#and then diggs realizes he is thinking this a little Too Loud and somehow since the thoughts are so loud someone somewhere

[jrueships]

diggs is unimpressed by the unusual josh allen show of toxic masculinity

[valwrite]

hopscotch; daveed diggs

masterlist.

summary: daveed diggs can’t keep his feet on the ground. (a sequel to leap frog, a prequel to hide & seek)

warnings: fluff, two nervous idiots, rafael casal almost getting murdered again.

fic type: drabble

word count: 2907

author’s note: i’ve decided to turn this into a mini-series. this is the second out of three parts. the last one will be released within the next few days. all feedback is appreciated! it’s 5:52 am and i’m too tired to check for any spelling errors again.

It was official. Daveed Diggs was going to murder Rafael Casal.

Sure, he had a lot to thank the man for because, truthfully, if he hadn't spilled the beans on Y/N's crush, Daveed never would have made his move. That was where Rafa's helpfulness ended, however, as he'd somehow managed to reduce Daveed into a panicking mess. He was pacing back and forth within the other man's apartment, every so often wiping his hands against his trouser clad thighs to get rid of his own nervous sweat.

He'd been completely calm and confident no less than five minutes ago, before he'd stepped into Rafa's home. But Rafael just had to open up his big, loud mouth and ruin that, didn't he?

“Did she even actually say yes to your date?”

No, no she had not. And, as much as he thought he'd been feeling prepared to take her out, was he really? What if the date shattered whatever image of him she'd created and she suddenly didn't feel the same way? Or, worse, what if it ruined their friendship? That was if she even agreed to their date.

“Daveed?”

“What?” His question had come off more harsh than he'd expected, the act of being pulled away from his own thoughts shaking him slightly.

“It's seven, dude.” From his spot on the sofa, where he'd sat and watched a pacing, panicking Daveed for just over ten minutes, Rafa flashed his phone screen where, sure enough, it read 19:00. “Go get your girl.”

One door slam, two deep breaths, three steps, four knocks later and Y/N was stood in front of him. The first thing he noticed were her eyes- they'd held him captive since the moment he'd first met her -, the second being her smile and, lastly, the shoes on her feet and the purse hanging from her shoulder. Surely, he figured, that must mean the date was happening.

Okay Diggs, now would be a good time to say something smooth, try charm her.

“My hands are really sweaty.” Are you kidding me?

“Are they, now?” Y/N- whether out of pity or discomfort, he couldn't quite tell - let out an airy laugh. She stepped out into the hallway, closing her door behind her. As she turned to lock it, he caught a scent of her perfume and felt the blood rush to his head, a lightheaded feeling taking control of him.

“I,” He paused, waiting for her to turn back around and, when she did, he found himself fixated by the way she was gazing up at him, amusement dancing on her lips and kindness lighting up her eyes. She truly was the most intoxicating drug he'd ever gotten addicted to. “did not mean to say that, shit. Sorry. What I meant to say was hello, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She very noticeably ran her eyes up and down his body, forcing Daveed to try straighten out his posture. He was already ruining this date and they hadn't even left for the destination of the evening.  “Eh, I've seen you look better. Bold of you to go with the whole hair-tied-back look.”

“Say the word and the hair tie will be dumped.” His hand shot up to grab at the small bun his curls had been forced into.

“I'm only messing with you, D! You look handsome, as always.” As she spoke, she readjusted the strap of her handbag. “For the record, my hands are sweaty too. Wanna mix sweat?”

It took him a moment to realize what she meant, to notice her hand was outstretched and just waiting to be captured by him. As his hand took hold of her's and fingers threaded together perfectly, even with the contrast between his larger hand and hers smaller one, Daveed felt the nerves evaporate from within him. He'd been drifting off into his own paranoia, so concerned that something would go awry, and she'd grabbed a hold of him, anchoring him back down in the reality where he remembered he didn't need to worry because this was Y/N. This was the girl he'd watched eat her weight in nachos; who he'd witnessed get chased by a bee; the girl who's hair he'd held out of her face as she emptied the contents of her stomach into a toilet bowl no less than a month ago.

This was Y/N and, no matter how much his brain tried to tell him otherwise, Daveed knew that things were just easy with her, life made a little more sense when she was around.

“Okay, let me get this straight.” Y/N sat on the wooden bench directly in front of him, one leg pulled up as she tightened the laces on her shoes. “You can't rollerskate, and neither can I, so you thought bringing us to a roller rink would be a good date plan? That somehow seemed like a good idea to you?”

“Listen,” With his right skate safely tightened and tied, Daveed began working at the left one. “learning a new skill together is a great bonding experience!”

“Mhm. Bet you say that to all the girls, don't you?”

“Yeah, I call it the Diggs Deluxe Package.” The two had now tied both their skates and, hands gripping on to anything in sight, they both rose from the benches. She wobbled and panic shot through Daveed only for it to subside once she was standing straight and cautiously moving over to his side. He caught a hold of one of her arms, gently tugging her over till she was safely gripping on to something. “Just be glad you weren't my last date, I took that one skydiving.”

“At least buy me dinner first before you start telling me about your package, D.” Laughing, Y/N bumped her shoulder against his own, only for them to both loose their balance momentarily and grab on to one another.

“Here, you hold me and I'll hold you, okay?”

“Won't that just lead to us both falling over?”

“Yes, but at least we'll fall together.”

“It's a good thing you're cute, Diggs, because your flirting game is pretty morbid.” 

Laughter on both their tongues, united they stepped into the roller rink and prepared to face whatever challenge lay ahead. Surrounding them were people of all ages- children, teens, adults  - and all levels of skill; some people were zooming around the rink at an unmatched speed, others were gliding effortlessly while others were gripping on to the barriers and very slowly making their way around the arena. A disco ball was spinning from the ceiling and, paired with the dimmed lights, the neon accents and the old disco tracks playing through the speakers, it created a nostalgic feeling for a time in history neither of the two had experienced.

Y/N was the first one to fall.

They'd done a few loops with the safety of the barrier at their side, having deep discussions about whether or not water had a flavor and if there was a chance aliens were on earth, but it was time for the two to venture out into the actual rink, no more safety net to keep them afloat. If anyone had been counting, they'd have noticed how her feet slipped from under her and she fell on her ass within a matter of four seconds after letting go of the wall.

“Help me up, Diggs, or I'll tell Rafa about the time you let me paint your toe nails.” Through fits of laughter, Daveed helped her back onto her feet and nearly fell back himself in the process. “Stop laughing, you big bully! That really hurt my ass.”

“Aww, need me to kiss it better for you?”

“In your dreams, D.”

From there onward, much to Daveed's own shame, Y/N had gotten a hell of a lot more steady and comfortable on her skates whilst he'd wound up returning back to the safety of the wall after falling a sixth time.

