The Perils of Domesticity and Pissed-off Trees

by LaDemonessa

Oliver becomes a house husband, Felicity becomes a CEO, and the coffee tastes funny.

Based on comments made at Comic Con where Stephen referred to Oliver as being more 'domesticated' than Felicity and that he has settled into 'taking care of things more easily around the house than she has', and Emily who referred to Oliver as a 'house husband'.

For my fellow Old Bats and Young Bitches based on our many, many discussions, but mostly about the one with the cereal and especially for QueenAeron who asked me for fluff. Well, I finally delivered. Much Love, Jen. ;p

The Perils of Domesticity and Pissed-off Trees

By JA Ingram

Felicity looked at her appearance in the floor to ceiling mirror one last time, taking in the puffiness under her eyes that no amount of concealer could hide completely, before sighing. God, she was tired. In fact, she was always tired these days even after sleeping for nine hours solid. For like a week now she'd been plagued with exhaustion, headaches…

"I definitely think I have a brain tumor," she muttered at her appearance.

She slipped on the Chanel red heels she'd decided to wear that day before offering the huge walk-in closet one last look around. They'd be moving soon and, even though their new apartment was going to be gorgeous, she'd miss the decadence of the dark stained wood and impossibly high ceilings of this place. After all, it was, technically, the first home she and Oliver had ever shared as a couple even though they both always knew it was only temporary.

"I'm going to miss you most of all," she said to the cavernous space as she walked into the bedroom.

For the first time in her life she'd actually had room for all of her shoes and then some.

…maybe she should call the architect and see if they had time to add a little square footage to her closet?

She tilted her head at that and nodded, "Definitely. After all, Oliver needs room for his stuff, too; right?"

Eh, probably. If not she could always buy more shoes.

Felicity would miss the old place though, that was a given. She didn't think she'd like living in Ivy City as much as she had but she and Oliver had settled into their new home fairly quickly after the initial shock of discovering Ray had left her his entire company wore off.

In fact, she'd taken to running his company (now her company) like a duck to water—according to Oliver anyway. At first, she was worried he'd be resentful of the fact that Ray just handed her the company that had belonged to him and his family for so many years, but instead he was proud of her.

"You were always better at this stuff than I ever was," he told her. "Even when I was the one in charge, you were the one who actually knew what they were doing, not me." He kissed her then before grinning, "And, besides, now I get to be a house husband while you bring home the bacon."

"Make it rain, baby," she snickered before dissolving into laughter as he rubbed his scruff against her neck and proceeded to whisper then show her exactly what it is his 'house-husbandly' duties would entail.

That was almost five months ago and they were still going strong, her as the CEO of Palmer Tech and him as her partner/stay-at-home fiancé. Even so, being the boss was hard work and long hours, but under her leadership the company was flourishing, stock prices were up, and now it wasn't Oliver who was the billionaire in their relationship, it was her.

"I just wish I wasn't too exhausted to enjoy it," she yawned.

Other than the need for frequent catnaps lately, things were good though-not that there wasn't some bitter with the sweet. She knew in her heart Ray was alive, no remains had been found, but she had no way of proving that. They looked, searched through the rubble, but nothing. Oliver told her it was wishful thinking on her part but she wasn't so sure. She knew better than most what the suit was capable of and, even in an explosion that big, there should've been something left behind.

In any case, as far as the world was concerned, he was dead and she didn't 'earn' her position, she inherited it. It was a bunch of patriarchal bullshit and, normally, she wouldn't let it bother her, but she had a meeting today with a bunch of Palmer Tech executives and there were two men in particular who always made them unbearable for everyone; Dr. Jason Woodrue and Paul Hoben.

Dr. Woodrue, a pompous, puffed up, jackass if there ever was one, always acted as if it was his job to interrupt her every five minutes to tell her why she or anyone else was wrong. It didn't matter that he hadn't produced a single paying idea for the company in years, everyone else was an idiot in comparison and, whenever someone brought that up, he'd throw a temper tantrum that would rival a three year old and threaten to quit, taking his entire department along with his research with him.

Even though it was bullshit, Felicity added mentally. Ray wasn't exactly on the ball about a lot of things but he made sure Woodrue signed an ironclad contract before they hired him. All of the research he'd done since he started with the company six years ago belonged to Palmer Tech. They held all the patents, all the rights, everything. Also, if he quit then he was locked into a non-compete clause for the next two years but that never stopped him from blowing up, causing a scene, before stomping out of the room like a mad scientist on Ritalin…which he probably was.

However, as annoying as Woodrue was, Paul Hoben, head of their legal department, was even worse because he (ugh) leered at her all the time. Not only that but he was always finding reasons to lean up against the wall next to her or make cutting little remarks about her playboy boyfriend turned 'house husband', Oliver Queen.

Okay, so Ray came on a little strong when she first met him and it took a while for her to realize that he wasn't creepy as much as he was just incredibly clueless socially, but Paul was…icky.

He was also a shitty lawyer. He just sat on his ass and let his paralegals and his subordinates do all the work while he spent all his time acting like he was reliving his days as a frat boy. Apparently he and Ray had been 'good buddies' in college and he'd ridden the other man's coattails all the way to the top. Presumably he'd actually been a decent guy at some point but now he just made Felicity's skin crawl, especially after he'd hinted that he managed to sleep with Ray's fiancée, Anna, before she died. She found that out when, in a not so veiled comment in which he referred to her and Ray's brief relationship, that he and the other man had always had the same taste in women.

You'd think being a lawyer he'd be a little more discreet about what a pig he was, but Paul loved nothing more than to let his freak flag fly. Not only that but, like Woodrue, he loved nothing better than to try to put her 'in her place' whenever possible by making cutting little remarks about how she got the job and undermining her authority by making it seem like he was the real one in charge instead of her. His favorite line to use was that even though she'd gone from the manager of a Tech Village to girlfriend of the CEO overnight, he'd been there from the very beginning and he knew exactly what it is that Ray would've wanted. Didn't matter that she was now the CEO and his boss, as far as he was concerned she would always just be Ray's ex-girlfriend who inherited a company based on his old buddy's naiveté and the skill of her blowjobs.

"Asshole," she muttered.

Well, after today things were going to change, she thought taking a deep fortifying breath. Today Felicity Smoak, soon to be Felicity Queen, was going to kick ass and creepy Paul and his buddy, Jason the Tree Troll, could lump it.

"Damn straight!" Oliver said from where he was leaning up against the door jamb with a grin.

"Did I say that out loud?" she winced, "Of course I said that out loud," she said ruefully. "I so cannot be saying stuff like that out loud today of all days."

Damn, she thought, her babbling always got worse when she was tired and, ho boy, was she ever.

She scowled, today was not a day she could afford to look like a babbling idiot either. Today, of all days, she needed to be on the ball, not daydreaming about crawling back into bed for the next twelve hours while nursing yet another headache.

She definitely had a tumor.

"You'll do fine," he promised as if reading her mind, still wearing that soft relaxed grin he'd been sporting since hanging up the hood five months ago.

A sudden melancholy overcame her as she thought of that but she shook it off. Yes, she missed their 'extracurricular nighttime activities', but he was so much happier now and that was the important thing, right?

Forcing a smile on her face, she turned to him, "How do I look?"

She'd taken special effort with her outfit today seeing as she and Oliver had planned to hold a press conference announcing their plans right after the meeting and she wanted everything to go off without a hitch. Going from IT to EA had changed her wardrobe considerably, Tech Village manager to VP of Palmer Tech even more so, but now that she was the CEO and majority shareholder of a major tech corporation a lot of people, not just Woodrue and Hoben, wanted to write her off as a social climbing professional girlfriend who lucked out when her latest billionaire beau kicked the bucket. Although she knew better, as did all of the people whose opinion actually mattered to her, she wanted to make sure the rest of the world knew it, too.

Especially today, she thought willing the aspirin she'd taken when she woke up to start kicking in already.

"Hey," Oliver said cupping her cheek gently, "You've got this."

He was right, she reminded herself. Profits were higher under her five months as head of the company than they'd ever been despite the loss of Ray at the helm. That wasn't a fluke either. Ray was a brilliant man, a brilliant inventor, but he wasn't that great of a businessman. They were a successful and profitable company, yes, but that was because they built a better product. They would continue to do so but, unlike under Ray's leadership, she wouldn't be cutting blank checks so that guys like Woodrue could throw good money after bad on projects that hadn't shown a profit in years nor would they.

That was one of the many announcements they had planned for today along with changing the company name from Palmer back to Queen.

She expected to catch hell for that decision from a lot of people, not just Woodrue, but she didn't care. She didn't need anyone's approval, just one of the many perks of being the boss and she'd earned that right even if she'd 'inherited' her title and the money that went with it. Whenever one of the smirking members of the press would remind her of that, she'd come back with a hearty, 'So what?'

