the same time.

Oliver covered a snicker with a cough, though when Felicity glanced at him, he winked. He gave her the same wink six hours later, when they stood at center ice, out of breath and smiling.


“Oh, my god, what is that?”

Oliver looked down and grimaced as he ran his hands down the front of his orange, yellow, and red striped vest. “Clearly,” he said, his voice dry, “my best costume yet.”

Felicity collapsed against the cinderblock wall, dashing hopelessly at the tears that leaked out of the corners of her eyes. “Where,” she tried to say, but the giggles overtook her again.

Oliver waited with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Where did the rest of your barbershop quartet go, again?”

Oliver grimaced at her. “I’m going to go tell Walter we’re better off with the dustbowl worker outfit,” he said, walking off in his skates.

“Sorry!” Felicity called after him.

“No, you’re not!” was the reply.


“And with tonight’s results, you eked your way into a place at Vancouver—”

“Is ‘eked’ really the word we want to use here?” Felicity asked before she could really stop herself. She felt Oliver’s suppressed laugh because they were kind of squashed into the interview booth by the NBC reporter, who looked toothy and a little manic. “I mean, it’s just not very flattering.”

“What Felicity is trying to say is that we’re very excited about Vancouver,” Oliver said, and she could hear the undercurrent of amusement in his voice.

“Where you’ll be joining your training partners, pairs skaters Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton,” the reporter said, and Felicity wondered if it was an optical illusion or if her teeth were actually getting bigger. Also, did she think they didn’t know Clint and Natasha’s names?

“Clint and I are thinking about wearing matching costumes,” Oliver said. “But the ladies keep turning us down.”

“Well, maybe if it was something besides camouflage,” Felicity said, and Oliver elbowed her in the side, making her laugh. “They like to fancy themselves archery masters when they’re not on the ice.”

“And Clint likes purple, so maybe it wouldn’t work.”

“Hey, I like purple,” Felicity said, and this time it was her turn to elbow him. As one, they turned angelic smiles on the reporter.

Either she was used to irreverent ice skaters or she simply had no soul, for the reporter sort of chuckled. “It’s been noted by several big names among the ice skating community that Oliver’s brought a seriousness to your skating that was lacking before, Felicity, and that you in turn make him seem a little more whimsical. Care to comment on that?”

Felicity turned to give Oliver the tag, you’re it look they’d developed when the media had started taking an interest in them. He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Mostly we just have fun with it. It’s nice having somebody at the end of the day that’s right next to you, laughing at the same silly falls right there with you. It helps both of us keep perspective so we can leave it all on the ice. I mean, Felicity, she’s my partner. It’s been that way since day one.”

“Mm-hmm. And what do you say to the rumors that you two have been secretly dating since October?”

Oliver’s tag, you’re it expression was just a tiny bit malicious. Felicity coughed a few times, pounding on her own sternum. “There—there are rumors about that?” she asked. “Really? I mean, we’re partners, but not like, partners partners. I mean, sure, we spend an inordinate amount of time every day sweating and getting into position and holding each other’s hands and—oh, god, that sounds really, really dirty. Don’t put that in there. Um, what I meant to say—”

“What she meant to say,” Oliver said, “is that no, we’re not dating, secretly or otherwise.”

“But hey, if people think we are, must mean we’re good at our jobs, right?” Felicity asked weakly. “Convincing people we fall in love every time we skate a routine.”

“Right,” the reporter said, though she gave Felicity a funny look as they moved on to other topics.

“I really, really have to get better at answering that question,” Felicity told Oliver later when they headed to the concession stand for milkshakes.

“‘Getting into position?’” Oliver asked as he pulled out his wallet to pay for their drinks. “Really?”

“It’s coming up on three years now. You should know my brain is trying to sabotage the rest of me as revenge for not being at MIT right now.”

“You’ll get there,” Oliver said.

Felicity sighed and took a sip of her strawberry milkshake when Oliver handed it over. “Yeah,” was all she said. Oliver’s grin had her peering at him suspiciously. “What’s that look for?”

“You’re so cute when you mope,” he said, and wisely ducked before Felicity could punch him.


“You really should work on your bedside manner,” Oliver said.