“Oh god, I wish someone had been filming that!” She said, clutching at her sides as she laughed. “You kept hopping from foot to foot like you were playing hopscotch. And then you just fell!”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, L/N.” Even if Daveed tried to act irritated with his eye roll and crossed arms, he couldn't bite back the smile tugging at his mouth. If it had to be at his own expense, he didn't care, he just liked to hear her laugh.

“Oh, I used to love this song!” She suddenly perked up, eyes widened in excitement as she looked over at him. She skated a little closer to him, stopping and taking a hold of both his hands. Giving up control, he watched as she turned her back to him and lay his hands to rest on her hips. “Hold on and I'll pull you along!”

With that, she glided back out into the mass of people and Daveed allowed himself to be dragged behind her. He was enjoying the feel of her hips in his hands, the smell of her shampoo, the soft humming along to the song leaving her. He probably looked like a mad man to any on lookers from the size of his grin.

At some point, they'd both lost count of how many songs they'd skated to like this. Daveed had managed to get a little more comfortable working the skates yet he made sure to keep one hand holding on to his anchor at all times. Whether it was his hands on her hips or a hand on her shoulder or their hands intertwined, it made no real difference to the fact he just wanted to hold her.  She gained more skill and had began even skating backwards, allowing Daveed the chance to watch how her face lit up in joy.

“There we go!” Y/N cheered him on gently. She'd convinced him to let go of her and test out skating by himself. She'd started out close enough for him to still grab on if needed but, after a few minutes of him safely moving, she'd skated a little further away from him. Her eyes had yet to leave him though, which pulled a blanket of comfort over him. “See? I told you you could do it!”

And as he continued moving his own feet, he was fixated by the way Y/N was gliding ahead of him, her back facing him. “Yeah,” He agreed, enjoying the praise she was giving. “I actually think I'm starting to-”

Crash!

“Daveed?” Confused, Y/N spun back around only to see Daveed hunched over on the floor, a group of younger kids moving around him and laughing at the fact he'd fallen over. She joined in on the laughter but not for long because Daveed was not attempting to stand up and, as she approached his side, she could hear the hisses of pain coming from him.

Sat with his legs spread out in front of him, Daveed was clutching his right arm to his chest and willing himself to get over the pain and just stand up. He was finally on a date with Y/N, goddammit, there was no way he was going to allow one pain in his wrist stop him from enjoying it.

That's at least what he thought, but he was wrong.

“Oh my god, D, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have taken my eyes off you-”

“I do like it when my girl only has eyes for me.”

“This is not the time for your awful flirting, Diggs!” She scolded him but he saw right through her, amusement hidden in way her lips twitched slightly and her cheeks flushed a light shade of red.

When the two had tried, and failed, to stand him back on his feet, a helpful stranger had offered to assist Y/N with getting Daveed back up off the floor, one of his arms flung over each of their shoulders. The man only left after Y/N reassured him she could handle Daveed from there, which translated into her tightly holding on to his left hand and, with extreme caution, dragging him over to the exit of the rink and back to the locker area.

It was only once she'd removed her skates and gotten her trainers back on that she noticed Daveed was struggling to get even one skate off. There was already some purple bruising forming on his wrist and, each time he so much as moved it, a hiss flew out of him. After having to remove his skates for him, Y/N more or less informed him they'd be going to the hospital, whether he liked it or not. She had driven and he had sulked over the fact that the date was very much over at this point.

Hours later, Daveed found himself laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV drip and with some outstanding pain killers coursing through his bloodstream. Meanwhile, sat just outside his room on the uncomfortable plastic chairs, were Y/N and Rafa. She'd called him mostly out of concern for Daveed but partly out of the boredom of waiting in the hall by herself, slowly getting high on the potent smell of fresh bleach.

“Excuse me.” The duo had bolted up straight in their respective seats at the sound of a woman's voice, no longer relaxing against each other as she dozed in and out of sleep and he scrolled through his phone. “Are you guys here for Mr. Diggs?”

“Yes.” Rafael answered as Y/N nodded her head, rubbing at her eyes and suppressing the yawn that was begging to be freed.

“He's ready for visitors.” At that, Y/N was suddenly wide awake and ready to stand up. “But, he just got out of surgery and might be feeling a bit lightheaded. I just thought I should warn you.”

Y/N had stood up and been well on her way to entering his room but stopped mid-step and turned back to Rafa. Verbal communication didn't seem necessary as Rafa signaled for her to go ahead without him. If she wasn't so desperate to see Daveed, she would have said thank you.

When she finally arrived at his room number, she found it with the door laying wide open and Daveed, sat up in his bed with the softest looking pillow against his back, a cast wrapped around his right arm and a pudding cup in his left hand. As he struggled to open it with his mouth, Y/N couldn't stop herself from giggling and made her presence known.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” His question was innocent, like the smile he wore.

“We never got to finish our date, I couldn't just leave.” Making her way over to his bedside, she gently stole the pudding from his hand and opened it in one go. When she spotted the plastic spoon left on his bed tray, she picked it up, dipped it into the pudding and brought it up to his mouth. “Open up, buttercup.”

“Nothing says date like a romantic, spoon fed dinner in a hospital.” Despite his verbal complaint, he still welcomed the pudding in happily and opened his mouth for more.

“So,” Y/N said, stealing a spoonful of pudding. “is it too soon to say I told you so?”

“Your lover is mortally wounded and that's all you can think of?”

“You're such a drama queen.” One more spoonful found it's way to his waiting mouth. “And since when are you my lover? You've yet to woo me on this date.”

“Don't need to woo you, you've been whipped for me since we met.” He was smug; and annoying; and arrogant; and, obviously, correct. “Don't forget, babe, Rafa filled me in on all your raging hormones and mushy feelings you've been hiding from me.”

“I do not have raging hormones for you!” She playfully shoved his good arm and he caught a hold of hers, pulling her closer to him. The angle wasn't the best, with her having to awkwardly hover over his hospital bed and him tilting his head up at her but neither of them attempted to move away.

“That's a shame, 'cause I have plenty for you.”

She wasn't given the chance to reply as Daveed had already closed the space between the two of them. She'd always imagined his lips to be soft, pillowy and, most of all, nice feeling against her own. All of that was an underestimation to reality. Shifting himself further up the bed, he wrapped his left arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him, nothing but her clothes and his hospital gown between them. When he was sure she wasn't going to pull away, or turn out to be some figment of his imagination, he deepened their kiss as she placed a hand on his cheek, her other resting on the bed behind him.

It was pure bliss, like a dehydrated man finally getting a glass of water or a tired woman at last getting some sleep. They'd both been needing, wanting, waiting so long for it to happen that, with the time now come, neither of them wanted to pull back and end the kiss. Luckily enough, neither she nor he would have to worry about doing that.

“That is for sure violating some kind of health code.”

Y/N could only laugh as Daveed through his pillow right at Rafael Casal.

