title: take my heart (and take my hand)
category: arrow
genre: romance/humor
ship: felicity/tommy
chapter rating: pg-13/teen
overall rating: nc-17/explicit (eventually)
prompt: Flommy Roommates AU. Malcolm kicks Tommy out of the manor and Tommy needs somewhere to live in a hurry; Felicity needs a roommate. – absentlyabbie (Tumblr)
warning(s): this is au - there are no vigilantes and no island in this universe!
word count: 8,559
summary: After Malcolm decides that Tommy simply isn't living up to expectation, Tommy is stripped of easy access to his trust fund and forced to move out. Enter Felicity Smoak, who needs a roomie and decides to take pity on him. Close confines breeds friendship and then something a whole lot deeper for both of them.

take my heart (and take my hand)

(Day One)

Felicity took one last look around the apartment to be sure that everything was in order. Having a potential renter had given her a sudden cloud of anxious butterflies, flapping up a riot in her stomach. They'd exchanged emails back and forth, enough that she felt comfortable letting him do a walk through and getting a feel for him in person, but she was still a little nervous.

It felt a little weird not having Veronica around, but getting a new roommate could be good, she decided. Sure, she and Vee had worked out a good system where they, mostly, stayed out of each other's ways. All in all, Vee had been low key, which was what Felicity liked. Sure, she had a few big break-ups, resulting in three day ice cream binges and a monopolizing of the TV for cheesy romance movies to mock, but Felicity would still rate her pretty high on the good roommates score board. Not that she'd had many to begin with. In fact, prior to Veronica and not including her mother, Felicity had only had two other roommates, one of which was only around two months, but, of them all, was probably the most difficult. It probably wasn't just the kleptomania, but that was definitely up there on the deciding factors to have her move out…

The potential roomie due to arrive any minute hadn't said much over the phone; actually, she remembered laughing mostly. He was funny. Enough that she forgot to ask too many relevant questions outside of what was already covered in their emails. Realizing this, she began to panic a little. What if he was a serial killer? And this was how he found his victims. He just eenie-meenie-miney-moe'd his way through the Roommate Wanted ads online and then cackled viciously as the next in a long string of naïve people invited him blindly into their house only to be ganked. Oh man, she was so going to be one of those people mentioned on a Dateline special.

A cheerful knock at the door made her jump, letting out a high-pitched squeak before she whirled to face the door. That was probably him. Well, him or the neighbor across the hall that, without fail, asked to borrow a cup of milk every single morning. She was ninety percent sure she was the only reason he didn't eat dry cereal every day. Fiddling with her shirt, she walked to the door. She was probably being ridiculous. What were the odds that she had invited a potential serial killer to her house? Low, right? …Right?

Biting her lip, she reached for the door handle—paused—and then grabbed up her car keys, sliding them between her fingers… Just in case.

As she swung the door open, she wasn't quite sure what to expect. The obvious villain, probably, with a thin mustache, scraggly hair, and that 'murdery' look in his eyes.

Instead, well, she found a cheerfully grinning man who was… wow. Handsome. And familiar. Definitely familiar. And not in a serial killer way either. Which was good, don't get her wrong, only…

"Wow. Okay. That was not… what I was… expecting," Felicity stuttered, her brows hiked as she stared at a face she'd only seen on cheap tabloid covers. She blinked at him, and then looked down the hall. "I'm sorry. Are you… lost?"

"Uh, no." He checked the numbers on the door and then smiled at her. "Felicity Smoak, right?"

"I— Yes. And you're Tommy Merlyn. Who…" She stared at him searchingly, her eyes squinted.

"Responded to your ad." He was still grinning widely, either completely oblivious to the awkwardness or content to ignore it. "I'm on time, right? For the walkthrough." He peered through the door and past her shoulder curiously.

"You are. But…" she trailed off, not quite sure how to say 'isn't this in the wrong neighborhood for you?' politely.

"Here. I didn't know what you liked, but you said you were a coffee lover, so…" He handed over a tall, black coffee and then pointed his finger toward the inside of her apartment askingly.

She took the coffee, placed her car keys back on the end table, and stepped to the side, letting him in. "It's just a one bedroom. I mean, it's a two bedroom apartment, but you'd just have the one bedroom to yourself. We're not sharing. That would be weird. Well, not weird, I mean, I'm not saying living with you would be weird or you're weird, just that—" She stopped abruptly, closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and shook her head. When she felt like she had a good handle on her tongue, she opened her eyes and tried again. "Okay. Sorry. You are just not what I was expecting. Given your… background, I guess I find it hard to believe you'd want to live down here. Not that my apartment or this neighborhood is bad, it's just not…"

"Upscale?" he asked, lips twitching with amusement.

"That works." She put her hand on her hip, fiddling with the end of her shirt.

"I'm in need of a place and it's kind of last minute," he explained. "Let's just say I'm in a time and money crunch, so I'm not exactly worried about whether or not there's a nice view."

