Archive of Our Own

Oliver can’t exactly blame them. He’s an entitled shithead of the highest caliber and if he were on the outside looking in, he’d be rooting for his own comeuppance, too. Despite the minor and recent improvements to his attitude, no one disagrees.

Mr. Diggle—everyone else is allowed to call him Dig—certainly doesn’t. That’s made obvious by the owner putting him on mess hall cleanup for the fourth day in a row. 

Not that the place is trashed or anything. The campers take the clean plate competition more seriously than a guy who grew up with a private chef and on-call nutritionist would have expected for a bunch of hyperactive kids, but he’ll take whatever help he can get from the youngsters.

“Oh! Oliver?”

He practically springs to attention.

There’s been only one bright spot in this court-ordered community service personal nightmare of his. Well, aside from spending time with his kid sister, but Thea’s so busy with activities and events like a normal camper that he’s hardly gotten to see her any aside from their shared breakfast routine. So the other highlight of his wrecked summer has been Felicity Smoak, a senior counselor from Las Vegas of all places.

“Do you mind refilling these bottles?” She waves a large bundle of neon-colored water bottles, clipped together on a large carabiner with the owners identifiable by the haphazard stickers and marker decorations. “We’re at the volleyball courts. Thanks!”

It’s not technically his job. (That would be glorified janitor.) The kids are responsible for their own hydration but they’re also kids, and no one actually gets mad when they forget to refill their bottles after lunch. Once they’re full, he hustles outside, staying close to the tree line and shade, with his arms loaded.

“Thanks, Ollie!” Thea waves enthusiastically, a toothy grin on her face, after he deposits the bottles under the same tree as Felicity’s clipboard. He waves back with a wide smile and shakes his head when a chorus of giggles breaks out.

Unsurprisingly, his sister’s already attained popular kid status. The fact that many of her cohort have a poorly concealed crush on him only helps her status. Thea knows it, too, and unashamedly lords the connection over most of the camp.

“Archers!” Felicity nicknamed her kids that after realizing not all of them were comfortable with the catchall term of “guys” but all of them did love the archery decorations in their bunks. “Water break!”

While the kids scramble for shade, she turns to Oliver with a sweet smile. He feels his already sweaty palms get sweatier and winces to himself. Attractive, so attractive, especially with the ring of sweat staining his shirt collar. 

“Thank you, Oliver,” she intones quietly, casting a wary look at the campers. 

Most are at the perfect age for hormone-driven shitstorms so the camp is a veritable hellscape of doomed matchmaking and sneaking out and broken hearts. The counselors are far from immune from the overactive imaginations of their charges—and frankly, some of the counselors’ own hormones—and so a frequent subject of gossip. As far as he’s heard, rumors have been flying about him and several of the female counselors. Only one of them holds a kernel of truth.

Felicity adjusts her glasses as she looks away to keep an eye on her campers. It’s commendable—that’s probably not the right word for it—that Felicity still prioritizes her charges when he’s right there. And Oliver really should be getting back to sweeping and wiping down the mess hall before dinner but he isn’t going to waste the few precious moments with Felicity, even if she’s barely paying attention to him. 

It’s a change of pace.

Everyone, including himself, would have bet on one of the more “promiscuous” female counselors catching his eye. Isabel and Carrie still do their jobs well, but they just happen to wear borderline inappropriate variations of the uniform while on duty, and Sara is the bubbliest, most mischievous girl he’s ever met. Yet, it had been Felicity—glasses, ponytail, loose shorts, paint-stained polo, awkward and nerdy—who had caught his eye.

The first time he encountered her, she was helping Thea the prissy perfectionist come to terms with the fact that art is messy and riddled with mistakes and absolutely subjective. Apparently, it was her own sore spot since Felicity was used to dealing with computers and code and all things binary. Watching Felicity and Thea together struck a chord somewhere deep in his heart, and as the weeks passed and the girls’ bond grew, so did his crush.

