Chapter Text
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Gerry’s smiling face is the first thing Felicity sees when the elevator doors open, but the coffee in his hands easily distracts her attention.
“You are a godsend,” she practically coos at him, happily accepting the cup he offers her. She takes a step outside the elevator and pauses to savor a sip. Out of all her (many) superpowers, walking in heels while sipping coffee is one of her proudest and most mastered. But even she can recognize it is too damn early to attempt her walk-and-sip method, as the white silk blouse she’d chosen this morning is practically beckoning for a stain. Really, it’s only a matter of time a lipstick smudge or salad dressing ends up on it. (But it’s not her fault it looks amazing with her new leather pencil skirt.)
She steals a second sip before making the journey to her office and uses the time to scan the hallway and greeting area her assistant oversees. It’s become an unconscious habit of her’s, surveying her surroundings. She doesn’t know when it started—certainly after she met Oliver, as he notices every little thing—but it’s one she can’t shake.
Overnight the flowers have changed from lilies to ranunculus, the pitcher has switched from lemon water to cucumber, and Gerry has gotten a haircut. She acknowledges that first.
“Nice haircut.”
It’s such a minor, casual thing to say, but the way his face transforms from surprise to embarrassment to appreciation makes it clear how rarely he gets complimented.
She needs to get better at that.
Cheeks red, he stammers out, “Oh, thank you.”
She smiles back and replies, “You’re welcome,” and heads to her office, barely giving the woman sitting in the waiting area a thought.
“So, what’s the forecast today?” she asks, taking a seat and flicking on her computer.
He looks down at his folio. “Busy. Back to back meetings until noon, lunch with the board, then an interview for the open PR position at three. Nelson will be here at four o’clock sharp to pick you up.” She opens her mouth, about to ask why, when he reminds her. “Hospital gala this evening.”
“Right. I knew that.” And she did. She’d talked about it with Oliver this morning. But then she’d discovered their coffee machine had broken and every thought in her mind had evaporated.
Prompted by the screen in front of her, she types in her password and thinks about tonight’s outfit. Her dress is emerald green, silk, and fits her like a glove. And she’d chosen killer heels, too—ones that make her legs look insane and Oliver go crazy.
Gerry clears his throat and stutters, “I’m sure you’ll look lovely.”
Frack. “Sorry, I thought that was—”
“In your head, yes, I know,” he finishes easily, well used to it by now. “I’ll bring in your first appointment.”
He was right—the day is busy. So crammed with meetings that she barely has a moment to check Twitter, let alone respond to any of her hundreds of emails. A headache begins brewing sometime during lunch, thanks to Rick Daly, her least favorite board member, and it morphs into a raging migraine by the time three o’clock rolls around. She wishes she could cancel her afternoon interview, but she knows she can’t. With the new microprocessor about to hit the market, Smoak Tech severely needs a new head of PR.
Gerry inconspicuously hands her some Advil when he brings in the candidate, and while she knows it’s impossible, her head aches a little less the second she swallows the pills. She lets out a breath, finally feeling like her head's clear for the first time in hours.
Once Gerry’s gone, she studies the woman in front of her. Warm smile, even warmer brown eyes, naturally tan skin. She looks effortlessly cool in slate culotte pants and a white knit sweater. Mid-forties, she guesses, even though she has a wild mane of curly silver-gray hair. That fact alone has Felicity wanting to immediately give her the job: only a totally confident, completely authentic person would choose to go gray that young, and those two qualities alone are what she wants in the person in charge of her company’s image.
She flashes a smile and offers her hand. “Maude Fallon? Felicity Smoak. Thank you so much for coming in.”
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Maude nails the interview, easily, and happily accepts the position on the spot. When she leaves, Felicity fist-pumps the air, feeling accomplished for the first time all day. Since the interview ended early, she even has fifteen minutes to check her email before Nelson arrives to pick her up.
Scratch that—until Oliver picks her up. She smiles happily at his text that just came through. They’d barely talked this morning, thanks to the coffee debacle and her early meetings, so she’s thrilled about the change in plan.