"I like the view," she admitted, a little defensively. "We're only on the third floor, but the building across the street is nice… architecturally speaking." Realizing she still felt flustered, Felicity hurried forward. "Okay, well, since you're here, why don't I show you around?" She waved her hand forward and said, "Living room, obviously. My old roommate and I paid 50/50 on the cable and internet package. There's no home phone, just cell phones here. Um, that's the kitchen, not that it gets used much outside of coffee and breakfast. I'm kind of a take-out girl. Oh, here's the bathroom. There's separate shelves so everybody has their own towels and personal hygiene stuff. Toilet paper goes under the sink. I usually shower around seven-thirty because I have work at nine. Except on weekends, where you're lucky if you see me before ten." She moved toward the spare bedroom then and flipped the light on. "This is the room. Like I said in the ad, it's furnished. Vee, my ex-roomie, moved in with her boyfriend and didn't think she'd need this stuff." There were two small end tables, a double bed, a tall dresser, and a desk wedged against the wall. "Decoration's up to you. Except glow in the dark stars, landlord has a thing about those."

Tommy nodded, his mouth twitching. "I don't think that'll be a problem."

Felicity glanced back at him. "Oh. Uh, well, you never know."

"It's a nice apartment," he complimented, one hand in his pants pocket as he turned on his heel, taking it all in. She watched him for a moment, the broad spread of his shoulders and the incredibly soft looking powder blue sweater he wore that she would bet her entire paycheck cost more than her rent. It looked good on him though.

Biting down on her lip, she tore her eyes off of him and cast them around the apartment, trying to see it as he was. Honestly, she was proud of the little home she'd created. The overstuffed red couch was her favorite, with a nice throw blanket her nana had knit for her. A full bookshelf against the wall and her DVD and Bluray collection just beside it. There were plants hanging in the window that sorely needed attention that she never remembered to give them, but from this distance, she was pretty sure he couldn't see that they were wilting. A dining room was set off to the side of the kitchen, nothing big or fancy, just a table with four chairs, right in front of an open window that let in the faint hum of the street below. Thankfully, it wasn't a very busy road, so it was mostly just people talking as they strolled the sidewalk below.

"So? Any questions for me?" Tommy wondered, turning back to her.

She leaned to one side, picking at the top of her coffee lid. "Well, I guess the obvious is usually income."

"Right. Well, I have my not inconsiderable trust fund that is only… slightly out of reach." He winced. "I have enough to pay rent, buy groceries, but not rent out a club and toast my independence." He half-smiled. "Well, not a good club..."

"O…kay. And work?"

"Uh, looking?" He hurried to explain, "I'm going into business for myself, actually. It's just… kind of hard when you have no experience, your money is mostly frozen, and your dad would happily blackball you just for kicks."

"Right." Felicity screwed up her mouth uncertainly. "But you have enough? To cover rent, a damage deposit, for the foreseeable future, anyway?"

He nodded eagerly. "I do! Yes! I get kind of a monthly stipend." The way he rubbed a hand over his arm was all nervous energy. She half-expected to see embarrassment crawl across his face in the form of a blush, but Tommy merely raised his chin a notch and acted unperturbed. "It's fine. Or, well, enough anyway…"

Felicity shifted her feet, glancing away. While he didn't sound completely reliable in the long-term tenant sense, he did seem like a nice guy who just needed a hand up while he figured his stuff out. Of course, Felicity had bills to pay, so she couldn't just sign him onto her lease because he was cute. In a totally unbiased sense.

"Is this the part where you say don't call me, I'll call you?" he wondered, a faint, disappointed smile pulling at his lips.

She stared at him, looking entirely too much like a kicked puppy, and sighed. "No. To be honest, you're probably one of the few people I'm actually considering… As long as you're clean and respectful and you know this is a no drug zone…" Her brows hiked as she stared at him seriously. "No partying, no sex on my couch, or anywhere that isn't your bedroom, that kind of thing."

"Absolutely." He crossed a finger over his heart. "You have my word!"

She shook her head. "Think of it as a trial period, okay? We'll see how things fit and go from there. No guarantees."

He grinned widely. "So that's a yes then?"

"Tentatively, yes. Or maybe. We have a few things to talk about still. So I'm not signing my name to any dotted line just yet, but… It's a strong maybe, so…"

"Great! This is—" He thrust a hand out for her to shake. "Seriously, Felicity, you won't regret this."

When electricity shot up her arm from his hand twined with hers, and butterflies kicked up a storm in her stomach, she let out an awkward, breathless laugh, and seriously doubted she wouldn't end up regretting it very, very much.

(Day Four)

The giant mansion that Tommy had once called home was made of deception. Or that was what he thought as he found all of his worldly possessions filling up a medium sized bedroom in a cozy apartment he shared with a cute blonde rather than walking the echoing halls of his family home. Of course, being as far away as humanly possible from the man he called father wasn't the worst thing to happen. In fact, he rather preferred it to accidentally bumping into him in the mausoleum that was the Merlyn Mansion. But still. He had become used to a certain style of living, so this, staying with someone he barely knew, in a part of town he rarely ventured to, in an apartment that could, possibly, be smaller than his bedroom at home, it was a whole new experience. And not one that he was hating, at least not so far.