[halo-of-honey]

Concrete Junge

Daveed Diggs x Original Fem. Character

Synopsis: Emerson O'Connor has always dreamed of playing in a Broadway pit orchestra. After fleeing Boston to move back home to New York, she is approached by Lin and her whole world changes. But moving to a new city to get away from her past may not be as simple as she originally hoped.

[[ Read on AO3! ]]

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20

Chapter One: Dreaming

All I had ever wanted was to work for a Broadway pit orchestra. It had been my dream since I had first picked up a violin when I was only eight years old. Four years after graduating from Berklee I was back in New York playing cello for a small theater in Queens. I was commuting from my mom’s house where I was living, when the theater producer decided to try putting on In The Heights . It was a pretty bold choice, considering Hamiltonhad only just launched itself into Broadway superstardom. But also, not many theaters chose to put it on because of it’s unique and highly cultural nature. It was much easier to pick “safer” options like Into the Woods or Once Upon a Mattress.

I was excited to do In The Heights , though. I had seen it when I was in high school and thought it was brilliant. Somewhat abashedly, I liked to brag about seeing it when Lin Manuel Miranda was still in it, especially with his newfound fame. The music was exciting and different and I was truly enjoying playing it. Closing night was a big deal for us though, there was a rumor going around the theater that someone had donated big money to the theater and that a handful of tickets had been bought for our only, almost always empty private box. It was that night that I was plucked from obscurity. It was that night that everything in my life changed.

Moments before curtains, a buzz went through the entire cast and crew. Lin Manuel Miranda, his beautiful wife Vanessa, and a small posse ofHamilton cast were at the show that night. Somehow Lin had gotten word that we were putting on a production of his show and made sure he was there to see it. Everyone put on the best performances of their lives that night, including myself. From our little pit, I could just make out Lin’s ponytail in the dark theater. What I didn’t realize is that while he was watching the actors intently, he was also watching me intently.

After the show, Lin and Vanessa came backstage to say hello and give us praise. Everyone gawked at him, but I had split open a callus on my finger halfway through the second act and was trying my best to clean out and bandage my wound. I hadn’t even noticed when Lin found me huddled away from everyone, wincing as I picked the torn skin from my finger. I was just wrapping my finger with a tiny bandaid I found in the bottom of my cello case as well as a piece of scotch tape to keep it on when Lin’s sneakered feet appeared in my line of vision.

“Hey, you’re the cellist right? Emerson O’Connor?” he said warmly.

I looked up, eyes wide, “Oh! Yes...that’s uh...that’s me!” I said, quickly putting my hands behind my back.

“Is your hand okay?” he said, leaning to peer around me for my hands. “I thought I saw you trying to mop up some blood in the middle of ‘Alabanza.’”

“Ah...one of my calluses ripped.” I answered.

He didn’t seem like he was going to stop trying to look so I brought my hand out to show him, “Damn! Did you play through the rest of the show with that?” he asked, looking at my finger.

It did look pretty gruesome, I had to give him that. The callus had shorn almost all the way off and I had already bled through the tiny bandage and scotch tape, “I did...it’s nothing new really. Happens all the time, I practice too much.”

“As gross as that looks, consider me impressed. I’ve burst some serious blisters during shows before and it’s almost maddening how much it hurts and still to have to keep going.”

“Thank you?”

Lin laughed, a full laugh that seemed to warm me from the core, “Anyway, I came to find you because besides the injury I was really impressed with your playing. You’re incredibly talented and you seem to have a real feel for the music. I could see you bobbing along to the beat. I also noticed you putting in some little bits of your own flair, which was really cool.”

“Oh, thank you.” I said trying to stay calm. “I’ve worked really hard to get the feel that you put into the show. I actually saw it back in the day...when you were in it.”

“Yo! For real? That’s amazing. Did you like it?”

“Yeah, of course. I hadn’t seen anything like it.”

“Have you listened to any of Hamilton yet?” he asked bluntly.

“A little here and there. But I’ve been so busy practicing for this...” I admitted sheepishly.

“How would you like to come see it instead?”

I blanched, “I...you don’t...that’s very kind...” I stammered.

“Em,” he said firmly, shortening my name. “I’m trying to get you in my life here. Do you dig me?”

“I...no...I don’t think I’m following. What?”

“Alright, I’ll lay it out for you.” he said, pausing for effect. “ Hamilton is looking for a new cellist. I want you to come be our new cellist.”

There was suddenly a loud rushing in my ears. My heart started pounding uncomfortably fast in my chest and Lin’s face seemed to be sucked into a radial blur. “You want me to what?”

“Emerson, take a deep breath.” Lin said, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Focus on my voice, okay?”

I did as I was told, nodding, “Okay.”

“You deserve this. You really do. Come work for me. Come play for Hamilton .” he said.

I blinked at him, “I don’t live in the city.”

He smiled, clearly this was funny, “Don’t worry about that. Just say yes. We can figure the rest out later.”

“Yes...of course. Yes.” I blabbered, everything that just happened rushing in all at once.

“Good, great!” he said, grinning. “Give me your email so I can let you know when to come down. We can chat, I’ll help you figure out whatever you need. Alright?”

I nodded, “Okay. Yeah...yeah!”

I gave him my email and then he said goodbye and I noticed Vanessa standing down the hall waiting for him. I waved at her and she smiled, giving me a little wave back before the two of them turned and disappeared around the corner. I stared down at my ripped finger, watching as the blood dripped onto the floor. Lin Manuel Miranda wanted me . He wanted me to play for his hit Broadway show. He was going to help me figure it all out. He wanted me and I had possibly just bled on his shirt. I was dreaming for sure.

A few days past and I had convinced myself that I had been dreaming. But then as I rode the train down to Queens for rehearsal for our next show, I checked my email only to find one from Lin. I nearly yelped, nearly cried, then realized I had made an audible noise on a public train and people were looking at me. I flushed and turned into the window so I could read the email in peace.

To: emerson.oconnor@gmail.com From: linmanuel@gmail.com Subject: when can you start?

Yo Em!

Hope you’re doing well! Do you know when you might be able to start? We would love to have you as soon as possible, but I know that might be hard with other work. Let me know if I can help!

Did you want to come see the show first?

Talk to you soon, superstar!

Lin

I could’ve died. It took me the rest of the train ride to formulate a good response. I would’ve taken longer, but I knew it wasn’t going to get any better and I needed to hustle to rehearsal. I pressed send just as I walked into the theater.

To: linmanuel@gmail.com From: emerson.oconnor@gmail.com Subject: RE: when can you start?

Hi Lin

I’ve been doing fine. We’ve already started work on our next show ( Brigadoon ...lame). I’m not sure when I could start. I could put in my two weeks...but I don’t have an apartment in the city. I commute from Cold Spring to Queens nearly every day as it is. Any suggestions?

Maybe that would be good...but I wouldn’t want to take tickets from someone else.

Thank you again...really...