Felicity pushed the textbook away from her and blinked at him a few times. Starling City University wasn’t quite up to the levels of the Massachusetts Institution of Technology, but she liked it. Oliver usually only really attended if she was in the same class and made him show up, but Felicity enjoyed class almost as much as she loved being out in the rink, listening to the scrape of her blades on the ice as she flew. Since Oliver was currently laid up with his ankle wrapped and elevated, and Felicity was on light duty because they didn’t want her to get into any bad habits without her partner around, she had more time than ever to devote to her homework.

Unfortunately, she also had a demanding partner.

“What do you need now?” she asked. He wasn’t grimacing, so he wasn’t in any pain, but he did look bored.

“Something to do?”

“Aren’t you watching basketball?”

“It’s over. SCU lost.”

“Want some cocoa?”

“Not really.”

“A sandwich?”


“Oliver, you have to give me something here.” Felicity pushed her hands back through her hair.

“I’m bored.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Felicity gave up the ghost on her database theory homework and closed the textbook. She stepped over the ottoman and grabbed the front of Oliver’s hoodie. She might have looked petite, but she was strong enough to lift Oliver—and had, during their 1001 Nights routine the year before—so he popped up right onto his good foot.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re going to visit Tommy so I can foist you on him.”

“Is this your way of saying I’m being annoying? I stuck by you when you had that rotator cuff thing last year.”

“You and Clint invaded my dorm room and played Duck Hunt until two a.m. every day, and as I recall, you only left because Natasha chased you out.”

“Same thing.”

“Not remotely.” Felicity handed him his crutches, which he made a face at, and they headed down the sidewalk together. Coming up as they were in the ice dancing community—they’d placed fifth in Vancouver, not bad for one of the youngest teams there—they’d had time to make friends outside of their training partners, and Tommy Merlyn had struck it off with Oliver almost right away. Felicity had no idea why; things had to be awkward when they’d both partnered up with Laurel, though Tommy had yet to get gashed in the stomach by her (and he’d also, from what Felicity could tell, avoided sleeping with Laurel’s sister, which was probably not unrelated). Felicity liked her partner. Hell, she loved him because he’d seen her through her blue eye-shadow period and he hadn’t judged at all. But she was glad he’d made friends with Tommy and with John Diggle, SCU’s star hockey player. It gave her time to do her homework in peace.

They walked together quietly, heading for Tommy’s apartment. “I had an appointment this morning,” Oliver finally said.

Felicity abruptly forgot all of her annoyance. “What’d Doc say?”

Oliver shrugged a little. “It’s potentially not good,” he said.

Her stomach plummeted. “How not good are we talking?”

“Maybe it’s nothing. They just think my ankle should be more healed than it is, that’s all. It could be nothing.”

Or it could be everything. Felicity felt a cold pit begin to form in her abdomen. She knew they weren’t a rarity in the ice dancing world, as they were each on their second partner, but they were slowly creeping into the ‘professionally married’ category, and she was happy with that. She couldn’t imagine working with a partner who wasn’t Oliver, one who didn’t sigh when she babbled, one who understood why she sometimes stared at the parents cheering extra-loud for the little girls and boys at the amateur competitions. He never judged her for any of it, not even that he was the stronger skater of the two of them. Over the years, they’d developed wells of patience and their own routine, and she couldn’t imagine starting over with somebody new.

Felicity took a deep breath as the realization hit her that she didn’t want to even try.

“So…what?” she asked. “Does this mean you’re buying us tickets to Fiji so we can become beach bums?”

“Had enough of the ice, then?” Oliver scowled.

“No, I’m just preparing myself for if you’re going to give up just because some saw-bones tells you you’re not doing something right.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I am not doing that.”

“First sign of trouble and you just throw in the towel.” Felicity clicked her tongue in disapproval.

Oliver gave her a grouchy look and swung forward on his crutches. “I know exactly what you’re doing,” he said.

“Masterfully refraining from telling you that you’re a big baby?”

“Is it masterful if you literally just called me a big baby?”