Felicity Smoak was quiet. Unless she was on her tablet, in which case she mumbled under her breath a lot. He wasn't sure she knew she was doing it, but she was. And it was cute. In fact, a lot of things about Felicity were cute. Not the least of which was the bedhead she was currently sporting. Over the last four days of living together, much of it spent moving his things over, Tommy had become aware of a few of Felicity's habits, the most noticeable being that she wasn't a morning person, especially before her first mug of coffee. She was half-lidded, leaning a little to the left, waiting with her arms crossed over her chest, happily breathing in the scent of fresh brewing coffee. A soft smile turned up her lips as she waited, scratching her elbow and shuffling her koala slippers side to side as she watched the drip.

He knew from his first morning with her that talking to her when she was like this would be pointless. Only a series of indecipherable grunts would leave her. She needed her coffee and one of her tiny little oranges before her eyes even opened all the way. By her second cup, she was usually ready to talk, but Tommy wasn't quite sure what topic he should bring up with the woman who was almost definitely taking pity on him by letting him stay with her. He hadn't been lying when he said he got a monthly stipend and would be able to cover groceries and rent comfortably, but he could see why she thought he was maybe worse off than he seemed. It wasn't every day that the son of a billionaire went looking to share an apartment with the Average Joe. But Malcolm had been serious when he said that Tommy needed 'direction' and 'focus' and that he wouldn't find it with his trust fund there to cushion any potential fall from grace. Tommy wasn't sure he appreciated that lecture, especially considering Malcolm had a habit of only playing father when he felt like it, but Tommy was trying to make the best of it.

Of course, there was always the option of going to Oliver, but that would mean putting an end to the current radio silence between them. It wasn't that he wanted to draw it out exactly. It was more that he needed space. From him and Laurel and everything to do with that situation. He just needed time to get himself back on track, because getting tied up in that merry go-round again would only lead to disaster, the kind that left him worse off than them, as per usual.

Realizing how bitter he sounded even in his head, he turned his attention elsewhere.

Felicity had poured herself a mug of coffee and made her way into the kitchen, taking the seat by the window, her legs curled up under her. The sun fell on her face, warming it as she tied her hair up in a lopsided bun before picking up her coffee, taking in a deep breath, and blowing on it. As per usual, she didn't wait long before burning her tongue on the first sip. She was a creature of habit like that. Tommy kind of liked it. Most mornings he spent in the kitchen at the mansion, listening to the staff move around, his father long gone to work or away on a business trip. It was kind of nice to share space with someone.

He took a seat at the table across from her with his own mug of coffee and dug out the newspaper, sifting through it for the comics. He took out the crossword puzzle and slid it in her direction. By her second cup, she was a little more awake, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright and open. In her right hand, she had a blue pen, and she hummed to herself thoughtfully as she filled in each box.

"Four letter word – This is where the heart is…" She snorted. "Home. Duh."

Yeah. He could definitely get used to this.

(Day Seven)

Felicity was hyper aware of everything Tommy was doing. Which, currently, wasn't much of anything. Actually, he was sitting in an armchair, legs stretched toward the coffee table, going through a file of papers on his lap. One of his socks had slipped low on his foot and was dangling a bit off his toes which was… a weird thing to notice, probably, but she couldn't help it.

He was quiet. At least so far he was. He'd mostly spent the last week in his room or sitting at the kitchen table going over paperwork for this big business idea of his. He smiled at her every morning, told her to have a good day at work, but that was about the extent of conversation they'd had so far. She didn't expect him to be like Veronica, who could be a chatterbox, especially if the topic was her boyfriend, but she wondered if not having any real conversation with Tommy would begin to bother her. Then again, it wasn't all on him. She wasn't exactly offering many chances for conversation. She wasn't much of a morning person and she'd been working overtime all week, so by the time she came home, it was take-out and then bedtime. She wasted a couple hours on her laptop before turning in, but by then Tommy was usually in bed. Again, not quite what she was expecting. After everything she saw in those cheap rag magazines featuring a drunk Tommy Merlyn or Oliver Queen, she'd been expecting someone a little more… sloppy. But so far, Tommy wasn't showing signs of that. Then again, he was still in his trial period, so maybe he was on his best behaviour for the time being.

Deciding she wasn't going to let her inner monologue interrupt her life, she went to the kitchen, dug out a polka dot bowl from the cupboard and the popcorn maker that never failed to make her upstairs neighbor stomp on her ceiling. She had the ears of a bat, that one. Standing in her pajamas with the little pink ducklings all over them, Felicity put all of her focus into making herself a giant bowl of buttery popcorn, of which she planned on personally polishing off over the course of the night. Would it be polite to offer him some? Probably. But she wasn't sure they were at that stage yet.

Unfortunately, when she'd agreed to let Tommy move in, she didn't account for how attractive he was, or that wiggly feeling in her stomach every time he smiled at her. In her defense, she'd been a little caught off guard by who he was when they first met and might've blamed bad chow mein for the weird feeling she got every time he looked at her. So far, he was a good roommate. He paid his rent, kept his room clean, didn't annoy her, hadn't brought any questionable people back to the apartment (actually, so far, he hadn't brought anyone back to the apartment). So, all in all, for the short week he'd been there, she thought she'd made the right choice letting him move in. And now, there he was, handsome and funny and—

She should probably stop there.

