(a/n song is glory by jay z :) )

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"How was I suppos—ow!—supposed to know he'd bri-ahh-ng, bring a grenade?"

"Maybe because I told you he would?" It's not out of some sort of petty revenge she pulls on the tread a little harder, but it's out of some sort of petty revenge. She's not mad. She's not.

He winces, putting his hand on top of hers, mid-stitch "I'm fine, okay? Just a scratch."

"Just a scratch? I literally just almost had the pleasure of meeting you small intestines and you honestly have the guts, excuse me for that horrible pun, to tell me it was just a—"

"What the hell?"

Felicity's eyes widen as she drops her needle, freezing on the spot, "Shit." Oh no. This was really bad. Like grenade in the side, just ruined my favorite dress because my boyfriend bled all over it, I run around as a vigilante in green leather at night, bad.

"Roy." Oliver simply states, sending Felicity what must be one of his I-told-you-this-was-a-fucking-bad-idea glares, but she can't move to actually see. Fun fact: fear can actually paralyze you. He quickly makes a move to cover up his side, by holding a bandage to it, sitting up a little.

"You're the Arrow?" Roy doesn't sound appalled or angry (not even a little surprised, that little..), the only two states of emotion Felicity knows for certain exist within him, but instead seems a little… happy? That can't be right.

"No, I tripped down the stairs and cut myself. Felicity was just patching me up." Oliver and his excuses. You thought he would've learned by now.

"Right, that explains the leather green pants you're wearing."

"Where's Sara?" Oliver growls, the bandage turning a faint red as he stares Roy down. Sara was supposed to be watching him.

"She fell asleep watching some reality show about Armenian women," Roy states idly, walking over to Felicity's computers and running his fingers over the cold, metal table. His eyes are filled with wonder and she thinks she might actually prefer a grenade in the side right now.

A year, Sara Lance. A year of long nights and carefully crafted white lies to keep their nightly activities out of Roy's life and she falls asleep watching the Kardashians. A year!

She can practically feel the asskicking (oh, it's going to hurt, believe her) Sara will receive tonight. By her. Not Oliver. No, no, Oliver will use his words. And Sara will suffer.

"How the.. How did you get in here?" Felicity finally manages to turn around and look at him, straightening out the skirt of her dress and pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. She's mentally trying to recollect herself because this is not good, not good at all. This is just...? Do people have awards for worst foster parents in the universe? Because it's a prize she could definitely go without, like, forever. Science fairs? History has proven she nails these. Maybe a nobel prize or field medal in the future? Yes. Worst Fake Parent Ever? No, thank you.

"I'm very skilled at picking locks," he grins, as if he's proud of himself, his eyes halting on the bow on display in the back of the foundry, "Also it helps that you left the door unlocked."

"Damnit," she mutters, being able to physically feel Oliver's eyes glaring holes into her body. Maybe he'd also use his words on her later. Oops. She was not looking forward to that particular moment.

"Don't," Oliver says suddenly, as Roy reaches out to touch one of his arrows. "Don't touch anything."

"So," Roy picks up an arrow, admiring it (Oliver takes in a sharp breath) and grinning that mischievous grin she knows all too well, "does this mean I'm not grounded anymore?"

"Yes," Oliver bites back in response, figuring that doesn't really need any more elaboration, getting up with a small wince to snatch the arrow out of his hands, carefully putting it back on display.

"You almost set your gym on fire at school, Roy," Felicity sighs, because elaborations are kind of her thing, okay.

"Yeah, and Oliver runs around at night to shoot people with his arrows but he's not grounded either."

Felicity shrugs lazily and the words - oh, the words. They will definitely will be directed at her later this evening. Her and the words will meet, they will murder her and she will suffer but honestly her mouth and it's lack of a filter is the blame here. "He has a point there."

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