So what if she wasn't a self-made billionaire? So what if she went from IT manager to CEO in three years because her former boyfriend/boss left her the keys to the kingdom while her former boss/boyfriend spent his days folding her laundry and swapping recipes with their neighbors? Lots of rich boys got ahead in business because their daddies paid their way and no one ever said boo to them. Felicity didn't go to a fancy boarding school, she didn't grow up with a silver spoon in her mouth; she went to public school and did her homework in a bar, yet still got into one of the most prestigious institutions in the world. Unlike those other guys, she didn't get in because her parents donated a library, she got in because she worked her ass off and her mother worked sixty hours weeks in stilettos and a tight skirt handing out drinks to high rollers while engaging in a little bit of grifting on the side.

Although she left that part out.

Even so, her mom might not be the most book smart lady in the world, but she had street smarts and cunning. She taught her how to make fake IDs to earn extra money while at school, taught her how to count cards; most of all she taught her how to keep her head held high and not to take anybody's shit and Felicity was definitely Donna Smoak's daughter. Her lack of a pedigree didn't matter. She was smart, determined, and she was going to show them just who it was they were dealing with.

She gave her appearance one last look, this time with her head held high. Yeah, she had bags under her eyes and her temples were throbbing so hard it felt like she had a brass band going to town up there, but she looked like the bad ass Head Bitch in Charge Donna raised her to be and that, according to her mother, was half the battle.

According to The Art of War; the Donna Smoak Edition, clothes were a woman's armor and first line of defense. The way you dressed affected the way people saw you from then on. If you wanted to appear to be a harmless bubblehead who couldn't hurt a fly, you wore tight dresses and a pretty smile. How many times had Felicity seen her mother babble her way out of a speeding ticket or charmed a thousand dollar tip out of a high roller? She taught Felicity that she could use a pair of glasses and a ponytail to blend into the background just like she could use a short skirt or a cocktail dress to blow the boys away whenever she wanted to. Like Coco Chanel said, 'Dress shabbily and they notice the dress, dress impeccably and they notice the woman.'

Only in the Donna Smoak version it was, "Never be afraid to flaunt a little T&A and never fall into the trap of thinking bigger is better. It's not your size that counts, it's his."

As such she'd chosen her outfit very carefully that day. She wanted something that said 'large and in charge' but not something that made her look like someone she wasn't. With that in mind (and wanting to make herself feel as comfortable and confident as possible) she picked a Ted Baker peplum pencil dress that hit her just above the knees. It fit like a glove and the clean lines and sharp tailoring said 'professional' while the bright Chanel red and body conscious fit let the world know that this woman was a force to be reckoned with.

"You look beautiful," Oliver told her, his eyes running down her form appreciatively, "It reminds me a little of that dress you wore on our first date."

"Different designer but I'll admit I might have chosen it with you in mind," she said flirtatiously as she ambled towards him, draping her arms over his shoulders. "I figured that I could use it as a good luck charm today."

"Even though we nearly got blown up on that date?" he teased.

Oliver was planning on wearing a suit today as well but, for now, he was only in shirt sleeves and dress trousers, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. He'd taken to domesticity a lot better than she thought he would. In fact, given that she was now the main breadwinner (and, as he liked to call her, his 'sugar mama') he'd taken on most of the day to day household chores like the cooking and grocery shopping. They'd hired his family's old housekeeper, Raisa, to come in three times a week to help out, but most of it Oliver did by himself. He'd even taken up cooking her breakfast every morning, a fact for which Felicity was heartily grateful as he always woke before she did and made sure there was a hot cup of coffee waiting for her when she got out of the shower.

So, yeah, he was a house husband but he was a damn good one.

"Yeah, but we didn't," she emphasized. "Ergo; good luck."

He hummed happily and kissed her lips, "Maybe later, instead of defrosting those chicken breasts I'd planned on grilling up for dinner, we should go out on another date instead? Maybe make a little more good luck happen in that dress?"

She grinned, "Sure, it can be our second date in, what? A year?" she joked. "Maybe this time they won't fire a bazooka at us before they serve us our appetizers."

He frowned at that, "That's not right."

She grimaced slightly, "It was a joke, Oliver; no one is going to fire a bazooka at is." She paused, "Hopefully."

He rolled his eyes at her, his hands falling to her waist, "No, I meant the second date part. We've been on plenty of dates since then," he frowned, "Haven't we?"

"Nope," she said, popping her 'p'.

"But the—"

"The road trip doesn't count," she said firmly.

"Sure it does," he argued.

She shook her head, "Nope; room service and gas station pizza doesn't count as 'dating', that's 'road tripping'. They're two completely separate things."

He looked like he wanted to argue but sighed instead, "Fine, then we can go out on our *second* date tonight then."

"Sounds good," she said with a grin. "You know, for a while there I was afraid our second date was going to be during our honeymoon."

"Oh," he said, his voice going a bit husky as he pulled her towards him a little tighter, his hands splayed over her hips and against the curve of her butt, "And why's that?"

She leaned in and whispered against his ear, "Because, Mr. Queen, I never put out until at least the third date and, since we seem to be spacing these things out a bit, that could make the whole honeymoon thing a bit…awkward."

He chuckled before placing a kiss on her neck, the feel of his stubble against her skin causing her to shiver, "Sorry sweetheart, but I do believe that ship has sailed." He pulled away, his eyes soft and twinkling with happiness as he looked down at her, "Or have you already forgotten about last night?"

"Nope," she said, kissing him again briefly.

He pulled away reluctantly and glanced at their bedside clock, "You know, if you didn't have that meeting and we had the press conference today, I'd suggest calling in sick so we could spend it breaking your 'third date' rule some more."

"Can't," she said mischievously as she patted his (very) firm chest soothingly, "But that doesn't mean we can't leave a little early…"

"Ooh, you're being a very naughty girl today, Miss Smoak," he praised, dropping another sweet kiss on her lips.

"What can I say? Pays to be the boss," her stomach rumbled and she looked out towards the kitchen hopefully, "What's for breakfast? I'm starving."

She'd had to work late the night before and had been too tired to eat much then when she got home she'd been too interested in devouring Oliver to worry about food. However, her nerves combined with all the cardio they'd done the night before had made her work up quite an appetite.

He looked at her sheepishly, "I was going to make pancakes as a treat—"

"Ooh!" she said appreciatively.

Oliver had put both of them on a health kick a couple of weeks ago. Since then it had been all bran muffins and salads around their place instead of milkshakes and Big Belly Burgers, but if there was ever a day to break out the carbs, that was the one.

"-but then I decided not to risk undermining all that momentum you've been building so I figured we'd have scrambled eggs and turkey bacon instead."

"Turkey bacon?" she repeated crestfallen.

But she loved Oliver's pancakes. He always made them from scratch—real scratch, not the kind from the Bisquik box either.

Plus he heated up the syrup first just like they did at the Pancake House.

"Less fat. You were the one saying you wanted to get in shape and start eating healthier," he reminded her for the umpteenth time.

Damn it, she knew she should've kept her mouth shut.

"Yeah, but turkey bacon?" she said wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Felicity, you're Jewish," he said wryly, "You shouldn't be eating bacon to begin with."

"I'm reform," she argued. "That's like one Immaculate Conception and a shrimp cocktail from being a gentile." At his admonishing look, she sighed, "Fine." She headed to the kitchen then turned to him suspiciously, "Wait; the eggs are real, right? They're not like tofu eggs or egg substitute or anything?"

Benji, Oliver's new BFF, had been toying with the idea of making his family go vegan and gluten-free. Since then Oliver had been adding more and more tofu to their diet.

And Felicity was not happy about that.

No, she was not.

"Of course," he snorted.

"Good," she breathed, heading down the short hallway to the kitchen.

"Of course, I only used the egg whites." At her glare he shrugged, "They're lower in cholesterol."

"Damn it, Oliver; I'm twenty-six!" she argued. "I think I can afford a few egg yolks!"

"You said—"

"I know what I said," she grumbled.

He continued as if he didn't hear her, "—that after reading that article about how the majority of Fortune 500 CEO's had a much lower life expectancy than the national average due to stress and poor eating habits, that you didn't want to wind up with clogged arteries and—"

"I know!" she repeated grumpily then sighed, "Fine, let's go eat our egg whites and turkey bacon then. You did at least pick me up some more cereal, right?"

Felicity could cook, a fact that never failed to surprise people, she just chose not to. Years of late nights and odd hours had taught her to take advantage of convenience foods like cereal and ramen noodle soup. After the first time she went shopping without Oliver and he saw that she managed to buy every kind of sugar laden cereal and Cup a Noodle ever made and nothing else, he announced that he'd be the one doing all the marketing from then on.

"Yes, I got you your cereal," he said dryly as he sat her down at the counter before going to the stove to plate up their breakfast.

