Disclaimer: I do not own Arrow, or the characters of this show, or 13 going on 30, or Tarzan and Jane. Just humble appreciation.

Author's notes: Just a brief Felicity snapshot/moment. This particular thing, of Oliver swinging Felicity about really bothered me - I just found it hilarious but also so breathtaking, and to have them do it twice in the pilot for season 2, just made me think that the show runners were really teasing us hard. This is just the recognition of that. Plus, I wanted to contribute my humble two cents to the world of Olicity. I love so many of the fics I've been reading on the site lately, and I know I'll never come that close but this little fic is part of my emotional venting process. Very short..?drabble do they call it? Mind stream. Less tidy.

I hope you enjoy. Thank you for reading it. Reviews as you see fit. Positive reviews more than welcome!

'Me Tarzan, You Jane…'

She spoke to herself out loud in her apartment kitchen while stirring the hot chocolate she was readying for herself.

She laughed in ridiculous frustration. She had just finished one chick flick, and was about to cozy up with another on her couch. Her mind had been on Oliver, the way it was always on Oliver lately. The chick flick only did so much to take her mind off of him, which really was not at all.

But somewhere between rising from the couch and padding over to the kitchen, she was thinking about the first time Oliver and her swung from one proverbial point A to the other proverbial point B. In the elevator shaft of the Merlyn building, it had been the most frightening thing she had ever done. But having him hold on to her, less than a hand span between their faces as he stared into her eyes, before swinging over it was all she could do herself to stay focused.

Somewhere in that moment between them, she wondered what Oliver really thought about her faux-pas. Something crossed his eyes when he looked at her, the tiniest of flashes, but was instantly shut down. Singularly focused, he said nothing, knowing that answering her words right then would lead to no successful outcome in that particular precarious position.

When she had wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, all she could think about at the time was 'don't look down', but some subliminal aspect to her sensory perception knew full well what it was like to have his strong, reliant arms hold her firmly against his sturdy, beautiful form.

She laughed to herself in frustration, because her calculating analytical mind had wondered whether the events that had come to pass after, if there was some unknown universal engineering involved in two further moments where they swung again from different A points to different B points.

Those times had been actual rescues. Maybe, she thought to herself in pure sci-fi geek fashion that the universe had altered its timeline to align itself along her hopeful wishes and perhaps even Oliver hidden's reaction to her words in the elevator shaft, that maybe it had left him wanting to hold her again in his arms 'under different circumstances' too, as she had put it, under 'entirely platonic circumstances'. Those circumstances involved holding her close and ensuring she didn't die, and precisely because of those circumstances, he couldn't help but be Oliver the hero, whose inner Tarzan came out whenever his Jane was under threat.

Having stirred her chocolate milk, she threw the spoon into the sink to wash later. Walking back with it, she set it upon the coffee table next to the already melting tub of ice-cream and snuggled both feet under the blanket she had left on the plush cushions earlier.

The other two times, the island, then the office building, when he swung her to safety, she had been both petrified and overwhelmed. The fear was for her life, but the thrill of the rescue and the swinging from one place to the other, both times, had left her breathless. She now half expected for Tarzan to make an appearance again.

She had to admit to herself, as she hit play on the DVD remote, that secretly, she wondered if Oliver loved having her in his arms, constantly swinging her from here to there, each time in the most grandest of fashions, leaving her at times with unnecessary unresolved thoughts too sexy in nature. Having her own personal Tarzan was not something everyone could say they had experienced. Oliver to her, was more than that of course, but it was his sheer manliness, almost direct and surprising ability to yield authority and strength when required to make that swift, singularly paramount decision in the face of threat that caused her to remain like a babe in his arms, willing to yield at his feet, like Jane in Tarzan's arms, this was the breathless she felt.

How were any of those rescues not indicative of his most attractive feature – his heart, his willingness to save her life, to risk his own to ensure her safety?

Felicity picked up her hot chocolate and took a sip. She exhaled a satisfying sigh at the drink, and tried to turn her attention back to the DVD at hand. She was watching 13 going on 30. Feeling somewhat sad at the 13 year old character in the film, her mind wondered back to her own childhood days. It soon went to Oliver though, and what he might have been like when he was younger.

Distracted by the blinking light on her phone, she reached across to pick it up. Another one of those Promo texts for Pizza deals. It was 9pm and one of her rare Friday nights where she was not doing any random computer related bug fixes, checks and running algorithm sequences of any sort.

Under her sofa, she pulled out her journal which she kept there at times after penning random entries. Yes, she was an IT girl, but the world's most secret and best of all hackers didn't trust recording her secret thoughts on anything technological. The advantage of a journal, was that she could write without being specific if necessary and also hide it from being located. It wasn't so much of an advantage, as it was something that 13 year old Felicity may have done, a habit she kept despite being a beautifully skilled technological queen.

Writing things down allowed a different brain, hand, mind process to unfold and be in play. It also unlocked the secrets to her heart.

The only thing she entered into it for today, were the words, 'Me Tarzan, You Jane. Thank you for saving me Oliver, for coming to my rescue.' Date and time penned in, short words but a memory marker for three rather intense events in her life where she was possessed by another for split second, entirely under platonic circumstances, of course. And she returned the journal back to the secret spot she pulled it from, placing it back into its typical home under the couch, hidden in the underlining, zipping it shut.

Possible tbc..