After shooting one last note to HR about Maude, she grabs her purse and coat, and goes to wave goodbye to Gerry, only to pause when she sees him speaking with someone outside her office.
She looks to him, silently questioning what’s up, then looks back at the guest. Then it hits her.
She smacks her forehead. “Oh no, is there another interview?” It’s been a crazy day, so it’s possible she has a second interview that she’s totally forgetting about. “This is so rude and, honestly, unfair that I did this, but I literally just filled the position twenty minutes ago. I’m so sorry I didn’t wait until I spoke with all the candidates—”
Gerry starts, “No, she’s not—”
The woman cuts him off. “Ms. Smoak, I’m Linda Edgemont.”
Felicity cocks her head to the side and wonders aloud, “Wait, were you the one here at eight o’clock this morning? When I came in?”
“Yes,” Linda confirms. “Ms. Smoak, I work for the Los Angeles Children’s Bureau of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.”
Felicity’s spine straightens, her attention officially caught. She doesn’t know why, but fear webs through her veins, and the feeling is enough to stunt any response.
The woman continues, “I understand your schedule is very busy and you’re on your way out, but I’m afraid the matter is quite urgent.” Linda shifts on her feet, eyes darting over to Gerry with annoyance. Clearly her assistant had successfully fought her off all day.
Felicity swallows thickly and nods. “Of course.” She points towards her office and follows Linda inside, shutting the door quietly behind them and mindlessly dropping her coat and purse on the floor. They both take a seat at her sitting area. About a thousand questions are firing through her brain and she doesn’t know which one to ask first. Children’s Bureau? The only child she knows is Sara. Oh my god—
“Is this about Sara Diggle? Did something happen to Lyla or John?” She’s halfway back to her purse, on her way to grab her cell, when she remembers a key detail and stops. “Wait. But you’re from LA, so that doesn’t make sense.” She still grabs her phone, but forces herself to walk back to the chairs before calling anyone.
Linda clears her throat, her patience clearly waning. “No, this is not about Sara Diggle. If you could please sit down, Ms. Smoak, I’ll explain why I’m here.” It’s not a request, and while Felicity would usually be put off by the order—especially in her office—it’s clear the situation is serious.
“Of course,” she murmurs, sinking back down in the chair. Out of habit, she twists her engagement ring, giving her fingers something to do.
“Noah Cuttler is your father, correct?”
Yet again, Felicity is shocked silent. She hasn’t heard that name, let alone thought about that name, in years. “Yes, he is,” she answers warily.
“And I understand your parents separated when you were quite young?”
“Yes, he left when I was five. I’m sorry, how is this relevant?”
Linda ignores her. “Were you aware your father remarried?”
Okay, now she’s losing patience. “No, but—”
“Or that he fathered another child?”
The woman’s words don’t even register. “Linda, back up—”
“Your father remarried a few years ago,” she continues, reading from the papers in her hands. “Her name was Jennifer Neff.”
Felicity’s head is spinning, but she still notes the change in tense. “Wait… ‘was’?”
Linda’s face softens for the first time in their conversation, and when she removes her glasses Felicity steels herself for what’s coming.
“I’m afraid your father and Jennifer were killed earlier this week in an automobile accident.”
Felicity closes her eyes at the impact, the words knocking the wind right out of her lungs. Her hands grasp the edge of the chair, nails digging into the velvet fabric, as she struggles to find center. Her father had reappeared and subsequently been eradicated yet again all in a span of a minute, and the feeling is enough to give her whiplash. The only other instance her breath had been so violently taken was that time she’d slipped off the diving board in sixth grade and landed on her back in the pool with a smack.
She barely hears Linda’s next words, but they still prompt her to open her eyes.
“I know this must be difficult to take in. I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this news.”
Felicity shakes her head and assures, “No, it’s okay,” as she runs a shaky hand through her hair. Because it is, for the most part, okay. Her father has not been a part of her life for over twenty years. This news doesn’t mean the same as it would if it were about her mother, which—she takes a deep breath—she can’t even imagine right now. And while somewhere in the back of her mind she knows this’ll probably all come back to wreak havoc on her psyche in the near future, she can deal with it now. So she takes another breath and goes into business mode.