Felicity had gotten used to having a roommate who was never really around. When Veronica didn't have a boyfriend, she hung around a lot, but she never stayed single long, so when she had a new guy on her arm, Felicity rarely saw her. But she was nice and clean and Felicity never really had any issues with her. Tommy was, surprisingly, more of a homebody than she expected. From what she'd seen on TMZ, he preferred partying and the club life, but so far, all he'd done was watch reality TV and collect data on his business model. Although that might have something to do with that mostly frozen trust fund of his, she mused.

Taking a seat on the couch, she folded her legs under her and grabbed up the remote. She had a DVR full of shows to catch up on and a bowl full of popcorn that needed eating.

She got exactly three minutes into an episode of Elementary before Tommy said, "What's this about?"

Felicity nearly sighed. She turned her head to see him watching the screen curiously, and wondered if he understood how loaded that question was. Sure, she could give him the short summary of what the show was about, but that didn't create viewers, it just created more questions.

"You've never watched, even heard of, Elementary?"

Closing his file folder, he shrugged. "No. Is it any good?"

Felicity bit her lip and, before she could think it through too much, she suggested, "What do you say to a little roommate bonding experience?"

Tommy raised a curious eyebrow. "I'm listening…"

"TV marathon. We'll try Elementary out, if it peaks you're interest, we watch as much of it as we can before we pass out. If not, we see what else I can get you into."

He nodded slowly, mouth turning up at the corners. "You've got yourself a deal, Smoak."

Felicity patted the seat beside her then and, when he sat down, she held out the bowl for him.

"Oh. Upgraded to sharing popcorn, huh?" He grinned at her as he scooped up a handful. "You know, Felicity… I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Right. Friendship. Tell that to the butterflies invading her stomach.

(Day Ten)

Felicity was a good listener. Well, as long as she'd had her coffee. As it turned out, he wasn't too bad either, and somehow, asking her how her day at work had been had become something of the norm.

"Who does that?" she wondered, shaking her head, making her high ponytail bounce. "It's work. Why would you want to watch porn in that setting?"

"Maybe he can't do it at home. He could have a very uninterested wife waiting for him," Tommy suggested.

"Hey! Don't blame his imaginary wife. This guy had so many viruses on his computer, I was surprised it even turned on. I don't even know how he fits work into his schedule if he's watching that much porn. I mean, typing, on top of all… that. He's going to get arthritis long before he should."

Tommy laughed, his head falling back. "Right. I'm sure that'll discourage him. You could make a pamphlet on it, leave it on his desk, very 'concerned fellow employee.'"

Rolling her eyes, she said, "What he and his hand gets up to is his business, as long as I never have to be called upstairs to fix it again. The computer, I mean. Not… that. I don't get paid enough for that. Ohhh, not that I want to, or look down on that if someone does. Wow. This got out of hand quickly."

"You should probably stop while you're ahead."

"This is ahead?" she laughed, shaking her head at herself.

He grinned. "For you. Yes."

"Hey!"

"Just stating facts." He held his hands up in surrender, grinning. "Anything else happen at work? Or is the Porn Perv the top story?"

"For today, yeah, I think he pretty much takes the cake. I mostly just answered tech calls. You know, 'did you try turning it off and then back on?' That kind of stuff."

"Thrilling."

She rolled her eyes, but her quirked mouth said she wasn't offended. "Uh-huh. What did you get up to today?"

"I… considered writing a book revealing the sordid details of my extremely expensive life growing up as a Merlyn. But then realized I had no talent for writing. Then I spent an hour looking up ghost writers, which somehow led into ghost stories, and then I spent a couple hours watching ghost documentaries, all of which were almost definitely fake."

She raised an eyebrow. "Almost?"

"Some skepticism is good, but you should always leave room for believing." He shrugged. "You never know what's out there..."

"And ghosts is what we're going to believe in? Of everything to pick from?"

"I'm just saying… I think I saw something in the mirror behind me this morning."

She blinked. "Was it the towel?"

He paused. "Possibly..."

"I think we can close this mystery case for now. But if you bring me more evidence, I'll reconsider my opinion."

Amused, he nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

(Day Twelve)

All right, so roommate bonding time had apparently been exactly the right ice breaker they needed, because now Tommy wasn't nearly as quiet as he'd once been. She wondered if maybe it had something to do with not wanting to give her reason to 'evict' her from her apartment. She hadn't been joking when she said it was a trial period. He'd paid for the month, so she would give him at least that, but she had to be aware of what was best for her in the long run, and taking in stray 'billion-heirs' wasn't exactly proactive in getting her forward in life. But, she had to admit, he was a character.

"…so Oliver's got this blow torch, right? I have no idea where he got it, but it's too late to ask questions—"

"I think it might actually be the perfect time to ask questions," she interrupted, grinning.

Tommy laughed. "True. But I was seventeen, and I don't know if you know this, but I was a bit of a wild child." He winked at her for effect and she swore she wasn't blushing, it was just warm in the living room. "Anyway, so Ollie's got a blow torch and he promises this is going to be the most epic prank of all time. So, of course, I believed him."

