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Yom Kippur

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Every year Felicity says she is really going to observe Yom Kippur this time.  Considering how much time she spends in an average week replaying things she wishes she had said or done differently, it shouldn’t be that much of a challenge.  For some reason though, when the actual Day of Atonement comes around there’s always an excuse to avoid reflecting and to fail at fasting.  


It probably doesn’t help that she can never seem to justify taking the day off from work. She always means to: religious practice is protected under the law.  Somehow, though, the words just stick in her throat.  Felicity knows that she doesn’t strike people as Jewish.  The blonde hair dye doesn’t help, but even when she lets it grow out, no one sees her that way and somehow it seems like they resent being forced to recognize that she is anyway.  Throughout her life, people have had a tendency to magically not hear her outing herself or to somehow forget over and over again, until she just stops trying.


If she’s honest with herself, it also doesn’t help that she doesn’t belong to a local synagogue, as her aunt never fails to remind her during their infrequent conversations. If someone else knew whether or not she went to temple vs. work it might seem more urgent. Felicity has always struggled with a sense of not belonging, one that the girls in her Bat Mitzvah class back in middle school had honed in on early and preyed on mercilessly.  She is a grown adult now though, and it isn’t like she shouldn’t be able to get past that.  She just doesn’t, just like she doesn’t call the nice Jewish lawyer who is somebody’s friend’s nephew.


This year, Felicity has an actual real reason she can’t take the time to fast and reflect.  The work she does with Oliver isn’t just going to wait a day while she tries to decide whether she regrets what she has said or what she hasn’t more, when it comes to him.  Besides, this year that’s the main regret that she has; because, for the first time in her life she is doing something important with her time and her skills.  


Still it’s not a conscious choice.  She doesn’t even realize that the sun has gone down when she accidentally breaks her fast two hours in.  Oliver comes down to their basement lair with cheeseburgers (yeah, like she ever even tried to keep kosher other than that one time when she was eleven for a few weeks) and it’s only when he asks her to hack into the city records again and she notices the time and date at the top corner of her screen when she turns her eyes away from him and towards her screen that she realizes she has already fucked up this year.  


“Shit!” She mutters to herself.


“Is there a problem?” Oliver asks, looking like he is concerned, even though Felicity knows he’s just worried that she might not be able to get him the information he needs.


“No… I just forgot something.  It isn’t important.”


She wants him to pry.  Of course, he doesn’t.


She spends the next twenty four hours covering for him with his family and Queen Consolidated, while she and Diggle work to track his location down and hatch an escape plan, since he’s gotten himself captured by the triad… again. There’s no time to reflect.  She needs every moment and every ounce of focus she has to work out a plan to save Oliver.  


If she fails there will be plenty of time to think about how she’s missed the mark.


“Felicity. Are you sure about this?” Diggle’s eyes meet hers and she nods, “Try not to get yourself killed. Oliver would take it very personally.”


They both smile knowingly and she gets out of the car and heads towards the warehouse, focused on remaining steady in her overly tall heels.  Felicity takes a moment to consider how many of her undercover roles seem to require dressing like a hooker or something close to it.  


There was a time when undercover wasn’t in her toolbox, but those days have flown away.


The look on Oliver’s face when he sees her kills all of her doubts about whether this plan was worth trying.  He looks glad to see her but concerned at the same time and his eyes linger for just a moment longer than necessary over her mostly bare flesh.


She activates the tracker in her bracelet and knows that Diggle will have the police here in less than fifteen minutes.


Oliver hands her his sweater and she pulls it over her head, sorry his eyes won’t be on her skin but comforted by the scent of him around her.


“I think you missed your calling.” He teases.


“If you say whore…”


“Actress? Spy?” He suggests, that Oliver Queen grin that she knows means nothing all over his face.


There are news cameras when the SWAT team brings them out and, standing there in his sweater to his right as Oliver gives interviews, Felicity knows that the whole world assumes that he is fucking her, or would if they thought about it at all.  She can’t even bring herself to repent that, as far from the truth as it is.

The sun is setting, burning her eyes, and Felicity can’t bring herself to promise that she is going to do anything differently this year.