"Good," she said poutily as she stared down at her too white scrambled eggs and the pale, not the least bit appetizing looking bacon on her plate. "Maybe I'll have a bowl of cereal for breakfast dessert."

"Breakfast dessert?" he said in amusement as he sat down beside her to eat his own breakfast.

"Yes, breakfast dessert; as in the dessert that comes after breakfast. In other words, cereal," she said reaching for the salt then frowning as he moved it away from her instead.

"I already salted them," he told her.

"But they need more salt," she argued.

"How do you know?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her, "You haven't even tasted them yet."

Her eyebrows drew together in consternation, "Fine," she bit out before shoveling the very non-eggy eggs in her mouth, "Happy?" she garbled.

"Ecstatic," he drawled.

"I want you to know that I'm having a huge bowl of cereal when I'm done with this and I better not hear a word about it," she warned him as she bit into her chewy piece of not crispy, not bacon-y bacon.

"I won't say a word," he promised as he appeared savoring his breakfast a lot more than she was.

She, on the other hand, was practically shoveling it into her mouth in order to avoid actually having to taste it. It wasn't exactly lady-like, but she figured that the faster she gobbled it down, the sooner she could enjoy that sugary deliciousness known as Lucky Charms that was chock full of healthy goodness like sugar and Red Dye #40.

She reached for her coffee to wash down the last of her fake eggs then paused, spitting it back in the cup, "What's wrong with the coffee?" she asked with a look of disgust.

He gave her a look that was half revulsion, half amusement, "Nothing's wrong with the coffee."

She stared at it suspiciously, "It doesn't taste right. I mean, it hasn't tasted right for over a week now but today it really doesn't taste right."

"It tastes fine," he said, sipping from his own cup.

"Something must be wrong with my cup then because it doesn't taste right," she repeated before holding out to him, "See? Taste."

"You just spit in that cup," he pointed out, "I'm not tasting it."

"You've had my tongue in your mouth," she argued.

"Yeah, and I'm still not drinking your coffee spit," he snorted.

She narrowed her eyes at him, "What did you do to the coffee, Oliver?"

"Nothing," he said firmly.

"You're lying," she growled softly.

"No, I'm not," he denied with a laugh.

"Yes, you are!" she said leveling a finger at him, "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" he promised. "It's the same brand we always buy."

She looked at her cup mistrustfully, "Then why does it taste funny?"

"Look, my coffee tastes fine and it's from the same pot," he said putting it in front of her. "Here; taste mine."

"So you won't drink my coffee spit but you expect me to drink yours?" she scowled.

"Unlike you, I didn't spit in my coffee but if you don't want it then…" he pulled his hand back with the cup but she stopped him.

"No, no! I'll take it," she told him before snatching it away from him and taking a sip. Her lips curled in disgust as she glared down at his cup as well, "There's something wrong with yours, too."

"There's nothing wrong with the coffee," he said in exasperation before taking up their empty plates and placing them in the dishwasher, "Are you ready for your 'dessert' cereal now?"

"Yeah," she said, still sniffing and looking down into his cup suspiciously. "Are you sure you didn't do something to the coffee?"

"I'm positive," he told her as he poured some cereal into a bowl and added milk.

She looked into the milky (former) goodness with a frown, "Maybe it was a stale bag or something that had been left on the shelf too long," she grumbled before looking up at him, "You did get it from the coffee aisle, right?"

He gave her a confused look, "Where else would I have gotten it from?"

"I don't know?" she said with a grimace, "It has a weird chemical aftertaste or something. Maybe it's the sugar?" A thought occurred to her, "Oh man, what if they spilled bug spray or something on it in the back then put it on the shelf?" She set it down quickly, "How much poison can you ingest before you die?"

"It's not poisoned, it tastes fine!" he insisted. "Now, here; eat your cereal," he said, placing it in front of her.

She looked down at the bowl in front of her and blinked, "What's this?"

"Cereal," he told her.

She looked down at the three large biscuits of what appeared to be brown clumps of hay and blinked, "Where are the marshmallows and the bright colors and the…flavor? What is this?" she demanded.

"Shredded Wheat," he said simply.

"This isn't Shredded Wheat," she said shaking her head in denial.

"Yes it is," he affirmed. "You like Shredded Wheat, remember? It's your Monday, 'start the week off right with a good bowel movement' cereal."

Felicity glared at him, "First off, that was a joke! One you were never supposed to repeat ever again!"

"True though," he shrugged.

"Secondly, this," she pointed down at the cereal, "is not my Frosted Mini-Wheats! These are some sort of giant not Frosted, not Mini-Wheats!"

"It's the same thing only better," he told her showing her the box. "See, no salt, no sugar, no artificial ingredients—"

"No frosting!" she said in something approaching her loud voice. "It can't be Frosted Mini-Wheats if it's neither Mini nor Frosted!"

"I have a solution for that," he said reasonably as he reached behind him and placed a large yellow bag in front of her.

"What's that?" she asked glaring at it.

"Splenda," he told her. "It tastes exactly like sugar only without all the bad stuff."

"But I like the bad stuff," she said sullenly. "Plus I like the Mini-Wheats with the flavors like chocolate, or strawberry, blueberry—"

"Aha!" he said reaching into the fridge then placing a bowl of berries in front of her, "Voila! Strawberries and blueberries; high in vitamins and antioxidants with no artificial flavors or sweeteners as requested."

"But I didn't request that," she said emphatically, "I just wanted the cereal with the little leprechaun on the box or the one with the rabbit. You know, the rabbit who those mean kids on TV never let eat the cereal because they're a bunch of selfish little shits? Or the one with the bird? That…bird with the—" she gestured at her nose, "big, um, beak thing—that bird."

Again; headache.

"I was reading an article last night about healthy cereals and found out that all of the cereals you like are basically poison," he said earnestly. "Seriously, they're poison. Benji told me all about it. They're filled with GMO's and trans fats, BHT which can trigger allergic reactions in people like yourself with peanut allergies," he said raising his eyebrows in emphasis, "not to mention all the chemicals and dyes which can cause cancer. So, instead of going to our regular supermarket, I headed to the health food store and bought a ton of healthy replacement cereals." He opened the cupboard and began pointing them out, "See? Gluten-free Frookie Loops—"

"Frookie Loops?" she repeated slowly.

"Fruit juice sweetened spelt based vegan fruit loops," he told her. "In fact, all of these are both vegan and gluten free." He turned back to the cupboard, "I also got Brown Rice Crispers, Organic Honey Flakes, Snackimals Vanilla Blasters…" he reached for a large canister and showed it to her, "Oh, and Old-fashioned Oatmeal because it's supposed to be heart healthy."

She stared at him, "I think…I think I'm just going to go to work now."

And get a couple of doughnuts along the way.

Maybe six doughnuts.

…okay, make it an even dozen. And maybe an Egg McMuffin and some hashbrowns.

"Okay baby," he said with a grin as he came around the counter to give her a kiss. "Give 'em hell! I'll be up there after your meeting for the press conference."

"Yeah," she said with a tight smile as she got up and grabbed her briefcase before heading out the door, "See you there!" As soon as the door shut behind her she shook her head, "Right after I head to The Geeky Monkey for a Café Cubano and a bearclaw."

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She glared down at her coffee in disgust.

"Jerry!" she called out for her assistant.

"What?" he asked peeking around the door.

When they made the temporary move to the offices in Ivy City from Starling, Jerry offered to come with them even though he knew they'd be returning as soon as the construction was complete. Unfortunately, it was taking a lot longer than they thought it would but, in less than a month, they'd be back in Starling where they belonged.

Hopefully, she added mentally.

The explosion had damaged six floors; the two top floors completely gone and the four below so much so that they'd been deemed a total loss. That was bad, yes, but at first they thought that it was at least fixable. However, according to the building inspectors, the earthquake four years ago had damaged the foundations in such a way as it wasn't immediately apparent until after the explosion caused some of the steel girders to buckle and the entire building started to lean like the Tower of Pisa. As such, they'd had no choice but to demolish the entire building and start from scratch. The good news was that since they were rebuilding it from the underground parking garage up, she had the opportunity to completely change everything and had worked very closely with the architect (who happened to be an old friend of Lyla's as well as one of ARGUS's civilian contractors) in order to build a much more secure building that was both state of the art as well as chock full of goodies that he promised would stay off the official blueprints as he and crew were used to such requests.

One of the many secret goodies she requested was an underground access shaft in the parking garage leading to Starling's abandoned subway system. She also had his crew build a more secure Lair directly under the building along with a private executive elevator that no one would know about other than the construction crew and themselves. Since the crew and architect all signed a very strict non-disclosure agreement and the elevator was located in a hidden safe room that could only be accessed through a hidden panel in her office or from a secondary safe room in the penthouse, no one would ever know it was there. Just in case the cops did ever find it though or someone leaked the details to the press, the official story would be that because of all the terrorist attacks in recent years, she and Oliver decided they needed a way to vacate the building as quickly as possible just in case they were infiltrated.

