Summary: Where Felicity gets trapped in a bathroom 30,000 feet above ground and Oliver has to get her out.

Typical, out of all the times the plane had to hit a wave of particularly bad turbulence, she had to be on board and out of her seat. That's what you get for drinking two martinis and three cups of coffee.

She had no desire to fly all the way to Japan, to be honest she had no desire to fly anywhere - she loathed flying, but Oliver insisted. 'Felicity, you're my EA, it would raise a few eyebrows if you didn't show'. The plan was to meet a few investors who have been interested in some recent developments by Unidac Industries, a subsidiary of Queen Consolidated. Slowly, as if speaking to a child she told him for the hundredth time since being 'promoted' that she was more than happy to go back to her old job but his pleading puppy eyes and the promise of a vintage wine bottle from Queen Manor's wine cellar itself, silenced her protests. A decision, she now truly regretted. After excusing herself from the company of several very boring members of the team with whom she was forced to sit with, after getting a look from Isabel Rochev, which meant EAs don't sit next CEOs, a seat which the Russian soon after occupied, she headed towards the bathroom. Upon entering, she stifled a gasp; it was bigger than the one she had at home, not that she should be surprised. The elegant interior even held a flower pot.

Her hands were covered in a layer of soap with a woody scent of Moroccan Amber,Yes, she read the bottle label,when the jet's floor began shaking under her feet. God damn it.

Before she could start visualising all the possible deaths that awaited her, the plane suddenly started plunging down. Unable to keep her momentum or break her fall with the still soapy hands, her head collided with the metal corner of the nearby shower. Sprawled on the floor, she wondered if anyone would remember to feed her fish if she died. She closed her eyes, silently counting seconds to distract her mind from conjuring up morbid images of dental records and black boxes. By the time she reached number thirty two, the turbulence appeared to be easing off; Felicity made a mental note to never under any circumstance get on a plane again if she came out of this alive.

'Felicity!' came a muffled shout from behind the door. Oliver.

As she tried to find the words to tell him how glad she was to hear his voice, she was interrupted by loud pounding on the door.

'Felicity!' his voice sounded even more panicked. Apparently, she must have taken too long trying to form the right sentence.

'Yeah, I'm alright' she finally answered.

Shifting her hand to help her stand up, she propelled herself upwards only to soon return back to the original position. Black spots appeared in her line of vision, making her dizzy. 'Perfect' she muttered annoyed.

'What's happening?'

'I think I may have a little problem getting out'

Too far to reach the lock, it looked like she would be spending some time , before she could despair any further, the door swung open. He broke down the door for me. The thought left her for some reason weirdly happy or maybe it was just seeing his face again.

'Felicity, are you okay?!'

He was by her side before she could answer.

'You're bleeding', he stated as his hands brushed her temple.

'I told you I hated planes'

Now it was his turn not to answer, instead he scooped her up bridal style and carried her to the nearest seat, where he got to examine the wound more closely.

'Luckily, it's not deep.'

Despite his diagnosis, he remained seated in the seat next to her; whether it was for his own comfort or to make sure her near-death experience didn't cause any more problems, she didn't know. She rested her head on his shoulder, and seeing he made no movement to shake it off, she snuggled closed, discreetly inhaling his aftershave. Maybe after all, flights weren't that bad.