“Of course.” Felicity finally gave up and laughed when he swung the tip of his crutch at her calf. He was actually frighteningly mobile on those things. “I should’ve realized it sooner that you were sulking. Your ankle’s going to heal up fine, and you’ll be back on the ice in no time. Way I see it, you don’t have a choice.”

“I don’t?”

“Nope.” Felicity elongated the word into several syllables. “I mean, do you really want to face Clint’s scorn for the rest of your life when he finally figures out you got yourself into this by screwing up a twizzle?”

Oliver ran his hand down his face. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“I’m right all the time.”

Eight weeks later, Felicity stepped out on the ice, wearing her SCU jacket over her costume and immediately took off skating. When Oliver caught up twenty seconds later, he switched so he was skating backward, facing her, and gave her a wink. “Guess we’ll have to put off beach bumming it for another year,” he said, and Felicity’s heart betrayed her by jumping.


“No, I promise, we’re really not dating. Oh, hey, look, I answered that question without awkward positions or mentioning sweating and—dammit.”


“Oliver. Oliver! Oliverrrrr, we’re going to be late. We’re supposed to be at the rink in eight minutes and you know it takes a full twelve minutes to get there and—”

Felicity jumped back when the door opened. And then her eyes proceeded to bulge out of her head because it wasn’t Oliver on the other side of the door but Isabel Rochev. “Wha-oh,” she said, very intelligently.

Isabel gave her a very obvious once-over, taking in the yoga pants and the jacket and probably her lack of make-up and her ‘we don’t have a competition until later’ glasses. And then she smirked and Felicity’s blood began to quietly boil. “Hey, Miss Smoak,” she said.

“Miss Rochev. What a surprise.” She was going to kill Oliver. This was why he’d cried off watching tape last night? “To see you here, that is. Is, um, is Oliver around or did I somehow get the wrong room because if I did, I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, he’s in there. I got him warmed up for you.” With a final, knowing leer, Isabel slipped past Felicity and sauntered down the hall, wearing nothing but a bed sheet.

Felicity watched her go in confusion. “Where does she even keep her room key in that get-up?”


She swung about as Oliver hurried out in the middle of pulling on his jacket, a Clif Bar clenched in his teeth. “I’m late,” he said around the wrapper, “and I’m sorry. Alarm clock didn’t go off. Think if we run, we can make it?”

“Sure you don’t want to chase after Isabel Rochev instead?” Felicity asked, pulling his hotel room door shut behind him.

He gave her a pained look. “Felicity…”

“You know what? Never mind. What happens in Russia stays in Russia. Even if it doesn’t make any sense.”

2013 — 2:

Felicity flipped over Oliver’s arm and found the ice with her blade, breathing in time to the music. In her mind, she heard the familiar count, always at the back of her mind when they skated, and a thousand other thoughts. Shoulders straight, Killian grip, release, double three. She kept up through math, while she knew Oliver skated by instinct. It had taken them a couple of seasons to fully understand each other.

Now it was just like breathing.

“Coach wants us,” Oliver said, and Felicity swiveled to a stop before she could complete her second chassé. They were both a little out of breath as they skated over to the area where Walter and Amanda waited.

“Not bad for the second day of doing the lift on the ice, huh?” Felicity asked as she stopped shy of the boards. “We are just that good.”

She held her hand up for a fist-bump, and Oliver gave her that tiny smile as they knocked knuckles.

“Don’t get cocky, Miss Smoak,” Coach said, “though your form is improving.”

“High praise from the boss-man,” Oliver said.

Coach sighed at both of them. “If I may continue?”

Felicity and Oliver put on the twin looks of innocence that had Amanda Waller snorting behind her coffee.

Five minutes later, they skated away, Felicity spinning around and trying to figure out why Coach was calling her shoulders saggy. Had she been slacking off? Oliver skated along beside her with his hands in his pockets, adjusting whenever she deliberately skated into his path. Then he smirked, and Felicity practically heard Coach groan. She immediately dashed after him, grabbing onto his hand with both of hers, and he shot her across the ice. They skated forward as fast as they could, grabbing hands and using momentum to sling-shot the other forward, all the way down the rink.

“You’re both fired!” Coach called as they raced past him.