As for the new underground lair, unlike the old one, this one was completely impenetrable. No more unexpected visitors would be popping by, nosirree Bob. All the access points were hidden and there were biometric sensors on all the locks. Even if the police suspected Oliver was the Arrow again (because, no matter what he said, she knew he'd eventually go back to it) they'd never be able to prove it or find his hideout and neither would their enemies.

In the meantime, Jerry and his husband, Benji (Oliver's new BFF and the reason her breakfast sucked ass), had made the move to Ivy City with them along with their two corgis and daughter, Emma. In exchange for Jerry's loyal support, Felicity's first act as CEO had been to give him a huge salary boost as well as moving expenses and the use of a corporate apartment since they had no idea how long they'd be there and she didn't want to have to make him break a lease.

As for where they all wound up, Ray had been a brilliant man but he spent money like it was going out of style and one of the things he owned was a beautiful building with amazing views of both the Housatonic River and Long Island Sound. Like most of Ivy City, the building was steeped with history and within walking distance of Ivy University.

Ray, not wanting the neighbors call the cops on him with complaints about explosions or whatnot, bought the building for around $80 million dollars then proceeded to buy up the leases of all the tenants so the building was completely empty. Seeing as it was located in a prime location close to the Kord Building (which served as their temporary HQ until the new Queen Incorporated building was completed), she thought that was a terrible waste. So, after offering Jerry and Benji first pick of any condo they liked with her and Oliver taking the penthouse, the first thing she did was instruct her CFO that they would be offering a chance to lease the apartments at a reduced rate as part of their incentive package when recruiting new executives.

One of the hardest parts about moving from Cambridge to Starling after graduation, for her at least, had been finding an apartment while living out of a hotel. She'd been lucky to find her little townhouse fairly quickly. Even though it was located fairly close to the Glades, it was also close to work and the rent was within her budget. That alone was a miracle considering how expensive rents were in the city but, lucky for her, the old lady who owned it cared more about the fact that her cat liked her than she did about gouging her for a couple of thousand dollars a month. The way she saw it, if they were going to expand the company that meant they had to compete against companies like LuthorCorp and Wayne Enterprises, companies that offered their most valued employees reduced or free rent at any of their many apartment complexes and Al agreed.

Besides, you can take the girl out of Vegas but you can't take Vegas out of the girl and letting an $80 million dollar building just sitting there empty bothered her to no end. And, at least this way, they could take the loss from the reduced rents and write it off while using it as a tax shelter.

Another benefit of being neighbors was that both their families had bonded as a result. They had long stopped being boss and assistant and instead now enjoyed a close friendship similar to the one she had with Oliver when he was CEO and she was his EA.

Minus the sexual tension and occasional hostage attempt.

She and Jerry often carpooled in the mornings together and hung out after work and, since Benji was able to take a teaching sabbatical so he could work on his novel and stay home with their little girl during the day, he and Oliver had bonded over being 'house husbands' together.

However, it was because of Benji and Oliver's burgeoning bromance over sports, groceries, and laundry that she was suddenly highly suspicious of the fact that the coffee Jerry handed her that morning, the same coffee that was normally chock full of goodness (until a week or so ago when everything started tasting off), now tasted suspiciously…wrong.

And not just the watery weird off-taste all coffee had lately but the odd chemical aftertaste she'd started noticing this morning with the cup Oliver handed her over breakfast.

Fuck, she definitely had a tumor.

"What's wrong with this coffee?" she asked him.

He stared at her, "What do you mean?"

"I mean the coffee tastes weird," she said with a scowl.

He gave her an innocent look, "Tasted fine to me."

Too innocent. Way too innocent.

So innocent that it was practically an admission of guilt innocent.

"Seriously, what did you do to my coffee?" she demanded.

"It's the same brand we always buy," he insisted. "Maybe your taste buds are off." His eyes narrowed slightly, "You're not pregnant are you?"

"What?" she asked in surprise.

"Because when our surrogate was pregnant, she said everything tasted funny, especially coffee," he explained.

"I'm not pregnant!" she snorted.

He arched an eyebrow at that, "Are you sure?"

She paused then scowled, "Yes, I'm sure! I'm an adult, you know. I graduated at the top of my class at MIT; I think I know how birth control works, thank you."

"Whatever," he said rolling his eyes. "All I know is you've been awfully cranky lately and, although the only knowledge I have of that sort of thing comes from health class in the eighth grade and my friend, Dave, who afterwards showed me his dad's Playboy collection, the way I heard it was that the only sure form of birth control is gay sex."

"I think you mean abstinence," she said dryly.

"Yeah, like that ever works!" he scoffed. "Until then I'll stick to gay sex but if Benji ever does get pregnant then all bets are off."

"Yeah, but if that happened then where would the baby come out?" she tossed back sarcastically.

"Some place it went in, I imagine," he mused. "Of course, that would be traumatic for all involved and would probably guarantee that the kid would grow up to either become a corporate lawyer or an agent."

"That's just…bad," she said shaking her head, "True, but bad."

"Speaking of pieces of shit, your meeting with Paul Hoben and the rest of the executive jack-holes starts in ten minutes," he told her.

"Yeah, I know," she grumbled. "I was just hoping to face them fully caffeinated." She sighed in exasperation, "Seriously, what did you do to the coffee?"

"I didn't do anything to the coffee," he said in a completely honest and forthright manner…which is how she knew he was lying through his teeth.

"I will fire you if you don't tell me what you did to my coffee," she said with a dirty look.

"Fine," he told her, "I replaced your usual cream and sugar with skim milk and Splenda."

"Is that where that chemical taste is coming from?" she asked glaring down at the offending liquid.

"Oliver told Benji you were both going on this health kick and made me promise to help you cut down on your sugar intake," he admitted reluctantly.

"I can't believe you would betray me like this; what did I ever do to you?" she demanded.

"Nothing!" he said quickly, "Look, I'm in the same boat here! Ever since our hubby's decided to bond over Martha Stewart and hockey, I've been forced to eat fish three times a week because it's supposedly high in Omega 3 fatty acids and have to sneak Milky Ways out of the break room." He scowled, "I hate fish. I mean, I could take it if he let me have shellfish or whatever but I'm apparently not allowed to eat shrimp anymore because, according to Benji, shrimp is high in fat and will give me a heart attack by the time I'm forty. No, instead I have to eat crap like tilapia every other day. He won't even let me go for sushi even though that counts as fish because he says I'll get mercury poisoning. And now, what's worse, is he's considering taking that out of our diet, too, and making us go vegan. Vegan!" he said in repugnance, "I told him only lesbians become vegans! We're gay men and gay men love steak and shrimp cocktail!" He held up a finger in emphasis, "Steak because, duh, it's steak and steak is a manly, sexy piece of meat. It's the hairy bare chested leather daddy of gay meat and shrimp cocktail because… well, it's elegant and it's got 'cock' right in the name."

She pouted and sipped at her chemical flat yucky un-coffee resentfully, "Oliver won't let me have Lucky Charms anymore because he says it'll give me cancer."

"Bastards," Jerry agreed before hitching his thumb at the conference room. "You know what, if you're hungry you might want to head into the meeting early. I told the interns to set up the coffee pot and put out some snacks, so…"

"Bagels?" she asked eagerly.

"Of course," he huffed. "What am I; new?"

"The egg ones with the yellow insides that are kind of sweet and delicious?" she asked in a way that was probably bordering on scary. "Oliver won't let me eat egg yolks anymore and I think I have a serious cholesterol deficiency going on. Ooh, or is it the fruity ones with the cinnamon swirls? Better yet, doughnuts? " she asked eagerly, "Please tell me you ordered doughnuts! If you ordered me a bearclaw, I swear to God the next time you guys want a kid my uterus is all yours!"

He gave her a pitying look, "Actually…"

"Oh no," she said crestfallen, "don't say it, don't say it…" she begged shaking her head.

"Whole grain only with the fat free cream cheese and low sodium lox. Oh, and if you were thinking about covering up the taste of the cream cheese with jam, they only brought the sugar free kind," he told her reluctantly.

"No!" she cried, dropping her head to her desk.

"Also, and I really hate to have to tell you this, but Oliver got to the coffee guys and had them stop supplying us with the real half and half and sugar," he added. "You can't even get it in the break room anymore. Now your choices are lactose free or skim and, as for sweeteners, all we've got is the pink stuff, the blue stuff, or the yellow stuff."

"This is hell," she groaned.

"Welcome to marriage, honey," he said in sympathy. "Now move your ass and go be the Head Bitch in Charge."