Emerson

I wasn’t able to check my email again until the train ride home that night. I assumed he wouldn’t have responded, knowing he was probably very busy. He surprised me yet again though, having responded only a few hours after my message.

To: emerson.oconnor@gmail.com From: linmanuel@gmail.com Subject: brigadoon is pretty lame

Cold Spring’s a haul...let me ask around. Maybe I can find you something cheap.

Don’t worry about stealing tickets. I want you to meet the fam. Alex is already foaming at the mouth to meet you. Do you have a show this weekend? Sunday matinee? I’ll take you to dinner after.

Your new bestie, Lin

I couldn’t help but laugh. We had barely spoken and he was already proclaiming us besties. The woman in the seat across from mine glanced at me, but I didn’t care. Things in my life seemed to be improving finally. I was excited not to have to live with my mom anymore as well. But I tried my best to be patient. I answered as the train cruised past West Point, doused in moonlight.

To: linmanuel@gmail.com From: emerson.oconnor@gmail.com Subject: bringing her home to meet the fam

Okay, thank you for looking into that.

Alex Lacamoire? THE Alex Lacamoire? I’ve died. You’ve killed me.

I don’t have a show this weekend. Sunday matinee sounds fine.

Glad to be considered your bestie, Emerson

I got his next email on the train the next morning.

To: emerson.oconnor@gmail.com From: linmanuel@gmail.com Subject: I’M A MURDERER!!!

Yes, the Alex Lacamoire. We found your YouTube btw...loved the Clint Eastwood cover. Didn’t know you could rap AND play cello. You’re a boss!

Come early, do you know your way to the theater?

Lin

Frustratingly my phone died before I could finish my response and I had to wait to get to the theater to recharge it. I tried to answer quickly on my break, but then my director wanted to talk to me. I followed him into his office and he shut the door, inviting me to sit. The only other time we had sat like this was when he hired me and I was suddenly very concerned as to what he needed to discuss with me. He seemed to hesitate for a painfully long time before getting started.

“There’s been some chatter going around that you were talking in private with Mr. Miranda after the show last weekend.” he said, sounding rather stiff.

“Yes, he came to speak with me. Why? Is there a problem?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Well, Emerson...some people have been complaining. Wondering why you got special treatment.”

“It wasn’t special treatment, he just wanted to speak to me. He appreciated some of the liberties I took with the music. His music.”

My director folded his fingers on his desk, “That may well be, but people aren’t happy and they’re expecting me to do something about it.”

I blinked at him, “Do what exactly?”

“I think it might be best to put you on a probationary period...” my director started.

“You’re firing me?” I asked incredulously. “You’re firing me because a famous Broadway writer wanted to speak to me and people aren’t happyabout it?”

“Now, Emerson...there’s no need to get upset. I will of course write you a raving reference. There’s plenty of other theaters out there.”

Suddenly all of this was very funny and I started to laugh loudly, “You’re damn right, there are!” I chortled.

“We’ll pay you for the rest of the week...”

I stood up too fast and knocked my chair over, “Yeah save it. I won’t be coming in.” I said, turning to leave. I had my hand on the door when I thought of something, “You want to know what Lin really wanted to talk to me about?”

“I...I guess?”

“Lin offered me a job. He wants me to come play for Hamilton . I was going to quit in a few weeks anyway. Tell people about that and see how they feel.” I snapped and then left the room.

When I turned, I could see a small group of people who had been listening in. I grinned at them maliciously, “Did you get all that?” I snapped and they quickly scattered.

I went to pack up my cello and made my way to the train station. I had to wait a while on the track for the next train north. I found an empty bench away from everyone and tried to sift through the strange combination of amusement and anger that was coursing through my veins. So to distract me, I took the time to respond to Lin’s email now that my phone was charged up.

To: linmanuel@gmail.com From: emerson.oconnor@gmail.com Subject: wanna know something funny?

I got fired today. For having a conversation with you. I got fired...because “people” were “unhappy” that you came to talk to me. I almost can’t stop laughing. I also really want to punch something I’m so furious. I really hope you’re serious about me coming to work for you.

Wow, I forgot about that channel. I made it right after college. Haven’t made anything since I’ve been back in New York though. Don’t have the space for it.

Richard Rogers, just off Times Square? How early?

Emerson

When I got home to my mom’s, she of course wanted to know why I was back so early. After explaining to her that I was fired, she was furious with me. I could’ve told her that I had this new job already lined up, but I could tell she didn’t want to hear it. She was already a few drinks in and I knew she wouldn’t believe me if I told her I was offered a job for a real Broadway show. So I decided to give her some space and drove myself to my favorite diner to have some dinner and check my emails in peace. As I slid into a booth and ordered a burger, I saw an email back from Lin.

To: linmanuel@gmail.com From: emerson.oconnor@gmail.com Subject: fuck them. come join the loooove

WOW! RUDE! Clearly I got you out of there just in time. (Yes of course I’m serious about you coming to work for me.)

We’ll find you some more space someday. You gotta break out those raps again. Cuz daaaaymn girl, you good.

Come by an hour before curtain and tell the person at the door you’re here to meet me. I’ll let her know you’re coming.

Lin

[theshipsfirstmate]

Arrow Fic: When Did You Start to Forget How to Fly

Or, five times Rene Ramirez and Thea Queen danced around things and the one time they finally fell into step.

A/N: According to AO3, this might be the first-ever WildQueen-centric fic? I'm OK with that. (This is honestly mostly just for @yellowflicker09011996 and me and anyone else who wants to join us on this tiny little ship.)  There’s just something about these two. 

I wrote some of this right after the writers first dropped a hint about Rene’s kid back in the holiday ep. (I guessed girl, but had her a little younger.) After the Rene origin story, I came back in to make it more canon-compliant. It took forever and got very out of control.

TL:DR: I had this idea and then couldn't shake it and then it got a few thousand words out of hand. I'm a glutton for punishment and non-existent ships.

Title from “Same Drugs” by Chance the Rapper. (I love this song so much, and it’s never worked for my other ships. WILDQUEEN 2k17.)

When Did You Start to Forget How to Fly (AO3)

The first few times Rene asks her out, Thea laughs it off.

It’s not like she’s not used to it. It’s not like she hasn’t been fielding the same kinds of offers (at varying levels of appropriateness and vulgarity) since before she was old enough to understand them. But Rene’s harmless. She laughs a little to herself at how different her definition of that word must be from the general populace. He's Wild Dog, for Christ's sake, a quick-trigger vigilante, an ex-military man with a history of violence and a distaste for authority. In another life, they probably never would have met. In this one, they might be perfect for each other. Or so he keeps telling her.

Rene's first attempts to woo her are generic and bordering on crass -- catcalling is frowned upon at best in her book, especially in front of her brother, who also happens to be the mayor, the city's premiere hero and Wild Dog’s own private Mister Miyagi. But as he becomes ingrained as a part of Oliver's team, Rene changes, matures, and so do his efforts. Thea watches it happen first-hand, only half-aware of how closely she's paying attention.

