(A/N: My 100-followers-on-Tumblr gift. Enjoy!)

A Little Too Much Togetherness #1

Felicity supposed it was inevitable that she and Roy would get into trouble together. They were both very good at finding it, and they were together a lot.

When it had finally happened, they were at her apartment on a Saturday, having lunch. Felicity and Roy had shared many meals together after she'd realized he was barely eating. Eventually she'd coaxed his appetite out of hiding, and now he was noisily appreciative of her culinary efforts.

"Damn, Blondie," he'd sighed that day after tasting her beer cheese soup. "I saw you buy the cheapest beer and the cheapest cheese at the store. I chopped the veggies for you. I watched you cook, and I still don't know how you do it."

"Do what?" Felicity asked, tearing apart a homemade dinner roll. (Homemade if you didn't count the bread machine that had done all the mixing, kneading, and rising.)

"Take these, like, supremely redneck ingredients and turn them into something that should be served at that snobby restaurant Oliver likes so much."

Felicity beamed. "Really? You think this could belong at Table Salt?"

"Are you kidding?" Roy said. "I ate there once with Thea. This soup is better than anything on their menu."

Before she could gush over the compliment or even utter a thank-you, something flew through the open window and landed on the carpet with a thunk and a hiss. Felicity stared at the cylinder, watching for a moment as gas escaped from one end of it and poured into the room. She hit the floor involuntarily, heard Roy mutter a word she was not overly fond of, and then passed out.

When Felicity woke up, she found herself on the couch next to Roy. His head was heavy on her shoulder. She tried to gently dislodge him, but when she raised her hand, his did the same, though he slept on. She glanced down to see that they'd been handcuffed together.

"Oh, crap."

Next to her, Roy stirred. "Uh, Blondie?" he said. "You know I don't like you that way, right?"

Felicity goggled at him, her mouth hanging open.

"Don't get me wrong—you're great," Roy continued. "You're a really good friend, and you're smart and an amazing cook and everything, but you're, like, ten years older than me. Plus, I'm pretty sure Queen would snap my neck if I so much as looked at you the wrong way."

Felicity punched him in the arm, hard. It was more satisfying and less dangerous now that he was no longer juiced up on mirakuru.

"Ow! What was that for?" He raised his hand to rub his arm, and her hand followed.

"So many reasons. I'll tell you all of them, and you can pick whichever one you want and be thankful I didn't punch you for each one."

Roy drew back a little, but since they were bound wrist-to-wrist, he just pulled her with him. Felicity yanked her hand back.

"First, I am not ten years older than you. I'm only six years older," she said. "Second, I am smart, so I'm insulted that you think I would handcuff us together. Third, I don't like you that way either."

By the time she was finished, she was standing, having pulled both of them to their feet. She was breathing hard and feeling a little light-headed from whatever had been used to gas them.

"Great," said Roy. "Now that we've got that out of the way, how are we going to get out of this?"

"I just need my phone." Felicity glanced around. It wasn't on the coffee table where she'd left it. "Do you have yours?" she asked him.

Roy patted his pockets awkwardly with his left hand. "Nope. Whoever gassed us must have taken them."

"My tablet—" But her tablet was no longer on the coffee table either. "Damn. Damn damn dammity damn damn."

Her lower lip started to tremble, so she bit down on it. She would not cry. It was just a thing, and things could be replaced. Her tablet was password-protected, and nearly everything on it was encrypted, but it was hers. Tears began to fill her eyes.

"Are you going to cry?" Roy asked.

"No. Shut up," Felicity said, swiping her free hand across her face.

"You're really that attached to your tablet?"

"Well, how would you feel if you woke up to find that someone had taken your . . . your . . . your hoodie?" It was all she could think of, besides Thea, that he seemed remotely attached to.

Roy smirked. "I'd go down to Old Navy and shell out twenty bucks for a new one."

"It's almost like you're asking to be punched again."

They sniped back and forth some more, and then Felicity dragged Roy into the next room to see if anything else had been taken. The gassing, handcuffing thieves must have thought her desktop computer wasn't worth the trouble, but they'd taken her external hard drive. It was also encrypted, and she had backups of her backups. Felicity used her desktop to get a message to Diggle and Oliver that she and Roy were unhurt but in need of rescue. Typing with only her right hand was slow and annoying.

"Look, I'm sorry about your tablet, Blondie," Roy said as they returned to the living room.

"It's okay," Felicity replied. "It has a tracker in it. So do our phones. But if they decide to trash it because they can't access anything else—"

" 'She'?" he repeated. "You're one of those people who names their stuff, aren't you?"

"Just my computers."

"Blondie, you have a lot of computers," Roy pointed out.

Felicity sniffed. She was not in the mood to be given a hard time because she'd named the trio of computers at the lair Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

"You know what?" she said. "Our soup is getting cold."

Roy's stomach growled audibly at the mere mention of food.

With careful coordination, they reheated their soup and were able to eat. It helped that they were both right-handed, though Felicity thought it was weird and a little irritating to watch her left hand rise every time Roy took a bite. That was how Oliver and Diggle found them soon afterward, handcuffed together and eating soup.

Felicity dropped her spoon, and it clattered loudly on the table. "All right, which one of you kicked open my door?"

Diggle immediately pointed to Oliver.

"I said we weren't hurt, Oliver."

"You said you needed to be rescued." He was talking to her, but glaring at Roy. Roy rolled his eyes and muttered, "I told you so."

"And that justifies breaking down my door even though Dig has a key?" she asked.

"I tried to tell him," said Dig, "but he wasn't exactly listening to reason."

"When does he ever?"

Oliver stepped into her personal space. "I was worried," he said in a quieter tone, an almost-whisper that he only seemed to use with her. "I wasn't thinking straight. When you say you need a rescue, my mind goes right to all the horrible things you might need to be rescued from." He tilted his head, and his lips curved upward. "Though I have to say, soup and handcuffs didn't enter my mind."

"Were the handcuffs your idea, Felicity?" Dig asked, with a barely concealed grin.

"Why is everyone assuming that? No!" Felicity's hands waved around, and, as a consequence, so did Roy's. "Handcuffs are not for interrupting two totally platonic friends during lunch. Handcuffs are for cops and sexy times, especially not my sexy times. I like my hands free."

"Wow. TMI," said Roy.

Felicity covered her face with her hands—and one of Roy's. Oliver stepped up to her again and lowered her hands. He smiled what she thought of as his "you are remarkable" smile, something else that he didn't seem to use with anyone but her, and he wasn't letting go of the hand currently tethered to Roy. With his other hand, he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small case. Felicity gaped at it.

"Is that a lock-picking kit?" she asked. "You had a lock-picking kit and a spare key at your disposal, and you still kicked open my door?"

Roy grinned. "I told you so, Blondie."