She chugged the last of her coffee as quick as she could, burning off all her taste buds in the process (after all, what did she need them for anyway?), before getting up to go to the meeting where she could enjoy her dry fiber rich bagel smothered in tasteless plastic goo and topped with fishy un-salty goodness before washing it all down with chemically sweetened stale tasting watery coffee. Maybe later she'd have a nice solid bowel movement to celebrate.

Good times.

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"So you're rebranding the entire company as 'Queen Incorporated'?" Paul asked with a scowl.

"Yes," she said, frowning down at her dry tasteless bagel in disgust.

Damn fat-free cream cheese.

Damn it to hell.

"Do you even know how much that will cost us? And, by the way, Oliver Queen isn't even a majority shareholder anymore," the lawyer added.

"No, but I am and we're getting married," she told him archly. "As such, since it's *my* company and *my* last name is going to be 'Queen', we're changing it from Palmer Tech to Queen Inc."

"And what happens when you eventually get a divorce?" he asked pointedly. "After all, what's the point of pretending otherwise when I think we all know Oliver Queen's reputation? Are we going to wind up having to spend millions of dollars rebranding ourselves *again* a year from now?"

"More like six months," Woodrue muttered in what he probably thought was a whisper but really wasn't.

Felicity did a slow burn at that.

Okay, maybe not that slow of a burn.

Okay, yeah, she was pissed. That pissed her off. Felicity was normally a very laidback person, someone who could put up with a lot of bullshit before she snapped, but not today. Today she was a woman on the edge. Maybe it was the fact that her coffee wasn't bringing the juice the way it normally did, maybe it was low blood sugar caused by a distinct lack of magical deliciousness in her cereal bowl this morning, or maybe it was because, whether he realized it or not, Jerry, her friend and beloved assistant, had unwittingly given her permission to be the Head motherfucking Bitch in motherfucking Charge and, goddamn it, she was about to bring the motherfucking thunder to this motherfucking asshole because she was the motherfucking boss!

Motherfuck it!

Damn, she loved that word today.

"Well Paul, luckily for you, you won't have to worry about that happening," she said easily.

"And why's that?" he asked her. "Because this is real love and blah, blah, blah?" he rolled his eyes at her. "I'm sorry Felicity, but I can't sign off on this and neither will the board. If they do then, at the very least, I'm going to have to propose that you get a rock solid pre-nup so that Queen doesn't wind up screwing our shareholders in the divorce."

"And what shareholders are those, Paul?" she asked carefully. "For that matter, what board are you referring to?"

"Our shareholders and our board, of which I, and most of the people here, are apart of," he said, looking at her as if she were crazy.

"Last I looked, our 'shareholders', the ones with voting rights on the 'board', consisted only of myself and Oliver with me holding the majority stock," she reminded him. "As for the board giving me their 'permission', they," and you, she added mentally, "have no real power in this company; they're an 'advisory board' only, remember? Ray, genius that he was, set it up so that, at best, all the board could do is offer him suggestions on how to steer the company but he retained all of the voting rights. And now, I hold all of the voting rights; 51% of it anyway but since Oliver entrusted me with his proxy that makes..." she pursed her lips, "Yup, 100%."

"Yes, but our advice has kept this this company afloat for years despite having Ray Palmer in charge. I mean, the man was my best friend but he was a lousy businessman who often made…irrational business decisions," Hoben said looking her up and down pointedly. "You know, like buying up an entire holding corporation just so he could hire one employee or, you know, impress a girl."

"Hear, hear," Woodrue echoed as the other executives shifted in their seats nervously, obviously sensing that now would be a good time to shut the hell up and stay out of it.

Unfortunately for Woodrue and Hoben, their sense of self-preservation wasn't nearly as well-developed as the others.

"Yes, but I'm not Ray," she reminded them, ignoring his snarky comment. "Not that I think Ray was incompetent," Woodrue smirked at that, "but under my leadership this company has had the two most profitable quarters in its entire history."

"Which is great," Paul said in a tone that set her teeth on edge, "but market fluctuations happen and just because we've seen a slight increase in profits—"

"Try a 27% rise in profits," she corrected him. "The numbers came in this morning. Not only that, but the tests on the Q-Pad and Q-Phone are through the roof. We fully expect that between them and the improved SmartWatch we're testing, this will be our biggest year ever."

He chuckled slightly, "Felicity, I know you want to think that but—"

"But as I said before, you won't have to worry about that anymore Paul because, effective immediately, you're fired," she said easily.

"What?" he burst out jumping to his feet, "You can't fire me!"

"Yeah, I'm afraid I kind of have to," she said apologetically.

Not.

"On what grounds?" he demanded. "What? Because I dared to question a frankly ill-advised and reckless business decision?"

"No," she told him.

He gave her a dark look, "What then?"

"Because of the four complaints of sexual harassment lodged against you in the last year," she said with a tight smile.

"What complaints?" he blustered.

"The ones you tried to bury by threatening the women you harassed with unemployment and defamation suits," she reminded him.

"You can't prove that," he stated emphatically.

"Oh, I think I can," she said before giving Jerry a slight nod. He stood and opened the door to the conference room to let in two beefy security guards who immediately went to stand beside Hoben while two more stood patiently by the door. "Please escort Mr. Hoben out," she told them. "Also, I had his assistant clean out his office so make sure to take him straight to the lobby and see that he receives his things before escorting him off the property."

"I'll sue you, you bitch!" Paul spat as he shrugged off the guards and leaned towards her. "When I'm done with you, you won't have a pot to piss in—you or that trust fund boytoy of yours!"

"Yeah, no; don't think so," she said off-handedly. "Especially since you're going to be really busy explaining to the authorities where all that money you've been diverting went to. Or should I say 'embezzling'."

He paled at that as one of the guards gave him a dangerous look, "Let's go, Mr. Hoben. Please don't make this any harder on yourself than it has to be." The guard, who looked like he could be a stunt double for the Hulk, leaned towards him slightly, "By the way, your assistant, Denise? The one who you told last week to 'leave the bra at home'? She's my girlfriend so, I'm *begging* you, just give me an excuse here."

Hoben looked at him and swallowed before grabbing his briefcase and walking meekly out the door.

"Well, good riddance to bad rubbish," Woodrue said with a snort as he watched Hoben make his walk of shame.

"Speaking of which," Felicity said slowly, "Mr. Hoben did have a point; just because we're doing better now doesn't mean we should rest on our laurels. As such, in an effort to protect our bottom line as well as shore up our profits, we will be making deep cuts in some of our departments as well as terminating several projects that have not shown any quantifiable progress or yielded any profitable results."

"Cuts?" one of the other executives asked nervously.

"Cuts," she agreed.

"So does this mean lay-offs?" an older gentleman named Gardner Fox who also happened to serve on the board asked in concern.

"Unfortunately yes," she admitted. "However, the losses will be minimal I assure you."

Julius Schwartz, head of the telecom division, frowned, "Which departments?"

"Not many," she told him. "Most of the cuts will be more like restructuring so, while we may have to shuffle people around, possibly demote a few people who are maybe not being as productive as they could be, hopefully we won't have to lose too many people and, if we do, we'll offer them a nice severance package or early retirement."

He nodded, "So which divisions are you thinking of restructuring?"

"We're going to merge the separate marketing departments so that they're all under one division. I think it will make things a lot easier on us, plus we're going to end our contracts with outside advertising agencies and stay in house from here on out. With as much talent and as many resources as we have, we should never have had to go outside for that sort of thing in the first place," she said as the other people around the table murmured in approval. "I also want to have progress reports done on all outstanding projects and on my desk by the end of the week. In addition, we'll be having efficiency experts coming in to see how we can improve the lines of communication between all of our divisions and their employees and we'll be having mandatory evaluations for all employees starting next week. It's not just about cutting out the dead weight," she assured them, "it's also about making sure we use our people where they can be the most effective. If we've got someone working in the basement as an IT monkey who has a master's degree and can code like a boss, I want to know why they aren't running the department instead of asking people if they tried turning it off and on." She looked around the table, "People fall through the cracks all the time. They get hired because they're the best, then stuck in dead end jobs for no discernable reason; maybe it's a lack of ambition, maybe it's because their supervisor is too incompetent to see what he has in front of him. In any case, unhappy people aren't productive. We spend an average of $10,000 training and recruiting each of our employees. That's a huge investment to make when you consider the fact that unhappy people take that training with them when they leave to go work for someone like Bruce Wayne or Lex Luthor. We might as well just write our competitors a check for $10 grand every time they swipe one of our employees and I really don't feel like doing that, do you?"

Al Pratt, the CFO and the only other person besides herself, Oliver, and Jerry who knew of her plans before today, spoke up, "But like Felicity said, restructuring is only half the battle. Unfortunately cuts will have to be made starting with Applied Sciences."

"Wait," Woodrue said holding up his hand with an incredulous look, "You can't seriously be considering making cuts in Applied Sciences—we're a tech based company, for god's sake!"

"Like I said, some cuts hurt worse than others but they have to be done," Felicity told him.