Oliver spun her around, twirling her in place. “Can’t fire us,” Felicity called back when Oliver caught her and draped her backward dramatically, her head mere inches from the ice, “we’re world champions.”

Coach rolled his eyes and waved them off. Oliver and Felicity grinned as he pulled her to her feet—and Felicity nearly blinked to see Oliver’s expression close off suddenly.


“The Flush is here,” he said.

Felicity whirled in place and grinned. “They call him the Flash, and you know that,” she told Oliver, and she skated over to the side, where Barry Allen was leaning against the boards with his speed skates slung over his neck. She stood up on her picks to give him a hug over the top of the boards. “Hi! You didn’t mention you were dropping by. This is a great surprise.”

His smile always made her heart flutter a little. “Yeah, we’ve got a match at SCU and I thought I’d see how it’s going. Is all of that part of your new routine?”

“Nah, Maid Marian plays a little harder to get than that. Not that, oh god, I’m not saying I’m easy. We were just goofing off and…”

“Hey, Oliver,” Barry said when Felicity felt herself going bright red.

“Barry.” Oliver skated up.

“Anyway,” Felicity said, determined to cool down a little bit. “We’re doing Robin Hood and Maid Marian this year, with the Kevin Costner soundtrack because even though his accent’s lame, the music works in a way you wouldn’t expect, you know? It’s neat.”

“That’s awesome!” Barry said, grinning.

“Felicity, I think we’ve probably messed around enough,” Oliver said.

“I can’t take five minutes to talk to my friend?”

“We really need to work on this lift.”

Why the hell was he being so pushy about this? Felicity rolled her eyes. “Which we can do in five minutes,” she said. “Barry, you have to tell me how your match went.”

“I…we can hang out after practice, maybe?” Barry asked, looking a little pale. Felicity had never really noticed how much Oliver towered over him before, especially in skates.

Her, on the other hand, he’d been towering over since she was sixteen, so she wasn’t even on the brink of intimidated. She turned and pinned Oliver with a glare. “Stop that. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but we can take five minutes so I can talk to Barry. You can wait.”

“I can come out on the ice so you don’t cool down too much,” Barry said. Then he glanced at Oliver, his chin rising slightly. “We could race.”

Oliver snorted.

“What the hell is wrong with both of you?” Felicity asked, putting her hands on her hips. “You know what? Never mind. I need to get back to practice. Barry, are you sticking around in Starling City overnight?”

“Yeah, they put us in one of the unused dorms.”

“Meet me for coffee? We get off practice at four.”

“But we need to—” Oliver started to say.

“See you then,” Barry said, and he gave her a little wave as he headed out, his bright red uniform top bunched at his waist.

“Do I even want to know what that was?” Felicity asked Oliver as they skated toward center ice.

He raised his eyebrows at her, his chin tilting up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Figures. Let’s work on that lift.”

2013 — 3:

“Oh, there you all of you are.” Felicity dropped her gym bag on the floor by the door to the lounge. “I just heard from Barry.”

“The Flush?” Oliver asked. He was mostly buried in the fridge.

“The Flash, and Iris finally agreed to go out with him. I’m so happy for him.”

Oliver’s head popped up. “Who’s Iris?”

“Speed skater,” Natasha said from the table. “Prettier than Clint.”

“Hey! That’s just blatantly—true,” Clint said, frowning. He pulled his purple hood back up and settled down into his chair once again, socked feet resting on the back of Natasha’s chair. The redhead kept peeling her apple with a terrifying knife. “Wait, why do we care about some speed skaters, again?”

“He’s a friend of mine,” Felicity said.

“I thought we were your only friends,” Clint said.

Felicity and Oliver snorted. Even Natasha didn’t bother to correct him.

“Well, that’s good for Barry,” Oliver said.

Felicity squinted at him. “You’re smiling. Why’re you smiling?”

“Just a good day, I guess.” He set a bottle of water and a banana in front of her and sat down with his bowl of cereal. When the others (even Clint, who opened his eyes) gave him puzzled looks, he moved his shoulder. “I’m not allowed to have good days?”

“You haven’t had many lately,” Felicity said.

Natasha nudged a manila folder across the table. “The company that does our websites sent these over. They want your approval.”