He came to the vigilante life as a runaway soldier, volatile as his moniker, now he falls into step beside Digg like it's second nature. Now he looks before he leaps and watches to make sure that the rest of the team does too. Now his voice softens when he asks Curtis for help or defers to Felicity with a tech question. Now, he’s part of the team.

His accelerating maturity also means he keeps more things to himself, but Thea still catches him looking. And occasionally, he still asks.

“The new Star Wars is playing at the Starling 16,” he offers one evening when she comes to the the Arrow bunker on City Hall business, and her first instinct is to wonder whether or not he notices how very middle school it sounds. “You wanna go?”

“Why do you keep asking me out?” is what she asks instead, tossing in a little extra bite in case he thinks she's starting to go soft. “I've never said yes.”

“You've never said no,” Rene points out, and Thea frowns openly, trying to remember if he's right. “Once, you said you weren't interested, once that I wasn't your type. Sometimes you just roll your eyes. Figured you were making me work for it. Girls like you--”

“Girls like me,” she interrupts with a scoff. “You think you've met girls like me?”

“If I had, maybe I’d be chasing one of them around like a puppy instead,” he concedes, frustrated but not fierce or angry. Maybe Thea is going a little soft, because when he meets her eyes again, something in her chest swells. “You want me to stop?”

He will if she asks him to, she can tell. The shameless honesty is written right across his face, etched alongside the scars that tell a different kind of story. Her hand twitches when she thinks about smoothing a finger across the mottled skin. She can’t remember when he stood from the lab table where he was cleaning his guns. She can’t remember when he got this close.

Thea’s changed in the last year too, she knows that. She’s no longer putting sleazy guys’ heads through freezer doors (even if they deserve it), no longer feels that sharp, hollow pain in her chest, like there’s a piece missing. And the thing is, there’s something more she's hearing in Rene’s offers these days, like he's asking for an answer rather than a reaction.

The other thing is, sometimes now when he asks, she really, really wants to say yes.

Instead, she quizzes him. “Why Star Wars?”

“Your dad took you guys when they re-released the original trilogy in theaters,” he answers easily, dropping his eyes to look at the floor and Thea just about swallows her tongue. She had been expecting something corny about Han Solo and  heroics, but instead, he calls back a tattered memory from forever ago, one he shouldn’t even know.

“It was supposed to be just him and Oliver, but you begged them to let you go along. You fell asleep halfway through Jedi and cried the entire car ride home because you thought you'd never see Princess Leia again.”

“How did you…” Thea pauses when the answer finally registers, and she makes a mental note to throttle her traitorous brother as her lips twist up in a genuine, unsuppressable smile.

“Oliver bet me one night that I couldn’t shoot the tip off of one of his arrows in mid-flight.” Rene's still grinning, in a way that lets her know without asking who had prevailed in that particular wager.

“And in exchange he had to tell you when he saw Star Wars?”

“In exchange,” he tells her, with a waggle of his eyebrows, “he had to tell me something about you that I wouldn’t be able to guess.”

Thea's not sure what she was expecting to feel when she finally goaded him into laying his cards on the table, but it wasn't this, buoyant and a just a tiny bit seasick. Rene keeps talking, though, and it's fortunate for her tongue, which has found itself a little tied.

“Listen, I'm in this thing with Oliver, you know? I’m on the team,” he tells her unnecessarily, and she’s not sure where he’s going, but he’s somehow softer and more assured than she's ever heard him before. “That means I'm gonna know you, that you're gonna know me, at least a little bit. If that's all you want it to be, that's OK. I'll respect that from now on, I promise, if that's what you're telling me. But if you're not...”

He doesn't actually finish his speech, but he’s said it out loud, and Thea’s stomach is already doing full, twisting somersaults. She finally recognizes it, the needy feeling inside her that's lay dormant for months. Years, she realizes almost bitterly. It's been over a year since she's seen Roy, and even longer since their story was anything but a tragedy

But since then, she's never thought about actually moving on, not really. Not because it felt impossible, more because it felt infeasible. It didn't feel like there was anywhere to go. And this… whatever she feels for Rene isn't enough, not just yet. It's not a destination. But it's something.

“Keep asking,” she decides, with a grin he returns immediately. “Maybe I'm making you work for it.”

He might be changing, softening even, but Thea gets her first real look at Wild Dog’s nougaty center on Christmas Eve Eve, when she accidentally overhears a phone call in the back hallway of the Arrow bunker.

“Hey, Ms. Walker, this is Rene Ramirez.” He sounds strangely formal and so falsely cheerful she can almost hear his teeth grind. “Case number six-two-dash-one-three-one-four?” A beat. “No, I’m not trying to make any trouble ma’am, I was just wondering if I could--”

Rene cuts off abruptly, listening, she can hear the tinny echo of a loud voice on the other end of the line. When he speaks again, all of the mirth has been shaken from his tone, like tinsel off the tree.

“C’mon, I just want to talk to her.” This is a desperate register, another one she’s never heard from him before. “Ms. Walker, please. I’m her father. It’s Christmas.”

There's a few seconds of silence, then Thea winces at the somewhat unsatisfying smash of a smartphone against the concrete floor.

She knows she should be polite, or at least play dumb, but he storms back out towards her so quickly -- freezing in place, wide-eyed, when he stops himself just short of actually running into her -- that she panics, blurting it out in a truly impressive Felicity impersonation. “You have a daughter? I mean, you have… you have a daughter?”

Rene looks anywhere but her face for a long moment, like he's weighing whether or not to ignore this entirely and just keep walking. Finally, he resigns, meeting her eyes, and before her, Thea sees someone she barely recognizes. It's easy to forget sometimes, how many lives each of them have left behind, how many pieces of themselves have had to be sloughed off just to stay alive. “She was born when I was overseas. Then, when I got back… and then her mother...”

He trails off without putting any real sentences together and she stays silent, feeling guilty but unable to form any worthwhile words. “I was a good father,” he adds, like Thea won't believe him. She wonders if he's really trying to convince himself and her stomach churns more violently.

“I know.” It takes Rene reacting to the whispered assurance -- a sharp breath in as he briefly lifts his eyes -- to realize she's the one that said it.

“I was drinking a lot right after her mother died and they just... they took her. I screwed things up pretty bad with child services,” he continues his confession softly. “Can't really blame them, right?”

He says that, and Thea does her best to rein in the part of her that already had been blaming the unfair world, and a system that works against what’s best as often as it does in favor. The indignation must be rolling off her visibly, because Rene keeps talking, like he’s trying to reassure her, even though she knows it should be the other way around.

“I'd be no good for a kid, especially now.” Now that he's a vigilante, now that he’s killed, now that he’s been tortured, Thea adds up. He thinks he's not a whole person anymore, she recognizes the self-flagellation for what it is, having watched her brother hone it to perfection and had some practice herself. “And a little girl? Nah, she's better off.”

