Title: Going Mental
Chapter: Day 1 - Blushing Bride
Word Count: 1049
Scene Summary: She's a piece of work, but Oliver finds he likes her anyway.
Notes: I know it's been over two weeks, but, well, it's been a very long two weeks around here. Since the last time I posted, I have given a speech, been temporarily without both electric and gas, taken two tests, dumped my head in ice water, broken my toe, chopped my hair off again (yay!), celebrated by dad's birthday, and battled a variety of printer problems and my mother. Needless to say, it's been fun.
Anyway, now for something a little different. I've been teasing this on Tumblr for ages, but I've been wanting to do a Mentalist AU for ages because my last ship before Olicity was Jisbon. (SEVEN YEARS OF PURE AGONY WAITING FOR IT, GUYS. THEN THEY KISSED AND I CRIED TEARS OF JOY THAT DAY.) It took me a while, but I finally figured out how to get it going. This is going to be a snapshot series; just a little ditty or two every now and again. So this one's short, but *Australian accent* stay tuned from scenes from our next episode. (That's not the last Mentalist nerd joke you're going to encounter, I promise.)
I'm sorry it's not longer, but I hope you enjoy the insanity! :D
When she throws Slade Wilson a fluttery wave from across the bullpen when she thinks Oliver isn't looking, he knows. He knows she did this on purpose to get what she wanted. When his hot-headed agent slapped her, she had assured Oliver that she'd antagonized him, but Director Lance had wanted to avoid a scene—or worse, a lawsuit. Apparently, not only had she done just that, but she's continuing to egg it on behind Oliver's back, even as she holds an ice pack to her swelling cheek.
As Special Agent in Charge of the CBI's Major Crimes Unit, Oliver has seen a lot of things, but Felicity Smoak takes the cake.
When he heard her name this morning, he thought Sara had made a mistake. The Malibu police department had said that she called frequently, but never appeared in person. For the last year she'd been doing that, but now she's in his office in full force, apparently antagonizing one of his agents just to get her chipped, black fingernails on those Red John case files.
She's a confusing mix of contradictions to him. He'd expected the impeccably put-together psychic from the television footage when Sara had warned him about her presence, but instead the woman is disheveled and scattered. Her dark makeup is smudged, her articles of black clothing wrinkled as though she's been wearing them for a while, and her purple-streaked black hair is pulled into a haphazard ponytail, tangled and falling down in places. Even worse is that she looks gaunt, as though she hasn't been eating properly, with dark circles under her eyes.
But despite all those things, she's still flashing Slade a charming smile and a wave, just to let him know that she won this round.
Sighing at the tolls of his work, Oliver turns back to the empty desk where she sits. Lance has already told her the deal, but now the SAC needs her the hell out of his office—preferably before Slade goes into a rage again and Oliver has to fire him for real. "I can have the Red John files here tomorrow, Mrs. Seldon," he informs the grieving widow in a gentle voice. He can't help but wonder, though, why she'd introduce herself to Sara as Felicity Smoak when she was married.
To his surprise, she makes a face and a wordless sound in the back of her throat, as though the name is unappealing to her. "I, um, never got used to being called that," she answers, her voice going soft and quiet. For some reason, Oliver thinks this, at least, isn't an act. "And 'Miss Smoak' just feels weird now. I'd appreciate it if you called me Felicity."
"Felicity," Oliver agrees quietly, offering her a small hint of a smile. Then he notices the state of her clothes again and he can't help but ask her, "In the meantime, do you have a place to stay while you're in town? Malibu is a pretty long drive." Again his eyes fall over her appearance, and he wonders if she even has any money to pay for a hotel room or the night. Hesitating slightly, he adds, "If you need a place to stay, I have a spare bedroom at my house. I'd be glad to let you use it for the night."
The psychic stares at him as though he's suggested she backpack through the Amazon by herself. He hadn't noticed before, but now he realizes that her blue eyes are calculating, as if life is just one giant chess game and she's determined to stay four moves ahead. "You actually mean that, don't you?" Felicity asks him slowly, as though it's a novel idea. She waves her hands a little. "This isn't just an elaborate attempt to get into my pants—you're genuinely worried about me." Her head tilts to the side, as if she's trying to read him. "Why is that?" Oliver hesitates, but she tacks on, "And the truth please. I can take it."
With a sigh, Oliver answers as honestly as possible, "No offense, but kind of look homeless right now." He gestures toward her appearance, letting it speak for him. "Very lost and confused." He hesitates. "I took this job because I wanted to help people, Felicity. And, right now, I think you need some help."
She's quiet for an incredibly long moment before answering, studying him with a gaze that might as well cut through to his soul. "Well, then, Agent Queen," she answers with weight, "I accept your offer." She holds up her index finger. "But just this once."
Any other time, Oliver, might feel like it's a victory, but at the moment, it feels like he might have bitten off more than he can chew. Something tells him that Felicity is going to be a handful. "Alright," he admits after a moment, resigning himself to it. "If you'll give me your phone number, I'll call you before I leave the office. I can pick you up on my way out." He hesitates for a moment, but then decides to just go ahead and say it. She seemed to like his honesty before. "Maybe you could try to clean up a little, try to look a little less…" He trails off before deciding with a slight smile, "Zara the Magnificent."
A smile curves her lips upward, the first one he's seen on her face since she walked in. "I like your honesty, Oliver," she states, her tone playful. Then she rises to her feet with a smile that might be charming under different circumstances. "Can I call you Oliver? It's a nice name—I'd like to use it."
"That's fine," he assures her with a laugh, wondering how the hell this woman can manage to be so charming and so sad at the same time. She's clearly lost everything, but she's holding on anyway, sitting in front of him and smiling. It's hollow and doesn't quite reach her eyes, but she's definitely trying—something that Oliver had incredible difficulty doing after the island. He can only imagine her grief and pain, but she's still fighting to find her husband's killer.
Then she hands him a black business card with a quiet, "I'll see you later today, then, Oliver."
Notes: Intrigued? Look for Day Two on Sunday. ;)