Adam Cray, head of the Biotech Division, frowned, "In the past, Ray was always pretty generous with funding research even when it turned out to be a dead end. He always said that just because it's a failure today, doesn't mean it won't be a success later down the road."

"And I agree…to a certain extent," Felicity told him. "However there's going out on a limb, and then there's cutting down the whole tree. There has to be a line drawn somewhere. Luckily, most of the Biotech division won't be affected by these changes since you guys are fairly streamlined as it is. In fact, the only project we're cutting there is the research into Project Green Man."

"What?" Woodrue burst out, "But that's my project!"

"Yes, it is," she agreed. "And the Floronic Hybridization Serum you've been researching as a possible cure for cancer has yet to show any progress."

"That's not true!" he said angrily. "The animal testing-!"

"Has gone nowhere—for six years now," Al said for her. "Even before Ray died he was talking about terminating that project, not only because it was a waste of resources, but also for ethical reasons."

"Ethical—what ethical reasons?" Woodrue demanded, "Since when is the possibility of curing cancer along with a host of other diseases 'not ethical'?"

"How about the fact that the only thing you've accomplished by injecting that serum of yours into your test subjects is killing a whole lot of white mice," Adam said ruefully.

"And now, even though it's been an abject failure, you've put in a request to begin primate studies," Felicity added. "While I realize that some animal testing is unavoidable, Ray was trying to get away from that sort of thing, not add to it."

"If you think killing a couple of monkeys and some rats is more of a tragedy than allowing children to die of cancer or progeria then-!" Woodrue hissed in frustration before turning an accusatory glare towards Adam, "And you; you're behind this, aren't you? You've always wanted to get your hands on my research money so you could play around with those stupid nanobots of yours, haven't you?"

"I'll be the first one to admit that I've had concerns about the ethics of combining human and plant DNA and have for a while now even if it doesn't work," Adam admitted. "In my opinion you should never have been allowed to test on live subjects at all, especially since your research is dead at the gate. The numbers in your chemical staging alone tell me that. As far as I'm concerned, and I'll be perfectly frank here, what goes on in that lab of yours is unconscionable, unethical, and little more than mad science gone awry."

"Mad science!" the other man screeched unpleasantly.

"Mad science," Adam confirmed, "I'll even admit that I spoke to Ray about shutting it down before he died, but I have no designs on your funding or your lab space, Dr. Woodrue, I assure you."

"I don't believe you," he snarled.

"It doesn't matter," Felicity told him. "In any case, it's not your funding or your lab; it's the company's, and, effective immediately, I'm shutting you down."

"Fine!" he said, slapping the table before getting to his feet, "In that case, I quit! I'll take myself and my research elsewhere!"

"Point of fact, you can't," Adam offered helpfully. "You signed a contract stating all your research is the intellectual property of Palmer Tech, remember?"

"Not to mention the non-compete clause you signed," Gardner said wryly, tenting his fingers before him, "Or have you forgotten about that since the last time you had one of your little outbursts during a meeting?"

Before Woodrue could offer both men a blistering reply, Felicity cut in, "I'm perfectly willing to waive both Dr. Woodrue's contract as well as let him keep all of his research," she said easily. Jerry stepped forward with a file in hand and placed it in front of the doctor who looked at it in confusion. "In that packet are copies of the legal documents releasing you from all of your contractual obligations to our company as well as a check and explanation of your severance benefits."

"You're firing me?" he asked in outrage.

"No, " Al told him, "you just quit, remember?"

"That's what I heard anyway," Adam muttered.

Of course, since Woodrue threatened to quit whenever he decided to throw a temper tantrum, it would be understandable if he didn't.

"Would you gentlemen please escort Dr. Woodrue out, please?" Felicity nodded again and the other two guards at the door moved towards the man in question, "I do hope you'll understand, doctor, but it's company policy."

"C-company policy?" he asked, looking at the two burly men on either side of him in confusion.

"To have you escorted from the building," she clarified. "As for your things, they'll be waiting for you down in the lobby at the security desk along with copies of all the data you've submitted from your project as we're agreed that you will be retaining all legal rights and liabilities associated with the development of your 'Florination Hybridization' formula as outlined in your severance packet."

"You planned this?" he squawked.

Talk about a delayed reaction.

She offered him an overly bright grin, "Let's just say that, one way or another, today was going to be your last day here." Felicity nodded to the guards who helped Dr. Woodrue to his feet before pointing him to the door.

"You'll be sorry!" he yelled on his way out. "I'll take my formula to Wayne Biotech and then we'll bury you!"

Felicity glanced up at him, unimpressed, "By all means, Doctor; if Bruce Wayne can do something useful with your project besides waste millions of dollars and thousands of hours of lab time, then he's welcome to it."

As the door shut behind him muffling his shouts of outrage, Felicity turned a hard eye around the room, "Palmer Tech will officially be rebranded as Queen Incorporated beginning immediately. According to the architect, the finishing touches are being put on the new Queen Inc Tower even as we speak and, I'm hoping, that we will be able to begin moving our executive operations and division heads over there by the end of the month. I want a clean house when we get there," she said sweeping the room to make sure everyone was on-board. "The new Queen Inc will be streamlined, our departments productive, so that we can give the big guys like Luthor and Wayne a real run for their money in the coming months leading up to the reveal of the new Q Line in May. Ray Palmer built this company and we will honor his memory by remaining on the cutting edge of research and development but this is also the dawn of a new day, people, and changes have to be made if we're going to survive," she emphasized. "Ray made this company a success through his genius but, now that he's gone, we have to rely on our own common sense and sound business judgement without him at the helm to pull our fat from the fire. There will be no more blank checks issued and no more wasteful spending. If you have a problem with that, then I will be happy to accept your resignation here and now." Jerry tapped his watch and she gave him a nod, "Now I have a press conference in a few minutes so if anyone has anything to say, now is the time."

The room was silent and many of the men and women around the conference table gave her looks, not only of respect, but of grudging approval. Ray, for all of his genius, was never interested in herding cats and for years he'd pretty much dumped the running of his business on the shoulders of the people in this room so he could instead pursue his own research. She didn't expect them to necessarily like the fact that there was now a real leader in the CEO's office, but they'd get used to it soon enough.

"Good," she said, slapping shut the leather portfolio in front of her. "If there are no questions, I'll hand the meeting over to Al who will be going over some of the new policies with you to hand down to your department heads as well as go over any further questions or concerns you may have about the upcoming performance reviews."

"Okay!" Al said, slapping his hands together to get everyone's attention as she got up to walk out of the room, "Let's go over the new in-house budget proposals…"

As she passed by Jerry who was waiting patiently by the door, he winked to her and murmured, "Now that's what I call being HBIC, girlfriend."

Damn straight.

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"Congratulations again, Mayor Queen," the manager of the restaurant said with a grin and a wink as he stopped by their table to check on them.

"I'm not mayor yet," Oliver told him, his lips lifting at the corners slightly.

"Yes, but now that you've announced you're considering running, I'm sure you'll be a shoe-in," the other man said confidently. "I, for one, can't wait to vote for you."

"Well, I appreciate that," he said with another smile.

As a surprise, Oliver arranged for them to fly back to Starling on the company helicopter so they could check on the progress of their new HQ as well as enjoy dinner at their favorite Italian place. He even packed their bags, roped Jerry into cancelling all her meetings the next day, and arranged for them to stay at the Marchioness overnight so they could tour their new digs in the day time.

They discussed buying a loft or reopening the Queen mansion but, in the end, Felicity suggested turning the top floor of Queen Inc into their living quarters. She actually got the idea from Malcolm Merlyn (although she'd never admit that to Oliver) who, at one time, had a penthouse suite on the top floor of Merlyn Global. She argued that, not only would it make their work commute shorter (for both jobs) but it would explain why they spent so much time there after hours. To her surprise, Oliver agreed without an argument and, tomorrow, they would be meeting with the decorators so that their new home would be move in ready before the building officially opened.

Plus, as Oliver pointed out, having an empty building all to themselves for a couple of weeks meant they could christen their new offices in style.

"I want you to know that dessert is on the house," the manager said, waving over their waiter who had a tray laden with large slice of Torta Mimosa along with a to go box Felicity knew from experience contained Mario's famous cannoli, "I'll leave you to it. Buon appetito!"

"Thank you," Felicity said, echoing Oliver as the dessert was placed between them, "Yum!" she said giddily as she reached for it only to have Oliver move the plate away. She gripped her fork and gave him a look of dangerous intent, "Oliver, I swear to God, if you even try to-!"

"I'm not going to stop you from having dessert, Felicity; I just wanted to take a second to tell you how proud of you I was today and how much I love you," he said with a look of amusement.

"Great! Yay! Me, too," she said, pulling the plate closer and cutting into it with her fork before humming in pleasure as the taste of honey and vanilla erupted over her taste buds, "Oh my God!"