She nodded mockingly. "Of course."

He raised his fingers, "So, get this, there's a cop station about a block away…"

Groaning, she shook her head. "Nooo…"

He lit up. "Yes!"

Covering her face with her hands, she dropped her fingers. "Okay. I have to ask."

Chuckling under his breath, he leaned forward in his chair to continue his story.

Felicity listened intently, laughing that high pitched giggle of hers that she was all too aware meant she was being flirtatious without exactly meaning to. But she couldn't help it. And besides, his story was good. Yes, there were two completely out of control teenagers destroying public property just for kicks, but the nostalgia on Tommy's face said more than enough.

It was weird, she would think later, to see a twenty-five year old man already nostalgic for 'the good ol' days.' But they weren't even two weeks into their friendship, so instead of analyzing and asking questions and telling him it was a terrible thing to do, she just listened. To the excitement in his voice and that deep, from the gut, laugh of his. And when he finished that story, he had two more that left her sides aching from laughter.

It was a well spent Sunday, one she hoped they would repeat again.

(Day Sixteen)

Tommy stared down at the papers spread out in front of him, red pen marked around every obstacle he would face in getting his club off the ground. He unscrewed the top off of a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a glass, scrubbing a hand through his hair and letting out a long, tired sigh.

When Tommy was a little boy, he remembered thinking that one day he would be just like his dad. He could remember afternoons spent playing on the floor of Malcolm's office, or sitting in his lap as he made business calls. He remembered looking up to his dad like he was his hero and wanting to be just like him. But that was Before. Before his mom died; before Malcolm left; before he came back a changed man. And then those dreams of who he wanted to be, of what he wanted in his life, became anything but what and who his father was.

The idea of sitting in some giant office, overlooking everyone and everything, burying his head in business rather than family, it became a nightmare, something to avoid at all costs. So he became the opposite. The party boy instead of the serious entrepreneur his father would have wanted. He put all of his time and energy into being nothing like Malcolm Merlyn. And, for a time, it was fine. It was even fun. Sure, he had to put up with the occasional righteous rant from his father, whenever he deigned to pay attention, but he could handle that. At least until now. He wondered sometimes, if he never honestly though he would do it, if he just didn't think Malcolm had it in him to actually cut him off. Or maybe it was that he didn't think Malcolm cared enough to do anything.

Did this count as caring? Malcolm was obviously painting it with that brush, but did it really count? Probably not.

Knocking back his whiskey, Tommy gave his shoulders a roll and leaned forward, gathering the papers closer. Maybe his father didn't care. Maybe Malcolm wouldn't congratulate him when he eventually got his club up and running. Maybe he wouldn't even give him back his trust fund or pat him on the back or treat him like a father should a son. But regardless of what his father would or wouldn't do, Tommy refused to keeping living his life in Malcolm's shadow and the relationship they'd had that had long ago died.

Tommy was his own person with his own life and his own dreams. It was time he accepted that and moved forward.

(Day Eighteen)

It was early morning and they were waiting on coffee to brew when Tommy admitted he'd briefly wanted to be a magician when he was a little boy. To prove this to her, he re-enacted three different tricks, one involving cards, another with fake flowers, and the third comprised of getting out of a pair of handcuffs in record time.

The first two went off without a hitch, while the third one…

At the kitchen table, sitting across from her, Tommy's arms squirmed behind him. "For the record, I've been in a lot of handcuffs, and I've always gotten out of them quicker than this."

"Are we talking police or bedroom shenanigans?" she wondered, watching him wiggle and struggle to no effect.

He grinned at her wolfishly. "Both."

Felicity laughed. "Well, if we don't get you out of those soon, we might have to make an embarrassing trip out into public. I say 'we' because there's no way I'm asking someone about handcuff keys without a legitimate excuse. And since you're the one who was so sure he could get himself out of them…"

"I am sure," he defended. "And deeply offended that you would doubt the great and powerful Merlyn."

"I'm pretty sure that name's copyrighted enough that you can't use it even with the superfluous 'y.'"

"Has anyone ever told you that you can be a bit of a buzzkill?" he wondered.

She smirked. "Has anybody ever told you that you make a mediocre magician?"

"Yes. Multiple times. And I've always written it off as jealousy."

Felicity snorted, rolling her eyes. "Fine. I'm very jealous of your unmatched skill at getting stuck in your own handcuffs."

"Thank you."

She tapped her fingers on the tabletop. "Now. Any idea at all where the key might be?"

"No idea. Give me ten more minutes, if I can't get out by then, I'll gladly tell any locksmith we meet that it was all my idea."

"It was your idea!"

"See!" He grinned. "They'll definitely believe us."

Despite herself, she laughed. She found she did that a lot with him.

(Day Twenty)

Laundry was a chore that Tommy had never given much thought to. He'd always had a housekeeper that came to get everything and, before he knew it, everything was cleaned and put back in its original place. That was not the case while living with Felicity.

She had designated days that she went to the laundromat. Not the laundry room downstairs, no, because, "there's a guy in 3B; he steals socks."

"Steals socks?" he repeated, incredulously.