It's hard to find anything to say, when she's unsure if he can be right and wrong at the same time. But what she finds unbearable is the sight of him pressing his eyes shut and shaking his head like it will Etch-a-Sketch away the memory of a daughter he doesn’t think he deserves.

“I’d like to see her again, maybe, someday,” Rene says after a moment, almost talking to himself at this point. “I don’t want her to think I forgot about her. Especially at Christmas... and her birthdays, you know?”

“Yeah, of course,” Thea finally scratches out.

She doesn’t know, not really, but she understands something about families that have pieces missing, and something about the complexities between fathers and daughters. She gulps down a breath and gives him everything she has to offer. “I can tell you for certain that she’s never given up on you. And she’d never forget you.”

Rene’s eyes lock on hers like they’re searching for something and Thea finds herself wanting to reach out and twine her fingers around his wrist, to hold him in a way that would be both comforting and somewhat permissible, but she can't find the map to that place in her mind. So she rubs her thumb anxiously against her middle finger and defaults, as always, to a quip. “Stuff around here’s always a little Shakespearean, but you’ve really had your own thing going on in the background, huh?”

“It’s not my story.” Rene drops his head to brush past her, and she's still not touching him but she can feel him slip through her fingers. “I’m not the hero.”

Thea smiles in spite of herself, even as her heart aches a little, because it's maybe the nicest thing he’s ever said about her brother. It's just like him to make this kind of moment about someone else.

“I’m not so sure about that.” It comes out like a whisper, but she hopes he hears.

The next revelation comes when Prometheus takes Felicity and Digg at the same time -- the metaphorical severing of both Oliver’s arms and legs.

Her brother shuts down harder than Thea remembers seeing, even in his early days back from the island. She spends most of her free time in the bunker, watching him and Curtis work nearly 24/7 at the computers, searching feverishly for clues. Oliver stops only occasionally to break something or press the balls of his hands into his tired eyes.

Rene practically goes feral at the news, too -- she watches him spar with the punching bag until his hands are bloodied and nearly pace a hole in the floor. It’s the first time she’s really thought of his alter ego as an apt moniker.

“I'm surprised you haven't taken off already.” She says it in jest, a feeble, almost delirious attempt to machete her way through the tension hanging heavy in the room as she approaches him cautiously by the lockers. “You know, guns blazing.”

She means it metaphorically, but Rene skitters back a few steps, catching her eyes with his wide ones and and that's when Thea realizes that he's in deep as well, too caught up in his own mind to wipe the worry off his face.

“He was just getting me warmed up to the idea of teamwork again,” he tells her after clearing his throat, dropping his concentration to fixing the tacky tape on his knuckles. It takes her a moment to realize he’s talking about Digg. “Serves me right. Serves him right.”

“Rene, we're going to get him back,” she assures him, just as Oliver had assured her. She’s surprised at his vitriol and realizes that the two men had grown closer than anyone realized in the months since the new team came together. “There's nothing you could have done.”

“I was supposed to have his back,” he spits in her direction, and Thea understands that this is deeper, some kind of brothers-in-arms thing, another dishonorable act being hung around his neck. “His and Felicity’s too. None of us should have been going anywhere alone. I should have had their back.” Rene’s barely even present in front of her, back to throwing his fists into whatever ghosts are appearing in the heavy bag.

“He's not the only one who trusts you,” Thea tells him, channeling a bit more of Oliver than maybe she’d like to admit. “And he's not the only one you can trust.”

But all her righteousness goes out the window when he turns back on her, fiery and frustrated and foreboding. She almost forgot, he's Least Likely to Respond to a Cheesy Pep Talk of the vigilante new class. “You got it all figured out, mi reina?” He sneers, but the crack in his voice and the lost look in his eyes give him away. He's angry, wildly so, but more than that, he's terrified. “Gonna come out of retirement and get a target put on your back too, huh? You gonna be be next?”

They're standing close enough that she can feel his breath hot on her cheek, close enough that she can see the gash over his eye, suffering permanently embedded in the flesh. His scars are like her brother’s, reminders of mistakes made and lives lost. But Oliver doesn't have one like this, marring his face for the world to see. He has the choice to don a different kind of mask in public, but Rene wears his damage on his face like his heart on his sleeve.

“We’ll go as a team and we’ll get them back,” she tells him, giving into the instinct and bringing her left hand up to cup the side of his cheek, skimming her thumb delicately over the rough skin. “We do this together.”

She's holding his frantic gaze, which snaps shut when her thumb skims down past the scar, but then, out of the corner of her eye, she can see his shoulders unknot. He relaxes, leaning his face into her hand just a little, and she feels downright triumphant.

Triumphant and warm and familiar, like she's known this emotion, even though it seems so foreign. It's not until she glances over to the computer station, and watches her brother drop his crumpled face into his hands for what feels like the thousandth time tonight, that she realizes where she’s seen it before.

When Ollie came back, all those years ago, it was easy to see some of the ways he had changed. He was wild and distant, practically feral. The pieces fell into place when Thea learned his secret, but it wasn’t the vigilante work that ultimately had helped to calm him. It was the blonde in the computer chair next to him.

Since his return from Lian Yu, the only time she's seen her brother truly relax is in Felicity’s arms. The only time she’d seen flashes of the carefree countenance he used to wear like badge of honor is when he's around the bubbly blonde, and Thea knows that return will be lost forever if she is. Felicity pulled Oliver back into the light, and he did the same for her. Back and forth, they've done their best to keep each other out of the shadows even when the road got rocky. They're the example, Thea understands, and something hopeful worms its way through her internal despair and confusion. If nothing else, they've proven that it's possible.

She hangs the hood right back up again once Digg and Felicity are back home safe, but it doesn’t stop fate from calling on her again. If Oliver Queen weren’t her brother, Thea would be the unluckiest person she knows.

She tells herself it doesn't mean anything that it's Rene who reaches her first, lifting her effortlessly in his arms as he runs out of a collapsing City Hall. It's not significant that it's his voice in her ears as she takes what she knows from experience are last dying breaths. But her arguments weaken with the rest of her.

“Stay with me, c’mon, just listen to the sound of my voice.” She knows it's a bad sign when he starts starts to sound both far away and a little desperate.

“Talk to me,” she asks, trying to tether herself in the present. “Tell me something.”

“Your brother’s on his way,” he answers, but it’s not what she needs to hear.

“Tell me something I wouldn't be able to guess.”

Rene’s quiet for a moment, but she can hear his labored breathing. Thea focuses all her energy on listening for the next exhale.“You know we’ve met before?”

“You and me?” she replies, though it comes out all mushed together into two syllables. She’s got her eyes closed but she's seeing his face, wondering what he looked like in the days before eye black and scars and close-cropped stubble. “At the RQCC?”