"Good, huh?" he chuckled as he took a bite himself.

"So good," she moaned.

"I'm glad," he grinned.

"You know, whenever we come here I usually get the tiramisu but now I can definitely see why you always order this instead," she told him as she licked some custard filling off her finger. "This is delicious."

"Why didn't you order the tiramisu?" he asked curiously.

She gave him a disgruntled look, "I thought about it but lately my taste buds have been off when it comes to coffee and there's a lot of cappuccino in it…"

"Huh?" he said noncommittally as he continued to dig into his side of the cake.

"I mean, it's weird," she said looking at her untouched coffee a bit disgruntledly. She hadn't been able to bring herself to try it yet even though she was desperate for caffeine at that point. "I think I might have a brain tumor."

"You don't have a brain tumor," he said with a snort.

"I might," she said before shoveling another huge bite of vanilla sponge cake into her mouth. "I mean, all the symptoms are there."

"What symptoms?" he scoffed before narrowing his eyes at her, "Have you been looking at WebMD again?"

"Maybe…" she said evasively. He sighed and she hastened to add, "Just listen though! I've been having headaches, I've been sleeping a lot more—"

"It's called being tired and actually getting to sleep at night for a change," he interjected dryly.

She ignored him, "—the coffee tastes all watery and off for some reason, plus I've been really cranky lately."

"I'm not saying a word," he smirked.

"That's not funny," she said with a pout. "Seriously though, I think I should make a doctor's appointment."

"Maybe you're pregnant," he grinned around his fork.

"Now that's really not funny," she said wryly.

"Well, we want kids, right?" he pointed out. "If you got pregnant now would that really be that big of a deal?"

"Uh, yeah…" she said roundly.

He shrugged, "Why?"

"We're not getting married until May for one and it's only November."

He arched an eyebrow at that, "Felicity, you know people can have babies without being married first, right?"

She gave him a withering look, "I realize that Oliver but when we have kids I want to be married to you, okay? Maybe it's horribly old fashioned, and I know better than anyone that just because two people are married it doesn't mean their kids are better off. I mean, my parents were married and my dad abandoned us and your parents—"

"Cheated on each other left and right," he supplied ruefully.

"Exactly," she agreed, "but I always thought that when I had kids that I wanted to give them the childhood I never had. One with a mom and a dad who lived together and shared the same last name, along with a tire swing, and a big back yard with a white picket fence."

He gave her a look, "You do realize we're moving into a skyscraper though, right?"

"I know that," she said rolling her eyes at him, "Still, it's the thought behind it that matters. I realize that we'll never have that traditional nuclear family life but that doesn't mean we have to chuck the whole thing, and I want to be married to you."

"I do, too," he said softly, a gentle smile playing around his mouth as he took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb along the delicate veins of her hand. "But if you are pregnant—"

"I'm not," she said firmly.

"But if you were then we could just head down to city hall and do it there?" he grinned.

"You just want to get out of being roped into the big production your sister has planned for us," she said scathingly.

"Yup," he admitted without hesitation.

"Deal," she said with a sigh. "However, I'm telling you it's not that; it's a brain tumor."

"Stop talking about brain tumors," he chastised before loading up his fork with custard-y goodness and presenting it to her, "Now open."

She closed her lips around his fork obediently and hummed again, "Oh man, I'm in sugar Nirvana right now. I'm so happy I can almost forgive you for replacing my favorite cereal with steel wool and twigs this morning."

"It's the same thing as Mini-Wheats only with less crap weighing it down," he argued with an amused look. "Besides, you've earned it. Even though you argued with me about this new diet, you stuck to it and I'm proud of you."

She gave him a guilty look, "To be honest, I would've cheated if I could've but…"

"But?" he asked curiously.

"It's just—it's weird," she said shaking her head. "Like this morning, I stopped by the coffee shop near our house—"

He frowned at her, "Felicity…"

"I know," she said flushing, "but it doesn't matter because the second I pulled up to the window, the guy said they couldn't serve me because the registers were down. I even broke down and tried going across the street to Starbucks but they said the same thing." She shook her head in disbelief, "It's almost as if someone was conspiring against me. But that's crazy, right?"

Oliver gave her an odd look, "Yeah, that's…" he nodded before picking up his cup and taking a sip.

She looked at her own cup and glowered before picking it up, "I think the universe is trying to send me a message or something. In fact, I'm almost afraid to even…" she took a sip of the coffee, expecting to be rewarded with the same strange watered down taste she'd been plagued with for the last week or so, when the rich mocha decadence of Colombian gold hit her palate and sent lightning zinging down her spine, "Oh, thank God!"

"What?" he laughed.

"I don't have a brain tumor after all," she told him as she took another sip and shivered in pleasure.

"Good coffee, huh?" he said shaking his head in bemusement.

"So good," she agreed. "For a minute there I was afraid that I was never going to be able to enjoy coffee ever again." She swallowed deeply, practically gulping it down.

"You're going to burn your mouth if you don't watch it," he warned her.

"I don't care," she said finishing the cup and waving over their waiter, "The pain is worth it." When their waiter came over she asked, "Hey, can I get another cup of coffee? Or a…pot, maybe?"

"She'll have a *cup* of coffee," Oliver interjected wryly.

"Certainly, ma'am," the young man said with a smile.

"Oh, and what brand do you guys use?" she asked curiously before he moved away.

"Oh, um, Green Mountain," he told her.

She blinked in surprise, "Huh."

"Is something wrong, ma'am?" he asked in concern.

"No, no," she assured him with a confused look, "It's just that we use that blend at home and it doesn't taste anything like this. Maybe there's something wrong with our water or maybe it's the coffee pot."

Or a tumor that somehow spontaneously comes and goes like magic?

The boy blanched and looked towards Oliver in apology, "I'm so sorry, sir. I must've mixed your coffee up with the decaf you ordered for your wife. I'll be sure to get you both fresh cups immediately," he said before hurrying away.

"Decaf?" Felicity mouthed slowly before turning to Oliver who winced. "You ordered me decaf?"

"Well, it is getting kind of late, so I thought…" he began.

"How long have I been drinking decaf, Oliver?" she bit out with a hard look.

He opened his mouth a couple of times helplessly before admitting, "A week? Maybe a little more."

"A week…" she repeated in low, dangerous tones, "And at the office? That was decaf, too?"

He nodded reluctantly, "Yeah."

"And the coffee shop by the house?" she demanded.

"I spoke to the managers and had them hang a picture of you next to the drive thru window so they wouldn't serve you," he confessed sheepishly.

"Oliver Queen," she growled, "You have failed this fiancée."

"You're the one who said she was worried about her health," he reminded her. "After I told you what Wells said about me living to be eighty-six, you said you wanted to make sure we got to grow old together, remember?"

"Yes, I remember," she said tightly. "However, I never said anything about wanting to go off caffeine cold turkey or that you should do all this other crap behind my back!"

"Or…" he said leadingly, "you could look at it another way."

"And what way is that?" she asked, noting that he'd surreptitiously moved all of her sharp and pointy silverware to his side of the table.

"The fact that you've obviously been going through caffeine withdrawal means that your coffee intake was way too excessive," he pointed out. "Plus, since you stopped drinking so much caffeine and lowered your sugar consumption you've been sleeping better—"

"That's because I'm exhausted all the time from a lack of caffeine and sugar!" she hissed at him.

"And you'd still be exhausted if I hadn't been sneaking you decaf, the only difference is you wouldn't know it," he said smugly.

She leaned forward in her chair and stared daggers at him, "As soon as we get to the hotel, I'm placing a call to Cisco and having him make you a new hood." As he began to argue with her she held up her hand, effectively cutting off whatever he had to say, "And when we get back to Starling fulltime, you're going to start being the Arrow again—"

"But I can't be the Arrow anymore, remember?" he whispered pointedly.

"Then call yourself the 'Bow Guy' then or 'Mr. Leather Pants'. Hell, call yourself 'Green Arrow' for all I care—"

"'Green Arrow'," he snorted derisively.

"Like I said, I don't care," she told him, "but you are going back out there so you can start saving people again—people that aren't me!" she snarled through gritted teeth, "But if you ever mess with my coffee again, I swear to God, you'll wish you'd stayed in Nanda Parbat because I will hurt you, understood?"

"I was just trying to help," he said with a slight smirk.

"Yeah, well, congratulations on that epic fail, pal; now knock it off!" she said, eyes flashing angrily.

"Yes, ma'am," he said getting up slightly so he could lean across the table to kiss her cheek. "I promise I won't mess with your coffee ever again. I was just worried about you, that's all." He sat back down and picked up her hand so he could kiss her knuckles gently, "I just wanted to make sure that I got to spend the next fifty-six years or so next to you."

She found herself melting a little at that.

Damn the man.