Linda catches on. “As I mentioned earlier, your father and Jennifer had a daughter.”
“No you di—wait, what?” Because when did she mention that?
Linda looks at her cautiously. “Did you not hear me earlier?”
“No, I...I guess I didn’t.”
Linda places her glasses back on. “That’s why I’m here. Both Jennifer and your father’s parents are deceased, and each are only children. You’re next of kin.” She looks to the papers in her lap. “Furthermore, the day she was born your father updated his will. It requested that in the event both he and Jennifer died, the child would go to you.”
Felicity’s phone begins to vibrate, but she ignores it.
“That doesn’t make sense. I haven’t seen my father in years. I haven’t talked to my father in years. Two decades, to be precise. Not since I was a child myself.”
“So you’re refusing to assume guardianship? If that is the case the girl will be taken in by child services, until we can find her a more permanent placement.”
“Yes, no—wait.” Felicity forces herself to breathe. “Linda, you’re throwing a lot of information at me; things I’m barely able to begin to process. I’m not saying yes and I’m not saying no.”
Her phone rings (again) and she ignores it (again), and instead walks over to the mini-fridge by the door for a bottle of water. The cold drink barely does anything to cool her down.
She goes through the last few minutes in her mind.
Her father remarried. Her father died. His wife died. They had a daughter. And she’d been elected guardianship of that daughter in the event anything should happen to them.
Which is now. It’s happening.
Holy. Frack.
She hears a knock on the door, light but insistent, and doesn’t get a chance to answer before it opens. The only person who would do that—or who she’d let do that—is Oliver.
Just the fact that he’s here makes her feel better, even though he has no fucking clue what has just rocked her world.
Their world.
He looks very relieved at the sight of her, but his blue eyes are still laced with concern. She watches him scan the room and take in her guest, before studying her again to search for any clue she can offer him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but when you didn’t answer my calls…”
Felicity forgets about the other woman for a moment and walks over to him. “I didn’t mean to worry you, I just—” She looks down at her watch and notices the time. Only fifteen minutes has gone by since Linda came into her office, which is truly wild because it feels like hours have passed. And although they technically still have time to get ready and attend the gala, there’s no chance they’re going.
She steps around Oliver, ignores his questioning gaze, and exits her office to walk over to Gerry’s desk. She doesn’t give him much detail, but just asks him to send a large donation to the hospital in lieu of their absence this evening, and then tells him he can head home for the night.
Once she’s back in her office, she makes quick introductions. “Linda, this is my fiancé, Oliver Queen. Oliver, this is Linda.”
He nods politely in Linda’s direction, before turning back to her. “Felicity…”
“Linda, can you excuse us for a moment?” She doesn’t wait for approval and takes Oliver’s hand, dragging him out of her office. She doesn’t stop until they reach the women’s bathroom, and is relieved to see all of the stalls are empty. She lets go of his hand and locks the door behind them.
He says her name again, his soft tone so full of love and worry that she feels herself begin to crack.
She paces for a moment instead, and runs a hand through her hair. She’s so on edge and for some reason her curls are annoying her, so she pulls them up in a messy bun as she continues to stall.
He just patiently leans back against the row of sinks and waits for her to be ready.
“We’re not going to the gala.”
“Okay,” he says, accepting that without any further explanation.
For that, and because she didn’t earlier, she walks over and kisses him softly, needing the feel of his lips to ground her for a moment. Before she can pull away, he keeps her there and presses another to her forehead. It’s exactly what she needs to tell him this next part: “My, no—our—life just got very complicated, mister.”
“Okay.”
She backs away and leans against the wall opposite him, in between one of the stalls. She instantly regrets choosing this location for this conversation, but...whatever. They’re here.
“My dad died.” He starts a little at her words, as if he wants to close the distance between them, but ends up staying put as she continues, “And so did his wife. He, uh, remarried?” She doesn’t know why it comes out as a question, but she’s guessing it’s because it hasn’t yet sunk in.
His eyes look pained, as if he wants to somehow physically take some of the hurt away from her. “I’m so sorry, Felicity.”
