The stares feel like thorns slowly pressing into her flesh as she enters Queen Consolidated. This, of course, is not the first time she's felt the bramble-like attention of her coworkers; going from I.T. to EA months ago was the beginning of the judgmental looks, bitter whispers, and superior smirks. She had learned to handle it, as frustrating as it is to be thought of as Oliver's piece. And, of course, it had gotten worse when people realized there's something going on between Oliver and Isabel. So now Felicity is the second-choice piece, only to be used when the better alternative is unavailable. Hearing the snickers and snippets of gossip about that has been just delightful, but because of last night there is something else for the employees of QC to gasp about.

The guy at the desk makes eye contact then looks away when he recognizes her. She does her best to ignore his quiet chuckling. A woman she vaguely knows from accounting is standing amongst a small group, all of their eyes glued to her phone. Felicity can hear faint shouting before it's drowned out by their laughter. A guy from the mailroom mumbles something to his friend about the irony of her not tolerating sexual harassment yet getting her promotion on her knees.

Chin up. Don't blush. Felicity concentrates on the rhythmic clicking of her heels against the tiles as she hurries to the elevator. Thankfully, it's the executive elevator, so she doesn't have to share it with anyone.

It's noon, so at least she won't be stuck at the office with these awful people for an entire day. Diggle, angel that he is, had left a Bloody Mary in the fridge for her this morning. That plus a handful of mini pretzels had made it possible for her to show up at all. He had also been the one to send her the video so she wouldn't be clueless going into work.

Oh, the video.

The elevator opens and she takes a deep breath, mustering every ounce of confidence she can in order to face Oliver.

She faces Isabel first.

"…Ms. Rochev," Felicity greets when she steps out and sees the insatiable harpy waiting at her desk. Not that Isabel can hear her; it's more of a nervous reflex. The secretary marches to her post and repeats the salutation.

The untrustworthy woman's smile is small but deadly, like a shiv. "How was your night, Ms. Smoak?"

"Fun."

The smile stretches, and Felicity feels like a caged bird being eyed by a cat. "As was mine,"

"Good to hear." Felicity adjusts her glasses. "If you don't mind, I have work to do."

"Yes, you do." Isabel's look says, Maybe not for much longer.

The EA takes her seat as the devil in Prada struts away in need of a good impaling. Oh, wait; she'd gotten impaled last night. Not the kind of impalement she deserved, of course…

The elevator dings. Isabel goes in. Oliver comes out.

He looks a bit peeved.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Queen." Felicity says calmly as he reaches her desk.

"I forbid you from ever getting drunk in public again."

She taps her pen on the desk a few times. "That's not a bad idea, actually."

Attempting to restrain his fury, he exhales loudly. "What were you even saying? And since when do you know German?"

"I only know German curse words, which is totally different than knowing German. And I really don't think you want to know."

He raises an eyebrow. "I think I can handle it."

"Schwanzlutcher means 'cocksucker.' That's all I'm giving you."

"You're right; I can't handle it."

"Great. So can we get back to work now?"

Oliver leans over her desk. "Do you remember anything at all? Do you know that Roy drove you home?"

It's a strange thought, considering that she barely knows Roy. "That was nice of him."

"He casually mentioned that you hit on him."

"I was drunk and he's hot. Why do you seem so surprised?"

His jaw tenses and he straightens up. "Roy survived being injected with Mirakuru. It worries me enough that you were alone with him—"

"What are you even getting at? You have no problem with him dating your baby sister but you freak out when he gets me home safely?"

Oliver can't meet her eyes for a second. "You were especially vulnerable, and we don't know how the Mirakuru affects behavior. And I don't have a usable reason to keep him away from my sister."

Felicity blinks then shakes her head. "You were afraid he was going to violate me?"

"Or lose his temper and hurt you."

"I'm the one who lost my temper and hurt someone."

He puts his hands in his pockets. "Isabel wants me to fire you for it."

"Oh, no. I'm terrified."

Oliver's face softens. "Why were you drinking?"

She fiddles with her pen. "I still think you deserve better than her."

"We've already discussed this."

"I guess it was just a little jarring to see you two going at it in your office."

There's a moment in the ensuing silence where Felicity considers pouring her heart out. Maybe she can make him see how toxic the arrangement is, how devious Isabel is. Maybe—

"Next time, go get drunk at home."

His departing form, however well it fills out that suit, is precariously close to being pelted by a stapler.

It's going to be a long day.