A/N: Tag to episode 1x09, Years End - before Walter is discovered missing.
For the past half hour Oliver has been watching a daytime talk show with the volume low enough he can barely hear it, not particularly caring what they're saying as he stares at the screen. It's a way to pass time while he's holed up in a room that smells strongly of disinfectant and makes him itch to be free, either at home resting in his own bed, or at the foundry, doing something else with his time besides being injured. The reality of the situation has him grounded in a hospital bed, though, ribs broken, bruises covering him, his entire body protesting even the barest of movements.
At some point, he's stopped actually seeing what's on the TV screen, stopped seeing the men and women sitting on plush chairs in front of a live audience. It's not until the door opens that he realizes he's zoned out almost completely. Thea's head peeking into the room captures his attention, surprises him, because she'd just been to see him earlier that morning. Oliver smiles at her, regretting it the moment his face hurts - jaw especially - when he does. She either doesn't notice, or is very good at acting like she doesn't, and bounds into the room when she sees he's awake, a large and colourful bag hanging from her arm.
"You've got to stop getting hurt," Thea says, holding the bag up, "Your fans get very concerned every time you do."
Oliver groans, because this isn't an improvement to his day.
Thea takes a seat beside him, grins, and pulls out a handful of cards, "Let's see if any of these names sound like they belong your soulmate, Ollie." She raises an eyebrow at him, waits for him to respond, and when he doesn't, begins reading off names from the envelopes, "Michelle Bowens, Kathleen Smith, James Whitaker, Alice White, Andrea Hargrave, Debbie Ayala, Wade Cabrera, Edie Janousek, Cynthia McGrath, Felicity Smoak, Lori McBride, Tara Killinger, Steve Hagen -"
"Wait, back up a few," Oliver says suddenly, once the name registers. "Felicity Smoak?"
Thea shoots him a curious look, a questioning one, before shuffling back to the bright yellow envelope and holding it up.
"Yeah? She a friend of yours?"
There's a moment where Oliver hesitates, unsure how to answer the question. Felicity isn't his friend, not really. But then, isn't she? Despite never having seen or talked to her outside the IT department - his initial surveillance of her doesn't count - and his needing her help, he knows he can trust her, wouldn't be going to her for information if he felt he couldn't.
"She's a friend," Oliver finally confirms, holding his hand out for the card.
A card that, when he opens it, bears a panda holding glittery flowers with the words 'please get well' above. It's so very Felicity Smoak he can't help but smile, which earns him another look from Thea he chooses to ignore.
"I thought you were Jewish."
The last thing Felicity expected to hear when she came into work today was that voice again, and so soon. Especially considering the extent of his injuries following his accident. Glancing up, she sees Oliver Queen standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the antlers she's wearing. Her small attempt at being festive in an environment that's entirely devoid of anything festive at all. Jewish or not, she can still appreciate the holiday season in a general way, and she's always had a soft spot for Santa's reindeer, particularly Dasher. Though she never could pinpoint why.
"Reindeer are not exclusively Christian," she points out. "But I doubt that's what you came here to discuss."
"No, it's not," he admits, finally settling his gaze somewhere other than the ridiculous antlers she's now somewhat embarrassed she wore to work today.
Their eyes meet, Felicity holding his gaze for several beats of her heart - quickened beats - before looking away, back at her computer screen under the pretense she's actually going to continue her work. He's had this same effect on her since the first day he walked into the IT department, depositing a bullet hole ridden laptop into her hands she was supposed to believe had coffee spilled on it. Maybe it was the ridiculousness of the lie that had intrigued her, paired with his face, his entire being really - a combination of things that had made it so she'd thought about him long after he'd left. Made it so each time he's come, she's continued to think about him after he's long gone.
"What can I do to help you, Mr. Queen?"
A flash of annoyance crosses his face at the final two words and Felicity recalls their first conversation, his insistence she needn't call him that. As much as she'd like to be on such a personal level with him, to feel comfortable letting Oliver slip off her tongue like they're old friends, Mr. Queen puts a certain level of professionalism between them she needs. Reminds her his name is also the name of the company she's employed by. That his step-father is her boss, that he could possibly be her boss someday.
"The card," he says, stepping forward, voice breaking into her thoughts. "I got the get well card."
"Oh, that. That was weird, right? I shouldn't have sent it. But then I saw on the news you'd been in that accident and I - It was an impulse decision," Felicity trails off.
"No, it was nice. Unexpected, but nice. I came to say thank you," his upper body leans forward ever so slightly and winces, reminding her he's still injured.
Injuries that, when Felicity studies them - the scrapes on the side of his neck near his ear and along his jaw, the bruises on the other side at his throat, and around the cut above his eyebrow - don't seem thoroughly consistent with a motorcycle accident involving a helmet. More like a brawl if the medical report she may or may not have stolen from the hospital's server is any indication. And maybe she did some checking to see if she could find the other vehicle, too, but came up with nothing. But then, she's not exactly a medical professional, even if there is something off to the story for her. Another mystery to be filed away with laptops covered in bullet holes.
Which therein lies the problem, because Felicity has always hated mysteries.
"Was there a reason you came all the way to the IT department at Queen Consolidated to thank me when you look like you should still be in a hospital?" she asks, wanting to fill the silence with something other than her continued studying of his injuries and her wondering what else may have caused them. "I mean, not that I'm not flattered - which I'm not flattered, by the way, because there's no reason to be flattered - but there are phones."
Talking probably wasn't the wisest decision, in retrospect. Or maybe it was, considering there's the faintest hint of a smile on his annoyingly attractive face.
"You're right, I could have called to thank you," he says slowly, as if weighing the words before he speaks. "But it seemed like the kind of thing I should say in person. And not just for the card, for everything, Felicity."
The way he says her name makes her cheeks warm, and she wishes it was darker in the room so he won't see her blush as she quickly looks away. He was the last person she expected to see when she came into work that day, but she can't say she minds the surprise. Even if she has to remind herself it's just a thank you, that the butterflies she's feeling are insignificant, because he's simply being nice. Expressing his gratitude at her having helped him, for caring that he got hurt. Nothing more.