Felicity nodded. "Mmhmm, he stops the load while it's drying, takes as many socks as he can, and then restarts the load. I guess he air-dries them… Anyway, I've talked to the landlord about it but unless we catch him in the act, or have some kind of evidence, he's not going to do anything about it. Since I don't have an unlimited sock stockpile, we go to the laundromat."

"Right. Because of the Sock Caper."

She grinned. "Exactly."

Which was why Tommy found himself sitting on a dryer, mid-afternoon on a Sunday, watching someone's clothes spin while Felicity thumbed through a very outdated Entertainment Weekly. She'd spent a half hour explaining why he had to separate colors from whites, debating where grey fell on the spectrum, and which setting the washer had to be on.

"Not that I'm complaining, because this is clearly scintillating stuff," he said, waving toward the washer going beside him, "but do we really need to be here for this. Or does the laundromat have a sock caper too?"

"No. At least, not that I know of. Usually I stay for the washer load and after I switch it over, then I go see what kind of pie they're selling at the diner across the street."

"Pie?" He perked up and turned, searching through the windows for the aforementioned diner.

"They make an amazing Boston Cream, but their fruit pies are pretty good, too. I don't even like apple pie most of the time – I know, I'm a terrible American – but theirs is actually pretty good."

"Felicity…" He looked back at her with a grin. "You had me at pie."

She laughed, rolling her eyes, and closed her magazine, tossing it away. "Well, we've only got a couple more minutes for the rinse cycle and then we can switch everything over and see what Miss Marty has baked up for us."

Rubbing his hands together happily, he decided, "This laundry thing isn't so bad."

Thirty minutes later, sitting at a booth with a slice of lemon meringue in front of him and a beautiful blonde, quite literally, moaning around a bite of chocolate cream pie, he decided Sundays might just be his favorite day of the week.

(Day Twenty-Two)

"You've never done dishes?" Felicity asked incredulously. She had no idea why she was surprised, but she was. Sure, she'd expected him to be pampered, especially after the whole 'never done his own laundry' thing, but still…

He shrugged. "I've put dishes into the dishwasher."

"And you soaked them first?"

"You're supposed to soak them!?" he exclaimed. "What's the point then?"

"Well, it depends on the dishwasher. When I was growing up, ours wasn't exactly top brand, so we'd have to soak them for a bit, make the stuck on food soft or whatever. Then we'd put them in the dishwasher."

He frowned, shaking his head as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know, that sounds like more work than it's worth…"

"Said the guy who's probably had someone else do all of his dishes for most of his life," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Tommy pointed at her, brows hiked. "That sounded like a challenge."

"You know what? It is! I challenge you to wash the dishes for the rest of the week. No dishwasher." She waved dismissively. "Only your dishes though, I don't expect you to clean up after me."

"All right, Smoak. You're on!" he decided. Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he started gathering the plates from the table. "In fact, I'll start now. And I'll do your dishes, just to prove a point."

As he walked off, Felicity grinned, tipped her head back, and said, "Don't break a nail!"

"Ha, ha."

Later, after he was done the dishes, he plopped down on the couch beside her and rubbed his wrinkly fingers in her face. "See. Look what a hard fifteen minutes of manual labour does to a person. I'm a new man."

"You're wearing three hundred dollar cologne," she reminded.

"I'm a new man who smells amazing."

Well, at least he did the dishes. That was a step in the right direction.

(Day Twenty-Five)

"We should get a pet," Tommy declared.

Felicity looked up from her tablet, her brow furrowed. "I can't even remember to water the fichus and you want a living, breathing animal to live with us?"

He shrugged. "I can take care of it. I've always wanted a dog," he mused thoughtfully. "A big one."

Shaking her head, she reminded him, "This apartment isn't really built for a big dog…"

"When I was younger, my dad promised I could have a dog when I was twelve. He said it would build character. But then my mom died and, well, any promises he made just kind of went out the window," he confided, sitting back in the arm chair, tapping his fingers on his knee. "Anyway, I still think it could be good. Maybe not a dog. Maybe we could start small, like a fish, and slowly work our way up."

Felicity smiled at him, amused. "We've been living together less than a month and you're already trying to get joint-pets? What happens when we inevitably move out and into separate places?"

"Well, I guess we'll have to make the fish choose who he or she loves more. You, the woman who can't remember to water the poor, dying fichus, or me, who clearly loves him more and bought him all of that snazzy furniture to put in his tank."

She laughed, her head falling back and her cheeks flushed. He smiled in reply; he always felt especially good when he made her laugh.

Quirking an eyebrow, she said, "So, what you're telling me is that you're going to bribe our future fish into loving you more…"

"No, I'm going to lavish our future fish with tons of love, affection, and material things." He raised a finger pointedly. "One of three of which my own father offered me an abundance of and look how well that turned out..."

Playing with her earring, she shook her head. "You mean with you living with a complete stranger…?"

"Yes, and creating a family with her via goldfish." He paused, brows hiked. "Or maybe something more exotic… We could start small and then build it into a whole aquarium."

Snorting, she reminded him, "I haven't even agreed to one goldfish."

He shrugged. "You will."

"Oh, really?"