Felicity never noticed though, or at least she never treated him differently than the rest of the staff. Sometimes she looked at him a little whenever he joined a volleyball or basketball game or swam in the lake but she always shook herself out of it, like she was remembering what a bad idea he was. As much as it stung, he knew it was the better decision for a girl like her: smart, beautiful, full of potential, and far too precious for his fast and loose lifestyle. Thea, way more mature than her years, found his pining hilarious but, like a good little sister, kept his secret.

“Oliver!”

The rough bark breaks his musings, and he instinctively braces for impact.

“Hi Dig!” Felicity cuts in, an easy smile in place and hands jammed in the pockets of her overalls as she rocks on her heels, “Oliver was just bringing water out for the Archers.”

Just like that he falls a little more in crush with her because the new information stops Mr. Diggle in his tracks. Not that he would ever have the bad form to yell at him in front of any kids, but he softens and loses some of the tension in his frame.

“Thanks, Oliver,” Mr. Diggle grimaces, “but the mess still needs cleaning. And there are a few other things I’d like you to get to before dinner.”

Oliver agrees easily because he’s also not stupid enough to throw a fit about chores in front of his crush and a bunch of preteens that include his sister. He waves bye to the group and follows Mr. Diggle back to the cluster of buildings.

“That girl’s too good for you,” Mr. Diggle throws out casually in a gruff tone just as they reach the mess.

Oliver takes a moment to absorb the impact then deflects because being an asshole is his default defense. “Little Miss Overalls? I’m not into girls who look like my kid sister. You’re crazy, man.”

Mr. Diggle’s face sours further, which is impressive because Oliver didn’t think that he could have a worst opinion of him. But that’s just a day in the life of Ollie Queen, always finding a new low. He shrugs off the man’s disappointment and heads for the push broom.

Oliver forgets, or maybe he never knew since he never attended camp, how fast word travels in a summer camp. 

Someone must have overheard his comment about Felicity because suddenly all the female campers are ignoring him. Even most of the female counselors do, too, aside from Carrie who isn’t exactly his opinion of desirable company. Thea just shook her head and muttered something about “shooting himself in the foot” before claiming he was bad for her image and refusing to sit with him at breakfast.

The one exception, as always, is Felicity. Her head is high as if the rumors—and his thoughtless insult—don’t bother her, and he has no idea how she does it. She greets him the same as always, occasionally asks him for assistance the same as always, and is generally apathetic to his existence the same as always. Whenever he tries to apologize, she just stares, like he’s growing a second head and she has no idea why he’s standing there talking to her instead of going to the hospital or someplace useful.

He’s starting to go crazy from it. 

Doesn’t she want him to be interested in her? Why isn’t she interested in him? And why does that make him want her to like him even more?

As much as it’s occupying his mind, Oliver isn’t going to ask the one person he’s spending the day with.

Mr. Diggle has been more annoyed with him than usual, more than likely because he insulted the man’s favorite counselor. The owner’s not supposed to have favorites, but everyone can see it pretty clearly in how he treats Felicity like a favored sibling. So Oliver’s been assigned to the worst of the landscaping duties that usually get split up among the staff. Mr. Diggle has some kind of conscience though because he’s out here sweating with him, instead of letting Oliver go it alone.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Mr. Diggle suddenly breaks the silence as he violently stabs his shovel into the ground. Oliver’s sure the timing is just coincidence. “I meant you should try to improve yourself and maybe one day, Felicity, or a girl like Felicity, might take you seriously. I didn’t mean try to drag her down to your level.”

“I wasn’t— I wouldn’t do that,” is his lackluster defense. Mr. Diggle looks like he believes him as much as Oliver believes himself. 

“I’ll apologize once she lets me talk to her,” he tries again, meaning it this time.

Mr. Diggle grunts in acknowledgment. “See that you do.”

Oliver has never felt lower. Not even that time he ended up in front of a judge calling him a reprobate and the worst example of what unchecked privilege can do to society before issuing his community service sentence. He resolves himself to earn Felicity’s forgiveness, which will be a difficult thing to accomplish when he’s also trying not to pressure her.

The opportunity comes along sooner than he expected. That afternoon, he’s parked in front of a bucket of potatoes when familiar scuffed up sneakers catch his eye. He follows the legs up to a pair of overall shorts—she’s been wearing them more since his comment—to find a vaguely uncomfortable looking Felicity.

