"Another day, another dollar," Felicity thought with a sigh.

She shoved her chair under the desk, pulled open her bottom drawer and removed her purse, and took a last glance around the office. Making her way to the door, she flipped the bank of light switches into the off position, and headed to the elevator.

The little numbers above the doors blinked downward from the 32nd floor, toward the second level of the parking garage, where her car was parked. 31 30 29 Not even the CEO's assistant got to park closer to the offices than that. 28 27 26 Third level—just below the first floor and lobby—was for senior executives and visitors only. 25 24 23 At least she'd moved up in the world, even if it wasn't much.

Of course, moving up wasn't all it was cracked up to be. 22 21 20 In truth, when she was on the second floor in Information Technology, she'd been much closer to a fast getaway in her little cooper than she was up in the ivory tower of Oliver's executive suite. 19 18 17

But the IT Department didn't have Oliver twenty steps away, in a glass-walled office 16 15 14 where she could ogle him with frequent surreptitious frequency, which was a heavily weighted vote in favor of the ivory tower. 13 12 11 bad!felicity

Leaning back against the stainless wall, Felicity felt its chill take the edge off the heat which had started rising up her neck at the thought of ogling her boss. Super hero. Oliver. 10 9 8 nothelping!felicity

Not that she'd had much time to ogle today—7 6 5 can we just stop using the word "ogle"? Please? Why, yes, Ms. Smoak, yes we can—Meetings, meetings, meetings. Boards, new investors, old investors, Evil Sea (Isabel) Witch. She only had herself to blame, really. She kept Oliver's calendar. 4 3 2 She'd need to schedule fewer meetings for him if she wanted more time to ogl—she paused, lines between her eyebrows as she considered a new word. Admire. That was a nice word. Platonic enough, admiring enough, calm-cool-collected enough.

1 G3 G2 ding

Admire was definitely a nice new word for what she did with-to-at Oliver Queen. She unlocked the door and climbed in, tossing her stuff on the passenger seat. Then she slipped off her shoes and added them to the pile next to her. It had been a long day. The executive assistant job sucked much more than usual without the man himself in his office to admire all day long. She'd only seen him for about twenty minutes in the morning, and then there had been nothing but texting. Which could be fun if he had time to chat, but like most things in life, Mr. Queen was better admired in person.

"Time for work," she muttered, starting the car and driving her baby out of the garage with a little more Indy500 than necessary.

Home first. To change into something more comfortable, which she didn't always do before heading to the lair, but today she felt like she deserved it, having spent the day all dressed up for nobody but the FedEx man and Isabel's sneaky, self-important assistant Lyle. Neither was the intended target of her favorite green striped skirt.

Target. Sheesh. Home to get her head on straight was more like it. Take the fangirl down a notch for the evening, Felicity.

She'd decided at the beginning—well, relatively close to the beginning—that even if she couldn't be honest about her feelings for Oliver with Oliver, she's at least be honest about them with herself. And they were, that her level-headed, really smart, look at the big picture self, was hopelessly (and she didn't use that word lightly), in love (or that one) with her boss. Super hero. Oliver. She'd managed to keep that to herself so far, in spite of her big, filter-less mouth, which was something she thanked the heavens for on a regular basis. In the grand scheme she could care less if she blathered on about, well, anything, as long as she managed to keep from blurting out that she would be more than happy to have Oliver's babies during a random conversation.

She'd parked, and that allowed her to gently bang her forehead against the steering wheel several times at that thought. bad!felicity. Retrieving her shoes, she slipped them back on, grabbed her keys and purse, and headed up to her apartment.

Black velour yoga pants, check. Most recent Doctor Who teefury purchase, check. Fuzzy socks, fuzzy sweater, office make-up off and toned-down lair make-up on. All checks. Fangirl under control. She glanced at herself in the mirror behind the front door and frowned.

Closing her eyes, she imagined Oliver's Sad Face, letting the image linger in her mind long enough to reign in the desire to back him up against one of those industrial doors in Verdant's basement and offer to get started on those babies tonight, and remember why she tortured herself with constant proximity to a man she couldn't have. He needed friends. She was his friend. And if her staying kept Sad Face to a minimum, then for right now, it would be enough and she would be okay.

AN: Been a long while since I've put up fic-I hope you like this. Cross your fingers I can keep it together and keep writing :) Short chapters to start with, and I'd tell you more, but only Felicity knows where it's all going. Obviously if I owned them, Sara would be...elsewhere. Title is from "Blushing Through" by Kirby Heyborne.