"Mmhmm." He grinned at her knowingly. "C'mon…" he cajoled. "If you're nice, I'll let you name them."

"Them?"

"Well, if we only got one it would get lonely."

Felicity sighed, sounding appropriately exasperated, but Tommy had a feeling they would have a fish sooner rather than later.

(Day Twenty-Seven)

It was Tommy's who decided joint grocery shopping would be a good idea.

"What about fruit?" Felicity wondered, turning down the fresh foods section. "Are you a banana guy? Apples? Grapes?"

"Apples are good," he said, stopping by the Granny Smiths. He pitched one into the air, caught it, winked at her, and started to fill a bag with it and a few others. "What about you? I know you like those little oranges. I see you eating them all the time."

"Ugh, I'm obsessed. They're so good," she sighed. "Unfortunately, they're expensive, and they don't sell them here. There's a little shop around the corner from our place, they sell them. Sometimes the owner takes pity and lets me take an extra for free."

Tommy nodded, adding the apples to the cart. "Vegetables next?"

"You know, I hope you're planning on cooking with all this, because if you haven't noticed, my diet consists mostly of breakfast foods and take-out..."

"I have noticed a curious amount of frozen waffles in the freezer," he said, walking to the fresh mushrooms and grabbing up a brown paper bag. "But, I'll have you know, I had an amazing cook growing up. One who probably expected I'd be tossed out on my ass at some point, because she taught me a few things in the kitchen." He smiled back at her. "She also taught me how to swear in three different languages, but I'm not supposed to tell anyone that."

She laughed lightly. "Well, now that your big secret is out, you know I'm going to expect a taste test, right?"

"Absolutely. Which is why… I plan on making you the best spaghetti you've ever eaten in your life." He tossed the mushrooms into the cart and then grinned at her, tapping the tip of her nose. "Trust me, it'll blow your mind."

She stared up at him, smiling widely. "Looking forward to it."

"Great. Now…" He rubbed his hands together. "Where's the bread section? You can't have spaghetti without garlic bread."

As he walked off, not entirely sure where he was going, Felicity followed, amused.

For the record, it actually was the best spaghetti she'd ever had.

Although, she could be biased. Tommy's cooking routine involved having her sit on the counter, listening to him recount memories from his cooking lessons while watching him chop up ingredients, occasionally throwing a few pieces into the air to catch in his mouth before he added the rest to the pot. Tommy was surprisingly skilled, wielding the knife with the ease of someone who know what they were doing. He had nice hands; long, lean, piano fingers, and a wide, unblemished palm. His skin was soft, the kind of soft that meant he'd never really done any menial labour.

"Catch," he said, tossing a piece of green pepper in her direction. Felicity had to lean to catch it, laughing when it bounced off the corner of her mouth and fell to the floor. He bent to grab it up, discarding it in the garbage, and then turned to her. "That was mostly on me. Here! To make up for it, you get two orange peppers. They taste better anyway." Instead of throwing them this time, he held them up just in front of her mouth.

Felicity leaned forward, sinking her teeth into one and tugging it from his fingers, tipping her head back and letting it topple into her mouth. She smiled, the crunch of it between her teeth the only sound between them.

He grinned at her, his blue eyes bright, and then ducked his head a little. "I lied." He tossed the second piece into his own mouth and dusted his hands. "Sharing is caring, Smoak."

She rolled her eyes, watching him as he walked back to the cutting board.

"Did I ever tell you about the time Ollie and I TP'd his dad's Jag?" he wondered, raising a brow back at her.

Leaning back against the cupboards, she shook her head, watching as that look came over his face, the one that swept him off to some far off place in his memory, where everything was tinted a rosy hue and his smile never faltered. She wondered if he'd ever find anything in the present that would make him as happy as his past.

And then she let herself get lost in his storytelling.

(Day Thirty)

Exactly one month after he'd moved in, Tommy proposed a night on the town, which, he admitted, was only partly because he was desperately missing any kind of social life. The other reason was because he wanted to see Felicity let her hair down. She wasn't a regular visitor to the club scene; she didn't have to say it for it to be obvious. And Tommy considered himself something of a connoisseur.

"It'll be fun, I promise!"

Felicity pursed her lips and tipped her head. "Fine. But, we're not getting sloppy drunk. Just… you know, fun, dancy drunk."

His mouth slowly widened into a grin. "Absolutely. You have my word!"

Her eyes narrowed at him like she could see right through him —sometimes he thought that was exactly what she could do— but then she turned on her heel and started toward her room. "All right. I'll dig out something from BVB and we'll get the party started… or whatever."

"BVB?" he wondered.

"Before Veronica's Boyfriend. Vee loved clubs, and she thought it'd be a good bonding experience for us to go together. Then she met her boyfriend and spending time with me kind of petered out. It's fine though. I just haven't been in a while."

"Then you're in for a treat, because I have just the place to go," he said, rubbing his hands together.

"Uh-huh…" She half-smiled at him. "If you say so."

"I do."

Felicity shrugged before walking off to search her closet for something suitable.