“You’re on kitchen prep?”

He doesn’t mean to come off so surprised and displeased by it. In fact, this is the first chance he’s had to be alone with Felicity in days, by design he’s sure, and his heart’s already racing.

“Sara’s sick.” Felicity’s expression and tone imply that she doesn’t believe her co-counselor, not even a little, but did her the favor anyway. “What’s on the list?”

Oliver directs her to the adjoining pile of potatoes and tries not to let any more thoughtless comments spill out of his empty head. Instead, he asks the safest, most obvious follow-up question.

“So where’s Sara really?”

Felicity takes a moment to answer, fumbling with the vegetable peeler until she gets it situated in her hand. “Making out with Nyssa, I’m pretty sure. Somewhere in the woods. God, I really hope they stay away from the poison oak. That’s the last thing anyone needs.”

He manages a half-hearted chuckle before they fall back into silence. Oliver has no idea how she sounds so normal when he feels like the tension is going to choke him. But if he’s going to earn Felicity’s forgiveness, he might have to start with an actual apology. So he girds his loins or whatever the saying is, wishes he was wearing a cup, and dives right in.

“Look, I’m sorry if I said something—”

“If?” she repeats in a high, disbelieving voice. It’s a copout so of course Felicity is calling him out on it. “You sound like one of those celebrities who say something racist than issue a half-assed apology. “If anyone was offended...” Yeah because it’s everyone else’s fault you have a Twitter account and zero self-control or awareness.”

“Right,” Oliver cringes, “I mean, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings when I—”

“Implied I have the fashion sense and undeveloped body of a prepubescent teenager?” Felicity finishes before scoffing, “You didn’t.”

The denial catches him off-guard more than her (slight) exaggeration of his words. What’s he supposed to do now? Be more of an arrogant and egotistical ass and insist that of course her feelings are hurt because he’s apparently uninterested in her?

Before he can respond, Felicity carries on, tone still completely casual.

“You did embarrass me though. I didn’t have any delusions that rich, pretty boy Ollie Queen might like me, but you just had to confirm it for the whole camp, didn’t you? Just in case anyone needed any clarification on that point? Billionaire Ollie Queen is absolutely, without doubt, uninterested in Nobody Felicity Smoak. Message received, loud and clear.”

“But you should,” he argues automatically if nonsensically.

Felicity drops the potato and peeler to stare at him in confusion. “What?”

“Have delusions,” Oliver finishes matter of fact. Her forehead scrunches, and he realizes he’s making absolutely zero sense. 

“No that’s not—” 

Why can’t he ever just say what he means around her?

Deep breath then, “Felicity, I do like you.”

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed. Her hands find the peeler and a potato again, and it’s back to efficient motions. “I know. I’m Thea’s favorite counselor. Even your reputation doesn’t make you out to be such a jerk that you would actively dislike someone your little sister likes.”

“No.” This time, the rebuttal doesn’t even faze her. She’s onto the next potato as he tries to gather his thoughts. “I— I think you’re remarkable.”

“I get it, Oliver,” her motions turn choppy and almost angry, “You didn’t mean exactly what you said, just the gist but not in those words obviously. I’ve got a swell personality or whatever. You regret that anyone overheard it and that it’s become this great big thing. Like I said, I’m fine. Ego could use some spiffing up, but that’s not your concern.”

She’s putting words in his mouth. Stereotypical words but that doesn’t make them any closer to the truth this time. Oliver cringes because any other time, any other girl, and they would be his half-assed version of an apology to appease his mother.

“Felicity!” 

His hands move to cover hers quickly because he’s worried she’s going to cut herself at this rate. Recoiling at his touch, she tosses everything, including him, away. A pile of peels splatters up to stick to them both in haphazard ways.

“Fine! Do it yourself!”

She’s out the kitchen door in a flash, moving through the mess at light speed. This is how Oliver realizes how annoyed and angry and hurt Felicity has been, despite her brave face. Felicity isn’t one to shirk her assignments, not even when she’s paired with Isabel or someone equally obnoxious.