“Please no pictures of my crotch, please no pictures of my crotch,” Felicity said. She flipped the folder open and moved it so Oliver could look as well, paging through the pictures. “Goofy expression, Oliver’s eyes look crossed, this one’s okay, that one makes it look like Oliver has his hand up my skirt…”

“That one would probably be good for publicity,” Clint said, his eyes closed once more. Natasha pinched his foot. “Ow!”

“Oh, hey, I haven’t seen this one before,” Felicity said, ignoring him. She picked up the photo to get a better look. It had been taken at Worlds because that was her Cosette outfit, the blue bodice with the white sequins (that Oliver had complained about for six weeks) sewed into it, and Oliver wore the whole vest and ascot and everything. The photographer must have snapped the shot right after they’d finished their free skate, as she’d been so happy that she’d basically jumped on Oliver. In the picture, they were face to face, and he had her by the middle with her arms thrown back in the air as they both grinned at each other.

Natasha craned her neck to get a look at the picture. “And you wonder why the world thinks you’re dating,” she said.

“You should mess with everyone at Sochi,” Clint said, yawning. “If we win that group medal, I dare you two to kiss each other on the ice.”

“What kind of a dare is that?” Felicity asked.

“I’m bored and I think it would be funny?”

“Such a romantic slob,” Natasha said.

Clint shrugged. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. “I’m retiring after Sochi. I stopped caring about anything a long time ago. Ow. Except Natasha, of course. God, why the pinching? I need that foot to land on.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Weren’t you guys thinking of retiring, too? Or was that something I hallucinated because of the painkillers?”

Oliver and Felicity finally looked at each other. “We were thinking about it. Felicity’s back—my ankle—”

“Isn’t it great to feel fifty when we’re not even half that?” Natasha asked, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t go with that picture, by the way.”

Felicity finally remembered that she was holding the (okay, it looked incredibly intimate) picture of Oliver lifting her high into the air. Quickly, she set it back down. “Why not?”

Natasha rose to put her bowl in the sink. “It’s already on your Wikipedia page.”


Out of breath, shaking with adrenaline and fatigue, Felicity grasped for Oliver’s hand and they took their bows, throwing their arms wide. They presented to the judges, waved at the crowd and then, and only then, did Felicity finally jump on Oliver.

He was laughing as he caught her, hoisting her up so she wouldn’t fall. “We did good?” he asked, just as out of breath as she was.

“We did great.” Felicity tossed her arms up and ignored the increase in camera flashes all round them, just letting herself feel the freedom of having finished. Oliver twirled them around once, which made her laugh, and dropped her back on the ice as the junior skaters raced around, collecting the flowers and stuffed animals tossed onto the ice. They waved to the crowd once more and skated for the kiss and cry, holding hands once again. Oliver switched so that he had an arm draped over her shoulder.

“You know,” Felicity said as they skated, “you were wearing green the first time I met you.”

Oliver plucked at his Robin Hood jerkin-shirt. “I look good in green.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Hey, about the day we met,” Oliver said, and she hadn’t ever seen that look on his face before, not in the seven years they’d known each other, a mix of nerves and intensity that had nothing to do with putting it all on the ice. She stopped about ten feet short of the edge of the ice in confusion. “Do you remember what I said to you?”

What was he asking about this for right now? They had to get to the booth and find out their scores. “That you liked my babbling?”

“Well, that’s still true, but I meant…let’s go faster.” And before she could even ask “What?” he scooped her up and kissed her.

Immediately, Felicity heard the entire stadium go, “Ooh!” but she didn’t care. She wrapped hear arms around Oliver’s neck and kissed him back, nearly breaking the kiss to giggle because she could feel his heartbeat actually trying to jump out of his skin. It was exactly like she’d fantasized, only better, because Oliver kissed like he was incredibly determined, and they both smelled like sweat and their terrible costumes, and she didn’t give a damn if they won the team medal or not.

He broke the kiss and they grinned at each other like absolute idiots.

“I like faster,” Felicity said before they were shuffled to the kiss and cry for real, where she nearly missed their scores being read.

From behind them, Felicity heard a distinctive cackle. “We’re going to need to change their Wikipedia picture again, Clint.”