Sara wasn't expecting it, entirely, and still, she folded against him like she belonged.

A wild feeling like she might start crying, sobbing, when he wraps his arms around her suddenly, drawing her. In his warmth, his solidness, the absolute physical realization of it, that was medical and methodical. Muscle and training. Except it all slips. It all slides. Oliver has his arms around her. Oliver presses his mouth to her forehead, setting loose a torrent in her chest she hasn't felt in ... five years?

Tears actually starting to swim in her eyes, at his voice this close, and she has to look up. She's already breaking every other rule and reason isn't she. It's not even that. It's not just looking. Her hands flatten for a second on his chest, and then she lifts them, to touch the sides of his face. Thumbs settling along cheekbones, and it feels like bones in her body, maybe even her soul, are finally refinding themselves.

He's still so beautiful. She might have thought that once or twice when he was sleeping, when he was dying.

But it's a truth that burns everything else. He is. Oliver Queen. Still beautiful.
Even ravaged with bruises and his eyes so dark compared to her last sight of them.

And she knows. She knows before she says it, what it means. "Then, you have to take me with you."