"Yeah, well, mess with my coffee again and you'll be lucky to survive the next fifty-six seconds, mister," she grumbled.

"Noted," he said as he played with her fingers again, "I love you."

"I love you, too," she said gruffly. "And I…promise to cut down on the caffeine a little," she added reluctantly.

"Good," he nodded, with a hint of a smile.

"And maybe I can cut down a little on the sugar, too," she said grudgingly. At his surprised look she sighed, "I have noticed that since we cut down on the junk my clothes are fitting a little looser. I mean, my thighs are still jiggly and my butt—" she made an unhappy noise, "Don't even get me started on my butt."

"Your butt is fine," he told her. At her dubious expression he gave her a sharp look, "I love your butt, your butt is magnificent."

"My butt is huge," she pouted, picking at the cake.

"Your butt is the most beautiful butt that has ever existed," he argued. "I used to go home and dream of that butt after we first met."

"Really?" she asked shyly.

"Oh yeah," he said with a twinkle, "That and your lips. The things I imagined you doing with those lips of yours…" he gave her a leering grin.

"Perv," she said with a slight smile, "But what about this diet you've been—"

"Hold up," Oliver said stopping her, "you're the one who wanted to start eating better, remember?" he reminded her. "I never said anything about your weight or how you looked; I just agreed that cutting down on all the salt and sugar was a good idea health wise. In fact, I wouldn't care if you gained weight; all a few more pounds would mean is that there's more of you to love."

"Right," she said dryly.

"No, it's true," he told her. "And, not only that, but I can't wait for you to get fat. In fact, I want you to get as big as a house," he said with a slow grin. "Preferably with a great big pot belly that kicks me in the middle of the night and makes you crave stuff like pickles and ice cream."

"I think the pickles and ice cream thing is a myth," she said wrinkling her nose in distaste as a blush warmed her cheeks.

"We'll just have to see, now won't we?" he said with a wink as he brushed her knuckles with his lips once more.

She bit her lip, her anger already leaving her, "You are so annoying, you know that? You make it so hard to stay mad at you."

"All part of my charm," he smirked.

"Yeah, well, I personally think my improved mood is due more from the endorphin rush caused by the caffeine and sugar than your dubious charms but you keep on believing that if it makes you happy," she shot back.

After that they fell into an easy conversation as they finished the cake together. He even caved in and let her dig into the cannoli's but put his foot down when she suggested ordering an entire tiramisu to take with them. However, that was okay. They were together and happy, and soon they'd be headed back to the city they called home permanently.

Turns out, the domesticated life wasn't that bad after all.

…well, provided there was plenty of coffee and cake involved.

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From across the street in a dark alley, the man lowered the binoculars hanging around his neck before reaching into his pocket for his phone.

/Hoben,/ the voice on the other end of the line greeted.

"Mr. Hoben, it's Dr. Woodrue again. I just wanted—" he began.

/Doctor,/ Hoben said with an irritated sigh, /I already told you that I can't represent you in this matter. If you want to sue Palmer Tech then you'll have to do like I did and find a civil attorney./ He paused to grumble, /If you can find one willing to take your case, that is./

"No, I've given up on the idea of suing Miss Smoak," he said, his voice steeped in hatred. "Besides, as you warned me, all three attorneys I spoke to advised me that I didn't have a case. Miss Smoak was very clever in how she worded the severance package she had drawn up. According to them if I try to sue then all of my work will be forfeited to Palmer Tech and I will be forced to adhere to the non-compete clause I signed prior to my employment."

/Well, I'm sorry about that but at least you came away with something,/ the other man said bitterly. /I, on the other hand, am looking at multiple lawsuits as well as possible criminal charges so, if you don't mind-/

"But what if you could get your revenge, Mr. Hoben?" Woodrue asked carefully. "In fact, what if I told you that I could make sure that, not only would Miss Smoak pay for what she's done to both of us, but that you would never have to worry about lawsuits or anything else ever again?"

/What are you talking about?/

"My formula, Mr. Hoben," he said eagerly. "Without realizing it, Miss Smoak gave me the incentive I needed to finally make it work and the results are…" he exhaled, "unexpected to say the least."

/What?/

"The fluorination hybridization process," he explained. "I finally realized what the problem was. See, I was using white mice when I should have been doing *human* trials this entire time!"

/Are you nuts?/ the other man burst out incredulously.

"Far from it," he assured him. "In fact, I've already been through the process myself with no ill effects."

/Are you telling me you experimented on yourself?/ Hoben said in disbelief.

"Yes," he confirmed, "And I would like to invite you to join me as we share in our mutual cause to bring down both Felicity Smoak and her company."

/Okay, I'm hanging up now,/ the other man said firmly. /Don't call back and, do yourself a favor, Doctor; get help./

"Mr. Hoben?" Woodrue asked with a frown as the other man clicked off. "Oh well," he breathed. "I suppose I'll just have to recruit others to my cause then."

At that moment a horrible grinding pain erupted in his gut and he bent over double, his phone clattering to the ground.

Woodrue opened his mouth then and began to howl in agony as his skin cracked and his flesh began to harden.

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"What the hell was that?"

A small group of teenagers stopped to look down the alley as the unnatural sound filled the air. In the dim light of the street lamps a hunched figure staggered from the shadows.

"Hey, are you okay, mister?" one of the boys asked.

"Maybe we should call an ambulance?" one of the girls said as she looked at the shadowy figure nervously.

One of the other boys in their group snorted in derision, "Naw, it's just some drunk guy who probably passed out behind the dumpsters or something. Let's go," he said, pulling her along.

"Are you guys coming?" she asked reluctantly as two of their friends continued down the alley.

"You guys go ahead, I just want to make sure this guy is okay," the first boy said waving them along.

"Whatever," the punk with his arm around the girl said rolling his eyes, "Let's go."

"Hey, mister, do you need us to call somebody? An ambulance maybe?" the dark skinned boy asked as his friend approached as well.

"Yes," he hissed lowly. "Yes, I need help."

"I'm calling 9-1-1," the other boy said as he dug into his pocket for his phone only to yelp as a thick vine shot out and wrapped itself around his arm and throat.

"What the-?!" the other boy screamed before the vines wrapped around him as well.

The boys clawed at the thick vines as the horrible visage of what was once Jason Woodrue stepped into the light.

If the boys could've screamed, they would have. Instead all they could do is make muffled noises of pain as thick spiny thorns dripping with toxin cut into their carotids, injecting them with venom.

Woodrue gazed down at them, his bark-like skin pulling tight as he smiled. He squeezed his vine-like appendages around them and made soothing noises, "It's alright," he told them, "The pain will be over soon and then you'll both join my Brotherhood of Trees," he promised.

He gazed back across the street at where Felicity Smoak and her fiancé sat laughing.

Laughing at him, undoubtedly.

Well, that was alright, he reasoned. Let them because soon it would be him who was laughing as he destroyed both her and her company before ridding the earth of the rest of the vermin known as mankind.

"We will create more soldiers for our army," he told the boys as they began to convulse, their skin turning to bark before his eyes, "You and I together. We will plant a forest of our brothers in the center of this city and, when we're done, the entire world will be ours for the taking. We will rid this world of the diseases that plague it and create a new paradise instead."

As he laughed a wind blew through the street, rustling the leaves on the few trees that still existed in this pollution infected wasteland of asphalt and skyscrapers. It was as though they could sense that he'd come to liberate them from the concrete and smog that choked them.

Because he had.

But not until after he'd had his revenge first.

Author's Note:

First off, I know it's been a long time but I am working on Still Waters. After 3500 pages though, I needed to recharge for a while. However, I am writing on the next chapter and I'm over 50 pages in if that makes you feel a little better. As for this little one-shot (and yes, it is a one-shot despite the MUAH-HA-HA ending) I needed a happy to keep me going and to perk up the little gray cells.

As for the characters, I figured that since Felicity was taking on Ray's company, she should also take on his comic.

Gardner Fox, Julius Schwartz, and Al Pratt were the original writers and artists of The Atom comics and Adam Cray was the successor to Ray Palmer as the Atom. Paul Hoben was the lawyer Ray's wife, Jean Loring, had an affair with and eventually married. Apparently she and Paul were unhappy because she wound up leaving him as well and became obsessed with getting Ray back.

It was a crazy storyline involving her shrinking down and giving one of the other JLA wives a stroke. Don't ask.

Anyway, I always thought that was a pretty sleazy move so I wanted to get a little revenge for Ray. As for Jason Woodrue, he's a real Atom villain who goes by a lot of different names including Fluorination Man, Flor, and the Seeder. He's a half-tree, half-man mad scientist whose responsible for the creation of Swamp Thing as well as Pamela Isley aka Poison Ivy. I thought, hey, since the show is looking for some B-List villains with a connection to Batman, there you go.

In any case, hope you enjoyed it and, yes, I'm going back to writing Still Waters now. ;p