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Felicity got exactly one day off a week. (And that's only if she was lucky and the IT department didn't have a total meltdown in her absence because someone decided it'd be a good idea to click the link in the spam folder. For one of the most smartest, most innovative companies, Queen Consolidated sure had some of the dumbest employees.) Anyways, on her once-a-week free days, Felicity would take the time to pamper herself from head-to-toe before going to see whatever new movie was showing. Last week it'd been a rom-com (She cried. She always cried during those things) so, this week she was watching the latest action movie (a superhero movie with more abs then Miami during spring break) as an appropriate change of pace.

The best part about going midweek was the lack of lines and crowds. This meant no crying toddlers, rowdy teens, or cranky old people. This also meant the small auditorium was relatively empty and she was free to sit anywhere she'd like (3/4 of the way up, smack dab in the middle with at least 4 empty seats on all sides of her) and put her feet up on the seat in front of her.

Yes, all was going well until the trailers started showing and two (loud, idiotic, rude, unmannered) men walked in. (She used men in the loosest terminology as in, they looked a few years older and were physically male, but inside she's sure they stopped aging after the ripe age of 16. Maybe 17.) They were both cute (read: tall, well-built, nice faces, and even nicer butts) and while that might make her forgive them for their rowdiness at maybe a bar it wasn't enough for her to forgive them for interrupting her movie on her one day off. She hoped they would find someplace to sit (far away from her) and that would be the end of it. But as her (bad) luck would have it, they managed to sit right behind her and still kept on yapping about some ridiculous party that was happening this weekend. When they hadn't stopped talking by the time the movie itself had started, Felicity decided she'd had enough and it was better to nip this little problem in the bud.

So, Felicity turned in her seat and looked up at the two troublemakers, (for a moment she was distracted by just how cute the two were. Talking animatedly with pearly whites flashing in bright smiles. One was all dark-hair-dark-eyes, while the other had a shorter almost buzzed haircut, and lighter eyes. Pretty eyes.) Before getting too distracted she was able to get rid of those thoughts and clear her throat to get their attention, "Do you guys mind? Some people are actually trying to watch the movie. If you wanna keep on with that incessant talking, move it to the lobby. Please."

For their part, the two only stared at her while she spoke. Eyes wide and jaws opened. They probably weren't used to being told what to do and she wasn't giving any chance to response and she flopped back around in her seat, just in time to see the bad guy break into a bank vault. She was blessed with sweet silence for a few more minutes before she heard them start again with whispers and this time she just knew they were talking about her.

That blonde ... natural? ... glasses ... maybe she's just pmsing?

Okay. So that last one ruffled her feathers quite a bit. Just cause she dared ask for quiet during a movie? That she paid for? Ugh. (And she totally wasn't pmsing, by the way.)

She turned back around and fixed them with what Jason-The-Security-Guard called her 'scary glare', "Listen here you two. You're not exactly subtle nor quiet. So I can hear pretty much every word coming out of those pretty little thousand dollar mouths. Whether my hair is natural is none of your business. No, I don't care that the glasses make me look nerdy. I am nerdy. I love nerdy things, obviously, I'm trying to watch a superhero movie. And no, I'm not pmsing. I just happen to want to enjoy this $10 movie. So, if you could please stop talking during the movie I'm trying to watch, that would be lovely, dickwards." And with a quick flip of her middle finger she sat back down and tried to concentrate on the movie.

Emphasis on tried. Because, as soon as she managed to settle down she was greeted by two men landing in the seats beside her (she definitely caught a glimpse of abs on the short haired one and for a moment that old song ran through her head. Hallelujah it's raining men) and immediately leaning in towards her.

"Never had a girl call me a dickward before. How 'bout you, Ollie?" Cute-Stranger-On-Her-Left addressed Cute-Stranger-Named-Ollie.

"Nope," He chuckled, reaching over and snatching some of her popcorn, "I've been called a dick plenty of times. But never dickward. I'll have to write that down somewhere."

"Glad I could give you some form of entertainment," Felicity shot out, glaring at both of them in turn. Unfortunately, it didn't quite seem to work as well this time, "However, the movie is still going on so, if you could also learn the meaning of the word silence, that'd be just lovely."

"You're just lovely," Ollie replied, tapping the tip of her nose with his knuckle (that's attached to a handful of HER popcorn, mind you).

"Wow, bet you say that to all the girls," Felicity gave him her best I-See-Through-Your-Bologna stare (complete with head tilt). She turned back to face the movie and tried her best to ignore the two. Not that they make it easy since they're now literally continuing their conversation (the one about the party, not the one about her, thankfully) from before. Only, this time it's literally across her lap and darn it if it doesn't annoy her that they're acting like she's just some pretty-fancy-nerdy-popcorn-holder.

