"One time I told everyone that Barry had to go because he had really bad diarrhea." Felicity said proudly. "I'm pretty sure they all bought it."

Oliver pinched the bridge of his nose. "And was Barry a fan of that excuse?"

"Well. I wouldn't say he was a fan exactly."

"Right. So I'm going to say let's try and stay away from the bowel related excuses, okay?"

"Fine, party pooper." She made a small note on the list then looked up, grinning. "Ha. Party Pooper, get it?"

"Felicity!"

She made a face at him. "Jeez, nobody can take a joke anymore. Nothing bowel related. Got it." She tapped her pencil against her chin while slowly spinning around in her desk chair. "Maybe I could say you're having an emergency appendectomy?"

"And if someone calls the hospital?"

"Okay, no appendectomies. I could say that you're getting a puppy and you have to go pick it up. Or you could actually get a puppy! I've always wanted a Scottish terrier—they seem like a good size, you know? Not too big but not too small either."

Oliver runs his hands over his face. "Felicity, do I seem like a guy who goes jogging with a dog in the park to you?"

"No, you're right," she says, rolling her eyes. "You're more of a cat person." She sets down her notebook and lays her hand on his forearm." Look, I don't think I'm being very helpful. Maybe we should just wait for Dig to come back to do this."

"This is time sensitive, Felicity. What if something comes up while I'm at the board meeting tomorrow and I need you to cover for me?"

"Okay, okay." She wrinkled her forehead, thinking hard.

"You're getting your teeth whitened?"

"You had to go buy new shoes."

"You're attending a shuffleboard tournament."

"Oh, I could say you've been temporarily deported!"

"Felicity," Oliver said, "none of these are believable!"

Felicity threw her hands in the air. "Well, if you don't like any of my ideas they do say honesty is the best policy. Maybe we should just tell people you dress up in leather at night and I order you around—" She froze as the connotation of what she had just said sunk in. "Sweet baby Jesus, 3, 2, 1." She squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head slightly, then opened them again. "I. Give. Up. I am an IT specialist. Not an excuse generator and—what was that noise?"

"I think it was my stomach," Oliver said, waving her concern away. "I didn't have lunch today.

"You need to eat something!"

"That's an okay excuse, I guess."

"No, I'm serious, Oliver, you need to eat. Your stomach is making terrifying noises. It sounds like a beluga whale just got sat on by a bigger beluga whale."

Oliver smiled. "Alright, alright. Care to continue this conversation over Big Belly Burger, Ms. Smoak?"

"Oh my god, yes, let's do that. Only instead of this conversation, can we have, maybe, an entirely different conversation?"

They headed towards the foundry's exit. Oliver's hand hovered over the small of Felicity's back as they headed up the stairs.

"I'll consider it," he said.

"You know, I can tell you're not big on the idea but I still think the diarrhea one was my best excuse—"

"Felicity!"