Stunned, Oliver doesn’t think to catch up to Felicity until she’s left the building. By the time he’s on her heels, they’re somewhere between the archery range and the dock where most if not all of the camp can see them from various group activities. As usual, Oliver doesn’t let the idea of an audience stop him from impulsive decision-making.

“Wait!”

Felicity pretends she doesn’t hear him, still beelining for her cabin.

“Will you just—” Oliver huffs before mentally deciding fuck it. He picks up speed and slides to a stop in front of Felicity so that she nearly trips over him.

“Oliver! Why are you such a—” Felicity bites back what’s clearly a curse word before glaring at him. “Will you just let it go?”

“Not before you understand something.” He sets his feet, straightens his spine, and squares his shoulders. This is a battle he intends on winning. So much for giving her space.

She throws a disbelieving glance around at their enraptured audience before blowing out a heavy sigh. “Fine. What? What is so important?”

Taking a baby step closer, Oliver carefully places his hands on her shoulders. When Felicity doesn’t flinch, but does look at him like a crazy person, he crouches a little to meet her eyes. Then he smiles, like actually and not for the benefit of cameras or his parents or both.

“Felicity, I really, really like you. Just as you are. And I mean that generally but also in those exact words.”

He can see her internal battle. Felicity doesn’t want to believe him, not when he’s burned her so recently, but god this is the most sincere thing he’s said in a long while, and she’s got this uncanny way of seeing right through his bullshit. Finally, she blinks away what might be a sheen of tears and clenches her jaw.

“Well,” her voice is a little hoarse, like she might cry or something, and Oliver tries not to panic, “I think you’re a selfish jerk who’s only decent to his sister.”

Her honesty startles a laugh out of him. 

“You’re not wrong,” Oliver concedes, “but up until last week, I thought I was doing an okay job of being decent to two people here.”

“You’re not wrong,” Felicity echoes, complete with a slight smile.

It feels like a victory. Oliver lets himself smile again, just as the noise of their audience filters back in. They both look around in surprise as the campers, lead by Thea of course, chant, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Oliver leans down towards Felicity, but her hands come up to press against his chest. “I don’t think so, buster. I don’t care how pretty your face is. You were still a jerk because you can’t deal with feelings so, no, you’re not entitled to my first kiss just because a bunch of hormone-charged preteens are watching.”

Felicity’s eyes widen at the accidental admission, but Oliver doesn’t let a reaction slip. In fact, something in him—not that—perks up. He has every intention of earning Felicity’s first kiss, and making it the best first kiss in the history of first kisses. He might end up a regrettable summer fling on her part but he can give her that much.

“Okay,” he agrees, easier than she was expecting based on the surprise on her face. “I’ll keep showing you what a decent guy I can be, and you decide if we ever get a first kiss. Okay?”

Her hands fall limp as Felicity nods dumbly so Oliver presses his luck just a little. He leans in quick for an even quicker kiss on her cheek. Felicity blushes and finally smiles at him, and they just gaze at each other, tuning out the disappointed boo’ing and jeering of the crowd, counselors included.

Oliver spends the rest of summer trying to be less of a human trainwreck and earning Mr. Diggle’s respect along the way. A month before camp ends, Felicity ends up on kitchen prep with him again. This time when she drops the vegetable peeler, it’s to grab hold of his face by the ears and plant a solid one on his lips. She’s blushing furiously and avoiding his eyes when they pull away.

“A decent start,” Oliver mumbles, cautiously drawing her closer again, “but you know what they say about practice.”

Felicity slugs him in the arm and calls him a jerk before they find themselves making out in a pile of potato peels.

It’s their last first kiss.

(Years later, Oliver and Felicity send their daughter to that same summer camp, still run by Mr. Diggle. Oliver about has a heart attack thinking of his bookish little girl and her first kiss with some wannabe juvenile delinquent. At least until Felicity reassures him that there’s nothing to worry about. After all, Mia’s his daughter and she’s already had her first kiss.

As he glares at his highly amused wife, Oliver remembers: Someone somewhere hates him.)