"Tell you what," Ollie says, smiling in a way that's so cheesy it belongs on a blue box, "You and I can ditch this dump and we can fly down to Rio and watch this movie there. Only with some alcohol and warm beaches. And less clothes, definitely less clothes."

"Sorry, my passport isn't updated." She shoots back and decides to just ignore the last part of his invitation. And really, to just ignore the two's goading in general as they continue talking.

And she does pretty good for a few moments until someone a few rows in front turns around and glares at the three of them and hisses, "Do you three mind?"

"Geez," Still-Yet-To-Be-Named-Stranger mutters, "What is with people today? Every one is so damn moody."

"Maybe if you two weren't such insensitive jerks people wouldn't be so upset." She snatches her popcorn away from Ollie as he goes in for another handful (and dammit if the bag isn't almost half gone. She knew she should have gone with the large, but she hardly ever eats the bag so she decided to save some money and just go with the medium. But, now she was gonna miss out on that free refill which she apparently needs) and continues, "You do realize that there is a special place in hell reserved for people who talk in theaters, right?"

"Ouch. Hell. That's a little harsh," Ollie says, "If only I actually cared. Right, Tommy?" (cue stereotypical white male macho high-five behind her head.)

And really, from there, Felicity has a weird sort of out of body experience. All she knows is that she's angry at how he thinks he can just charm his way into her pants (Really? A weekend getaway? Who did he think he was? And who even takes part in a macho high five anymore? Over-macho frat boys named Ollie do, apparently) and out of her bad side. She likes to think that she's not a very violent person but even she has a limit.

Apparently rich playboys are a part of said limit because the next thing she knows, she's picking up her Pepsi and dumping on Ollie's head. (Who even wants to be called Ollie? It sounded so up-tight and prissy.)

He sputters for a few seconds and behind her, Felicity can hear Tommy choking up with laughter. Rather than wait for him to respond, she simply stands and goes to leave, pushing past Tommy's legs to do so, "You know you two could be ten times more successful with the ladies if you weren't such jerks."

"Wait," Ollie called out as she walked down the aisle, "I never got your name!"

"Or your number," Tommy adds.

Felicity chuckles, glad that at least in this she'd get the last word, "And I guess you never will." And with that she turned around and left the two in the darkened movie theater.

By the next morning, she's done her best to push yesterday's movie mishaps to the back of her mind. (And her best to forget about pretty eyes and cute butts and nice abs because all of that's not cool when it's attached to a jerk who ruined her one-day-off.) Because, really how important in the grand scheme of things is it? Is he? No one named Ollie should have any control on any part of her life. She refused to over-think about someone who's name was more suited for a dog than a person.

She was not successful in the least (she kept seeing things that reminded her of them and good god she'd had dreams.)By the next week, she'd managed to push it back fairly well. She figured she'd probably never see the two ever again (and avoid them if they ever did cross her line of sight) so, there was no reason to allow him (them, she definitely said them and not him cause she definitely wasn't thinking about that face again) to cloud her mind anymore.

Felicity gave herself a self-assured nod in the mirror, smiling as she fixed the collar on her pink button-up shirt. She'd always found that once she made a choice the rest sort of fell into place and she felt much calmer about everything. Making the choice was the hard part, following through was ten times easier.

Okay. So, as it turns out following through with this particular choice was going to be a little harder than she imagined. She'd done good all morning (mostly thanks to the fact that someone somewhere in the building had decided it'd be a good idea to try to fix their computer themselves and had someone managed to download a stupid virus onto the entire server) and hadn't thought of either man all day. But that all ended when she heard two words, "Felicity Smoak?"

At first she'd thought she'd imagined it, the familiar voice. Thought maybe she'd lost it and the voice that had been in her head all week was finally manifesting itself in hallucinations. But then she'd turned and looked and there he was (this time one wingman short) standing in her door way.

"Hi," He takes a step closer towards her and she's see a thin silver laptop in his hand, "I'm Oliver Queen."

For a moment she thinks maybe he doesn't remember her (not sure whether that should make her happy or sad) but then the next words out of his mouth are, "And may I just say it's good to finally be able to put a name to such a pretty face," and she just knows this meeting is not gonna go well.

"Yeah," She starts lamely only to realize just how lame that sounds before going into one of her office-famous rambles, "You know I didn't think I'd actually see your pretty face, again. Uh, not that I think you're face is, like, girly-pretty. More boy-pretty. Ugh, handsome-pretty. Handsome? Yeah, just handsome. Not that I'm sure I need to tell you that, you probably hear that all the time. And not that I care. I'm too mad at you for the whole talking-during-a-movie thing. You owe me a movie, by the way. It's the fair thing to do."

