(DC Multiverse Adventures)
"-even with his parties and his playboy act-"
Zoya starts chuckling out of nowhere then proceeds to laugh quietly.
Dick looks at her. "What?"
She shakes her head. "Nothing."
"No, what?" He presses.
She pressed her lips tog...
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Felicity knew better than to expect much at first. Oliver had insisted that bringing Zoya into their home would be the best way to help her, but Zoya hadn't said a word since she arrived. She was sitting at the kitchen table, her hands folded neatly in front of her, observing the room, her eyes flickering over the soft glow of the lights, the quiet hum of their appliances, and the occasional sound of footsteps from the hallway.
It had been weeks since Zoya had arrived-weeks of silence. Felicity, ever the optimist, kept hoping that one day Zoya would open up. That day hadn't come yet, but Felicity had learned patience. She wasn't going to rush Zoya. She understood enough to know that someone like her—someone who had been through so much-didn't just speak freely.
She set the bags down on the kitchen table, the scents of sweet and savory filling the air. Zoya didn't immediately respond, but Felicity wasn't expecting her to. She simply busied herself with unpacking the containers.
"I thought you might like some takeout," Felicity said, trying her best to sound casual. "I know I'm no gourmet chef, but I can definitely handle ordering food. And, hey, who doesn't love dumplings?" she added, giving a soft laugh.
Zoya glanced at the food, her eyes dull but not cold. She didn't look up to meet Felicity's eyes. It was as if she was trying to decide whether or not she could trust the simple act of kindness.
Felicity sat across from her, waiting. She could hear the ticking of the clock, the soft scrape of a chair, the gentle clink of silverware in the background. She didn't push, didn't try to speak. She simply sat there, allowing the silence to envelop them both.
Oliver had told her that Zoya communicated through her actions. Felicity had read that much in the notes from the team, but it wasn't the same as seeing it up close. Zoya's silence was not one of defiance, but one of careful observation. She was watching, waiting, unsure of how much to reveal.
Felicity's fingers twitched around her own utensils, but she kept them at rest. She glanced at Oliver, who was standing in the doorway, leaning casually but with an air of concern. He, too, was silent. He understood Zoya's ways, but that didn't mean it was easy to be around someone who didn't speak.
Zoya shifted slightly in her seat, her gaze moving from the food to Felicity. There was something vulnerable in her eyes, a hint of hunger, but not for food. There was a longing in her expression, but it wasn't something that could be easily explained.
"Zoya," Felicity finally said, her voice soft but steady. "I know it's not easy. But you're not alone here. This is a place where you can be safe. You can stay here as long as you need. Oliver and I-we're here for you."
Zoya didn't respond. She simply looked at the dumplings in front of her, her fingers grazing the edges of her plate. It wasn't the answer Felicity had hoped for, but it wasn't a rejection either. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
Felicity didn't rush. She reached over and picked up her own chopsticks, taking a bite of the food. She waited. The seconds ticked by like hours, and she could feel her own patience starting to fray. But she kept her expression soft, her body language open.
And then, after what felt like an eternity, Zoya slowly, almost imperceptibly, picked up her own chopsticks. She didn't speak. She didn't smile. But she ate. It was a small step, but it was enough.
Felicity's heart swelled, but she didn't show it. She simply smiled, her gaze soft as she nodded at Zoya. "I'm glad you're eating," She said, her voice gentle.
Zoya didn't look up, but Felicity could see the faintest shift in her posture. She was letting down her guard, even if just a little.
The rest of the meal passed quietly, with Felicity stealing glances at Zoya every so often. There were no grand gestures, no breakthroughs. But sometimes, the absence of words spoke louder than anything else.
Felicity didn't push. She simply waited.
And in the stillness, a quiet connection began to form between them—one built on trust, patience, and the understanding that, for now, silence was the language they shared.