An hour later, Tommy was checking himself out in the hallway mirror when he heard the click of heels. "We're in luck. I called a few friends and sure we were on the VIP list to…" As he turned around, he found Felicity going through a clutch. Gone were the glasses and low-ponytail and in their place was a sequined mini-dress and a high-resting ponytail that made sleek curls swing at her neck. He felt his brows hike before he could stop them. He'd always known she was beautiful, but in that moment she kicked it up to stunning. Tearing his eyes off her legs, which looked impossibly long in that dress, he had to clear his throat before he could get any words out. "Looks like you dressed for success tonight, Smoak."

She grinned at him and smoothed a hand down her side. "This one was always my favorite."

"Yeah, I can see why."

"Ready to go?" she wondered.

Actually, he was very much thinking of changing the night to an evening in, one that resulted in that dress as nothing more than a pool of fabric on his bedroom floor. Giving his head a shake, he closed his eyes and mentally counted to three before opening them and holding an arm out for her. Some things were too important to screw up, and his relationship with Felicity, this set-up they had in her apartment, it mattered.

"Ready as ever," he told her before they walked out of the apartment.

The club he picked was the top ranked in the city; thankfully, even if he didn't have the bank account to prove it, his name still opened doors. The inside was loud, with enough bass that he could feel it pulsing inside of him. In a way, it felt like coming home. In the last four weeks, he hadn't been out much, not like he used to. The time he used to spend in clubs was now spent at the kitchen table, going over paperwork, mocking up proposals, and on the phone with his banker. It felt good to be back, and he gleefully embraced the noise and the people, all moving in a massive blur before him.

He reached back for Felicity's hand so he wouldn't lose her in the crowd, and twined their fingers together. The center of the club was filled with dancers while the outside had tables surrounded by people trying, despite the noise level, to have a conversation over the music. The bar was lit up in neon and that was exactly where Tommy headed to, bringing Felicity along with him. The bartender nodded his chin in hello and then leaned forward to hear drink orders. Unsurprisingly, Felicity ordered the pinkest, prettiest drink on the menu, and didn't look the least bit ashamed about it. Instead, she took a seat on a stool beside him and patted her hands over the bartop, smiling brightly.

Handed their drinks, Tommy nursed his and leaned back against the bar, watching people do their idea of dancing to the latest big hits. Felicity looked content just to have her drink, her knee bobbing, foot moving to the beat. She'd turned in her seat to people-watch with him, scanning the crowd, her brow furrowed. He recognized more than a few faces and grinned at each. He wondered if, by the time he had his club up and going, these same people would crowd his floor and he might be looking down at them from a different viewpoint, taking on the position of manager and owner rather than clientele.

"You can go say hi," Felicity told him, leaning close enough he could just barely hear her over the music. "You don't need to babysit me. It's your night off too."

"It's fine. I'll see them later." He put his drink down and held a hand to her. "Come on, let's dance."

Felicity only hesitated for a moment before taking his hand and letting him pull her out on the dance floor.

She laughed as he twirled her around, ducking under his arm as they moved.

As much as Felicity wasn't a club regular, she looked more than happy to unwind and let loose, and he felt oddly grateful that he was the one she chose to do so with. With her arms stretched high above her head, she jumped in place, the neon lights bouncing around and lighting her smiling face up. She grinned at him, grabbing his hands and raising them up with hers, reaching for a limitless sky. And for a moment, as they moved together, the pulsing beat of the music vibrating between and inside them, he found himself breathless with happiness; the weight of responsibility and life simply fell away. It wouldn't last, he knew that. But for just tonight, for just this moment, it was just the two of them, and the whole rest of the world faded out completely.

Later, with the music long gone, though a ringing still lingered in the deep confines of his eardrums, he smiled as Felicity drunkenly sang to him, leaning into his side, an arm around his shoulders, as they walked down the street toward their building. She was a little sloppy and a lot off-key and she was definitely singing at least two different songs, but she was still weightless and beautiful and stunningly free. And he wondered, as they struggled up the stairs of the building and stumbled into the apartment they shared, if that hopeful happiness he'd felt earlier had very little to do with a lack of responsibilities and a whole lot to do with who he was spending his time with.

"Tommy?"

"Yes, Princess Drunk-Face?"

She wrinkled her nose up at him and shook her head. "Terrible. Awful. You are definitely not naming our fish." With that, she patted his face, turning around, and walked off to her bedroom on one wobbly heel, the other kicked off somewhere between the front door and the bathroom.

He never found out what it was she was going to ask, but he was sure, considering how drunk she was, it wasn't anything all too enlightening. He was, however, definitely going to hold her to getting that fish.

[Next: Part II.]

author's note: i've been working on this for aaages, or at least that's what it feels like. and, as per usual, what was going to be a oneshot has now been split up into about three parts. depending on editing, it might be a little longer than that. anyway, this is the first time i'm writing felicity/tommy beyond a few small prompts, so i hope you enjoyed it! tommy's a joy to write, he's so lighthearted and funny. i adore writing their friendship, so having them grow together into something even deeper has been a lot of fun. next chapter gets a little more serious, but for the most part it's a pretty lighthearted story.

thank you for reading! please leave a review; they're my lifeblood!

- lee | fina