“It’s okay,” she promises.
He shakes his head, but doesn’t press further. Oliver is aware of her history with her father, but she also can guess what he’s thinking: he knows more than anyone that no matter how complicated the relationship, losing a parent is still losing a parent.
“Really, I’m...okay. I’ve never assumed we’d have a relationship again. So this doesn’t really affect me at all. It doesn’t change anything.”
She can see him struggle to accept that reasoning, but doesn’t push her. “Is Linda his lawyer?”
“No. She’s from the Los Angeles Children’s Bureau. Social Services.”
Not expecting that, he crosses his arms in confusion, brows furrowing in that crinkly face way she loves, and silently tries to connect the dots. She helps him.
“Apparently they have a daughter...and my dad requested to put her in my care in the event he and Jennifer—that’s his wife—died. There’s no one else.”
A few beats of silence pass and she uses it to discern the emotions that transform his face. After their many years together—working and in love—she’s very good at reading him. Like her coffee-in-heels superpower, another skill of hers is being able to decipher what he’s feeling at any given moment. Especially when those feelings have to do with her. He’s one of those people that has the most convincing poker face to anyone else, but when she’s in the room or on his mind, he’s hopelessly transparent.
So she watches as he switches from shock to empathy to—she bites back a smirk—a little fear, before he lands on—wait—awe?
Before she can ask, he takes a step forward and reaches for her hands. His eyes are so warm, so piercing, so bluer than the sea, and she fights the urge to drown in them. The only other person he looks at this way is Thea—and under the circumstances, she’s not sure why.
“You have a sister?”
Oh.
Her breath catches.
That’s why.
“I...I guess I do.” It’s crazy she hasn’t thought of it that way until now. But now that he’s said it...yes. If they have the same father, the child is her half-sister.
Woah.
Either seconds or minutes pass as that sinks in, and she spends them focusing and unfocusing on the marble floor below them. Then she looks up at him.
“Oliver...what do I do?”
Warm hands circle around her back as he draws her into his chest. “Well, I think we need to go back and talk with Linda.”
She just nods, rubbing her face against his shirt.
“Do you know how old the girl is?”
“No idea. We didn’t get that far.” She’s glad her face is hidden in his neck, so he can’t see her cheeks redden with guilt. “My mind sort of went haywire before I could ask any questions. I’m the worst...uh, big sister.”
What even.
His chest rumbles with laughter, breaking the tension for a second. “No, you’re not. You’ve just been delivered some staggering news; it’s understandable why you were more than a little flustered. You are the opposite of the worst.” He palms each side of her face and tilts her head up so they can lock eyes, hoping it’ll help drive his words home.
She rubs her lips together to hide her smirk, charmed by him even under the circumstances. “No, you are,” she admits softly, then pulls him down for a kiss.
They stay there for a long minute, savoring the last moments of them, before joining hands and making their way back to her office.
Right before they turn the final corner, where they’d be in Linda’s sight, he stops them and pulls her into another hug. It’s just what she needs before the next conversation they’re about to have—just a tiny boost of confidence mixed with everything will be okay.
She shivers when she feels his lips skim her ear, a weak spot no matter what.
His voice is soft and only for her when he murmurs, “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. We’ll figure it out, one step at a time. But the only thing I’ll say is this: the fact that Thea and I only share a mother by blood is irrelevant. Half, step, or whole, this girl is your sister. And no matter how terrible your father was to you or your mother, this girl is not him.”
The truth in his statement bring instant tears to her eyes. She is a woman of (too) many words, and he is one of very few. Yet in these moments, when she can’t string together a thought or response to save a life, he swoops in and somehow pieces together all that needs to be said.
Feeling so touched by his reverence and unequivocal belief in her, she kisses him once more, then leads him into her office.
She doesn’t know if the girl is three days or eight years old. She doesn’t know how to juggle being CEO and a PTA parent, or how Oliver will be “dad” and mayor. She doesn’t know if he really wants to do this. She doesn’t even know if she wants to do this.
The only thing she does know is this: they’re about to become her sister’s guardians.
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tbc