When Thea was in elementary school, her father had opened a youth center in The Glades named after his mother. Rosalyn “Rosie” Queen was a grandparent Thea had known in legend only, but as a rebellious teen she had gotten quite familiar with the building that bore her name, spending many a mandatory weekend there for the sake of image rehabilitation.

“Yeah, maybe there too. But also, you used to buy shit from my boy Petey down at Three Star Park.” Thea feels the air change. They’ve made it outside. That doesn’t mean they’re safe, she can tell from his pace and his tone. But he's still talking to her, because she asked him to. “You were one of his Wendy Darlings.”

“Huh?” It’s just a sound, but in her cloudy mind, she can sort of place Petey, and searches her memory for Rene in the faces that used to surround the scrappy but mostly good-tempered dealer.

She’s struggling to focus, voice growing weak, but then her sluggish mind catches up to something else he said. “Wendy Darlings?”

“That's what we called the girls like you,” he tells her in between radio calls. He's running now, “Trying to stay young forever, desperate to fly.”

“S’girls like me?” She slurs her words though the coppery taste in her mouth, wondering if he'll remember.

“Back then, maybe.” Of course he does. Her eyes roll shut and she forces them back open. She wants to remember him like this, tearing his heart wide and telling her something true. Something she wouldn’t be able to guess. “Not anymore.”

“Petey always shorted me.” Her voice is starting to fail her and she hopes the squeal of tires that pretty much drown out her memory is a the sounds of a rescue.

“That was probably me, too,” Rene confesses softly as he pulls her tighter against his chest. “I would try and get him to turn you away, but he wasn't having that.”

Before her eyes close again, Thea catches his gaze one last time, and wonders just how many times he's saved her.

Rene's overly cautious with her in the weeks following the bombing, breaking out the kid gloves Thea resents from anyone, but him especially. It's not until he lands himself in the hospital, just a week after she's released, that they get anywhere close to another step forward.

Felicity’s the one that sends her the text when the mission takes a turn, telling her where to meet them in the all-too-familiar medical complex.

Oliver's fine, it's Rene. Thea's stomach twists when she realizes the text was meant to ease her panic. She wonders what it means that it doesn't in the slightest.

He's in surgery for nearly ten hours and all she can think of is a day, almost a decade ago, when a man in a suit showed up at her house to tell her mother that her father was dead and her brother was gone. Thea digs her fingernails into the armrests of the cheap hospital waiting room chair and doesn’t budge until Rene’s resting in his recovery room. She tells herself it doesn’t mean anything that she’s the one at his bedside when he wakes up, but she's getting less convincing.

“I was hoping you’d be here,” he says by way of a hello, and a lump forms in her throat almost immediately so she takes a moment to bask in the sight of him, alive and breathing in front of her, and the thought of a little girl somewhere who has no idea how lucky she got tonight.

“I’m just glad you're OK,” she finally grates out. It’s the only thing she'll let herself confess at the moment, but his eyes crinkle at the corners like he knows there's more.

“Yeah,” he answers with a grin, “me too.”

Through his weeks of recovery, Thea finds herself volunteering for more bedside shifts that anyone else by a landslide, shrugging off arched eyebrows from Felicity and Oliver (and a 360-degree eye roll from one John Diggle that she fully plans to make him pay for). She owes Rene one for saving her from the City Hall attack, she argues weakly, convincing no one.

She can't look too hard at why she feels such a strong need to be by his side. That ends up being easier than it sounds when he turns out to be the world's most obnoxious patient. He's going stir crazy in the sterile room not two hours after he regains consciousness, threatening to walk out before his ribs even get a chance to set.

For the most part, Thea placates him, plying him with morphine (and not just because he's kind of adorable when he's dopey). It's day four before she really takes him to task.

“You need to sit down in the bed,” she warns, even as his eyes narrow, preparing for another go-round over their differing opinions of his care. But today, she has a wild card to play. “You’ve got a call coming in any minute now, and you don't want to miss it, do you?”

“A call?” His brow furrows, but she's saved by the bell as the phone in her hand chooses that moment to ring.

“Sit there and behave.” He pulls a face at her warning but stays put, and she steps out into the hallway, just in case it's bad news. It's not, and she breathes a sigh of relief she hadn't realized she was holding, wasting no time rushing back into the room to hand him the phone.

“Hello?” Rene lifts it to his ear with his good arm and she watches his face for the moment he realizes. His eyes widen and then dart to hers, looking for the confirmation she's all too happy to nod.

“Hey, Zoe,” he says softly, drifting off into his own world as a peace she's never seen before spreads across his face. “It’s good to hear your voice, mija. How are you?”

Thea turns to leave, to give them their privacy, but before she can take a step he grabs her wrist with his free hand -- wincing a little at the sudden movement -- and gives her a look that stops her short. If she hadn't seen him laid bare during their trials with Prometheus, she might not have recognized it, but the fear edged around the wonder and elation in his eyes is unmistakable. So she sits back down in the chair beside his bed and doesn't even flinch when he laces their fingers together.

She listens to him work his way through the initial awkwardness and light, perfunctory questions (and a few half-truths on his part about his whereabouts and daily activities). It's not perfect, but she’s not sure anyone would be able to tell by the look on Rene’s face. Plus, that wonderstruck tone never leaves his voice and her cheeks start to hurt from suppressing the most ridiculous Cheshire smile at the effervescence of his joy.

When their time is up, Rene says his goodbyes and passes the phone back to her, releasing his hold on her hand and scrubbing his palms over watery eyes. Thea thanks the social worker and promises to call her back tomorrow, feeling Rene's gaze on her the whole time. When she ends the call and turns back to meet his stare, she finally understands what people mean when they say someone can look at you like you hung the moon.

Some part of her is immediately hell bent on making him look like that as much as possible, hopefully with a few less mountains to move.

“How did you do that?” His voice has gone dreamy, and she's pretty sure it's not the industrial-grade painkillers.

“I said please,” she shrugs. Off the immediate crook of his eyebrow, she admits, “and I promised the DCS a first look from the mayor during next year’s grant process.”

“I can't believe you did that for me,” he sighs. “Mi reina. Living up to the name and everything.”

Her cheeks flush at the nickname now, it's just something that happens. But his words also bring a little twist to her gut. The thought of her parents, her family name. Thea’s always thought she took more after her father, even after the brutal truth of her paternity was revealed. Maybe even more so then. But perhaps she is her mother’s daughter after all, loyal and ruthless to a fault with a heart that won’t stop aching. “It’s not like that’s a high bar, considering...”

Rene humors her with a grin but doesn't let her off the hook.

“You know even when the city turned on your family I never could,” he tells her and she realizes that they’re holding hands again, but she doesn’t remember it happening. “Between sports and after-school, Rosie Q was my home for over a decade. Your parents may have done some bad things, but they helped keep me off the streets. Maybe that’s something.”

“It is,” she answers, so fast it might be telling. “It is something.” She's only just starting to realize it might be everything.