He looks taken aback by the babble, before finally settling in on an amused smile, "I'll put it on my tab."

Felicity nods, and then something finally clicks and she realizes what is last name is, "Wait. Did you say Oliver Queen? As in Queen Consolidated?! As in you could totally have me fired for pouring that drink on you?" She slaps a hand to her forehead. These kinds of things always come back to bite her in the tush. Seriously.

The smile turns into a chuckle this time, "I'm not gonna have you fired for pouring a drink on me. I was being a jerk." He steps towards her and holds out the laptop, "Anyways, I was surfing the web and I accidently spilled my latte on my computer. Is there anyway you could recover the files?"

"Well, that is my job," She chuckles, and points at her ID, "See, it says right there. 'Felicity Smoak. I.T. Department.' Which is apt considering I do most of the work down here. Not to talk bad about anyone else here. It's just that I'm more knowledgeable about computers than most of them combined, including my so called boss," (Oh god, she just did air quotes. Could this get anymore embarrassing?) "And lord knows, I spend most of my time down here anyways. Haven't had a date in months. Ugh. Wait. You didn't need to know that," (Apparently it can get more embarrassing), "But anyways. Yes. If you need data recovered, I'm your girl. Well, I.T. girl, at least."

Thankfully, he doesn't comment on her word-vomit and instead sets the laptop on her desk, a smile still playing on his face, "Well it's a good thing I chose you, huh?"

She smiles and nods before connecting the laptop to her main computer to start all the file transfers. Luckily he doesn't have a password (Or any kind of protection. Someone should really inform him about the dangers of not protecting your electronics before he becomes a victim to identity theft or someone just sells the pictures on it to TMZ. To be honest, she's not sure which one would be more likely to happen to a Queen.)

"TMZ," he says and Felicity jumps a solid three feet in the air.

"Whoa baby," She jerks her head to look at him, "I thought you left." In her defense, most of the time when one of the upper levels has a problem they either leave the device with her or (more likely) make her trek up the 10+ levels to work on it in their offices while they went for lunch. Oliver Queen, on the other hand, had taken it upon himself to sit beside her in her extra roller-chair.

"No," He shakes his head, "Still here."

"Of course," She shakes her head and gets back to work. A few more lines of code later, she manages to get all of his data saved to a backup drive. She turns and hands it to him, surprised to see how quiet he's been compared to how he was at the movie theater, "Here ya go, Ollie."

"Uh," He takes the drive from her hands, "Thank you. And uh, just Oliver is fine."

She nods, "Is that it then? No invitation to faraway islands or proclamations about how you can rock my world?"

Oliver shakes his head, and looks towards the ground, "Uh no, I, uh, remembered what you said about not being a jerk. You know, after you poured the drink on me."

"And how's that going for you?" Felicity asks.

"Well, we're not on a date yet, so," Oliver shrugs.

Felicity shakes here head, "I'm afraid it takes a little bit more than that for me to agree to a date. Maybe if you also happen to have a wrapped present with you?"

He shakes his head, "Maybe next time."

"Yeah, maybe."

They share one more smile, though his is half a grimace and then once more he's out the door and out of her life.

The next time she see's him, it's only for a brief moment. He's leaving the building as she's coming back from lunch and for half a moment Felicity thinks Oliver won't acknowledge her. But, then he steps toward her, sweeping her away from the elevator and crowd, and smiles down at her. A smile that Felicity just can't seem to help returning.

"Still no present?" She jokes.

"Funny," Oliver chuckles, "I was actually just looking for you but they said you'd gone to lunch already."

She nods, "Yeah, it was my lunch break so I went to … uh, lunch? But it's almost over and I need to clock back in so I don't get in trouble."

"Yeah," Oliver smiles and let her arm go, "I'll see you around."

"Only if that computer gives you more problems," She jokes, "Then I'm your girl."

"That you are," He replies as the elevators open back up. He sends her another smile, his eyes playing with amusement.

"Later," She calls out and he opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, the doors slide close and separate them.

When she gets back to her desk, there's a small box with a bright pink ribbon attached to the top. Felicity picks it up and pulls the bow loose, biting her lip as she wonders whether or not she should open the gift. Finally though, it's the smile he gave her last that convinces her to open the box (Cause it's not the cheesy, flirty, practiced smile he gave her at the cinema. Instead it was deeper, sincere. Something that Felicity could definitely learn to like) and take that small step forward.

Inside is a piece of paper folded around two movie tickets for a Tuesday showing (her next day off) of a new racing movie. On the piece of paper, in forest-green ink, written in what could only be Oliver Queen's handwriting (messy and curly and leaning forward like he wrote it in a rush) is a single sentence.

"I owe you a movie."