“You're a good person, Thea Queen. And your parents would be proud.” Rene pulls their entwined fingers up, and presses a soft kiss to the back of her hand as he repeats himself. “I can’t believe you did that.”

It’s a chaste enough moment, but it sets a spark in Thea, and it’s not long before something starts to smolder.

She's still holding his hand, absently feels them pressed awkwardly between their bodies when she stands abruptly from her chair and leans over to kiss him, soft but firm and lingering just a little.

His lips are a little chapped but he tastes like cinnamon and another kind of heat and when he gasps in a startled breath, she starts to pull away. But just like earlier, Rene reels her back, pressing his free hand to her cheek and one more kiss to her lips -- one that lasts long enough that she feels it in her toes.

He follows her with sparkling eyes as she moves to sit back down in the chair next to his bed and Thea can’t help but smile back.

“You staying?”

“I told Dinah I'd take a few extra minutes on my shift,” she admits quietly, like it's the most revealing thing that's happened here, “just in case you needed anything.”

Rene just purses his lips together and shakes his head, eyes grinning -- “I’m good.” -- and Thea knows she’s in trouble, because she already wants to kiss him again.

They carry on in a stalemate for a while after that, both too stubborn and scared to acknowledge anything without a crystal clear sign from the other. As usual, it takes something major -- in this case, Oliver and Felicity’s wedding, take two -- to nudge them further in the right direction.

Thea and Digg stand up for Ollie, while Donna and Curtis fight back tears from their spots beside Felicity. There’s as many people in the audience as there are at the altar, with Lyla, John Jr., Quentin, Rene, Rory, Dinah and Paul making up the rest of their motley crew. It’s tiny and beautiful and quick and absolutely perfect.

Thea’s so focused on not noticing the way Rene looks in his three-piece suit that she almost jumps out of her heels when he and Rory bellow “Mazel Tov!” as Oliver kisses the bride.

Later, she watches her brother twirl his bride around a massive dance floor at Star City’s poshest hotel -- between mayoral pomp and circumstance and the indomitable force that is Donna Smoak, the reception had become quite the spectacle, a trade-off for the intimacy of the ceremony. But it didn't matter how many people were there, Thea was pretty sure her brother hadn't looked anywhere but Felicity since she walked towards him down the short aisle.

Upon taking her seat at the large, round bride and groom’s table, and glancing at the neighboring name card, Thea had shot her new sister-in-law a capital-L Look of a different sort. Felicity just shrugged like she didn’t really understand what she was being accused of, but she was also the only other person who knew about the kiss at the hospital. Thea’s just about certain her innocence in this case is 100% feigned.

She and Rene haven’t even talked about it, really, but when he catches her eye as he crosses the room, she can still feel the press of his lips against hers, can see the way he looked at her under the harsh fluorescent lights. It’s no easier throughout dinner, as Thea's hyper aware of his presence to her right, dedicating far too much brainpower towards not knocking elbows or knees or any other part.

The other part of her concentration, of course, is focused on reveling in the happiness that's practically emanating from her big brother and his new wife, but somehow that -- along with a line from Digg’s best man toast about “finding your own family” -- only sends her thoughts twisting back to the man beside her.

Rene’s been asking her for months, in all different kinds of ways, baring his soul and convincing Thea to share bits of her own at the same time. Ultimately, it just comes down to an outstretched hand as the band starts up a ballad.

“Didn’t picture you as much of a dancer.”

“Didn’t think I was a--” His eyes widen and he scoffs, retracting the hand to press against his chest in mock offense. “I’m Dominican and Puerto Rican, mi reina. I can’t not dance. Just don’t always get up for the slow songs, that's all.”

“And you're ready to make an exception?”

“Are you?” He gives her a look that means more than he's trying to let on and she freezes for a second. It’s a good thing she’s fast, good thing she remembers everything they’ve ever said to each other. It means you’re not my type. She would have doled that out to any and all inquiring back then, her defenses were so high she could barely see who was on the other side. He’s the only one that kept asking.

Thea takes Rene’s hand and brushes at her skirt nervously as she stands, avoiding eye contact. He’s also the only one that made her want to say yes.

If there's anything she's learned from watching her brother and Felicity find their way back to each other, it's that love isn't easy for people like them, who spend their lives fighting. It's hard to find someone who can understand, and even harder to find someone who can stay.

Thea's not sure she ever started looking, but when she meets Rene’s eyes on the dance floor, threading her hands around his neck as his splay around her waist, some part of her is so certain she's found it.

Someone in the banquet hall taps their spoon against their glass and soon the whole room follows suit. She and Rene stop swaying along with the rest of the couples and watch as Oliver leans over to press another kiss to Felicity's lips. Thea grins at the megawatt smile on her brother’s face, matched only by the one his bride is beaming back at him. She heaves a sigh full of relief that's heavier than she realized, and then gasps again when she turns back and Rene’s eyes are closer than she remembers.

“Is there a rule against other people kissing when they do that glass thing?” His nose is practically pressed to hers, and Thea doesn’t understand why he suddenly sounds conspiratorial, but her stomach is already swooping, even as the corners of her mouth twitch back up.

“I don’t know,” she answers on a breathy laugh. “Are you seriously asking me about rules?”

“Yeah, good point.” He drops his hands from her waist and slips out of her arms before she knows what’s happening, darting to an abandoned nearby table and tapping a spoon against a mostly empty wine glass.

The room follows again with a collective chuckle, and before Thea can turn to see Oliver and Felicity’s reaction, Rene’s back. And back in a big way. One hand returns to her waist and the other reaches up to cup her cheek as his lips land on hers, soft and insistent.

If their kiss at the hospital had been a thank you (that’s what she’s been telling herself), this one is a promise. Her tongue brushes against his and the embers inside her roar to life when his hands flex against her body. She takes a step closer even though there’s really not one to take, fingers brushing against the stubble along his jawline, tracing to the back of his neck.

Thea pulls back as soon as she realizes the crowd has died down, though it might be a bit longer. She takes a quick sweep around the room to see if anyone's noticed them but finds herself spectacularly unable to care. “Wow.”

“I thought it might be a good distraction,” Rene grins, just as carefree. His hands are back on her waist and hers drop to his shoulders in a lazy slow dance.

“It was.” Thea licks her lips, pretending not to notice as he watches intently. “Just kinda sprung it on me there.”

“Hey, what goes around comes around.” He’s got a point. She did kiss him first. But this one felt like so much more and she’s somehow certain that they both know it.

“Good point.” Rene's beaming at her now and this is it, the moment of truth. It's not nearly as scary as she thought it might be. “Now I owe you another one.”

“Is that how it's gonna work?” he asks, never dropping his smile or his gaze from hers. Thea wants him to look like this forever, almost as much as she wants to kiss him again, so she nods with a slightly wicked smirk.

Rene stops dancing then, tugging her hand to lead her from the ballroom, and when she falls into step beside him, something inside her whispers, finally.