A/N: And yes, I'm spoiling you, another update before I go back to work. The more excited you guys are about seeing the next chapter, the more I want to post it. :D

A big thank you to all of the kind souls who helped me out with my horrendous attempts at French. Much appreciated, so thanks for that. :D

Quite a few of you have posted comments on my prechapter preambles that have a tendency to not so much amble as face plant from a great height into a tub of jello. I can't really take the credit for these death defying leaps into gelatinous globs of gooiness. That's all down to Hank, the monkey which turns the wheel which runs the cogs in my grey matter. Hank is an ex-laboratory monkey who I found when he came across some hard times once they no longer needed him to test which mascara gives you the fullest lashes. He worked for a while as a tattoo artist but gave a lot of clients fleas, so that ended badly, after that he'd worked the streets, offering to fling his faeces at people's enemies for a nominal fee. It was at his lowest point that he was approached by a group of Republicans who were interested in using his faeces flinging talents in politics, saying he was a perfect fit for the job. Hank knew he couldn't go any lower than becoming a politician so he reached out for help, looking to attend a self-help group for those addicted to excessive eye makeup.

That's how we met actually… I hit him with my car when he was on the way to one of those meetings. I ran him over and was a bit worried about the police getting involved, what with all those already outstanding warrants I've got, so I just… I don't want to use the word kidnapped… what's another word for putting a monkey you've just mowed down in the trunk of your car and driving off with him… let's call it a road kill clean up… although as it turned out, Hank wasn't dead, something I only found out when he came to as I was trying to bury his body in the back yard. Once he stopped biting me and flinging crap at my head, we came to an understanding. He wouldn't report me to the fuzz for trying to kill him… twice… and I'd let him take up residence in my brain, calling the shots with three square meals a day. It seemed a fair and equitable agreement in the end. Sure, there are times when I think Hank may have a few aftereffects from being hit by my car… and then my shovel… repeatedly, in the head… but all in all, I think it's working out quite well for both of us.

So, long story short (I know, too late), it's Hank that does the run up to these stories, so I've been passing all your messages along to him and he's suitably chuffed. Of course, the guy can turn on a dime, so watch out for that. Just try not to make direct eye contact with him. He sees that as an act of aggression… or as a sexual invitation. I can't remember which it is but bottom line, you don't want to be on the receiving end of either of those things from Hank, trust me, both involve the flinging of faeces so either way, you're screwed.

And that's Hank in a nutshell… my nutshell brain to be exact. Now, the story of my avatar with this story – Fernando Del Vecchio the Llama – that's another whole kettle of fish entirely but a story best kept for another day, I believe. In the meantime, I suppose you want to read what happens next in this story. Unless, of course, you just wandered into this story, looking for directions to another story but now you're trapped and can't find your way out. In that case, suck it, you're mine now and it's not only in space that no one can hear you scream… sic 'em, Hank!

CHAPTER FOUR

Felicity staggered under Oliver's weight as she tried to get him through the door of her apartment. "Okay, Oliver," she puffed, "you have to help me a little here. Walk straighter."

"I am walking straight," muttered a disorientated Oliver and then promptly walked them into a wall.

"Ow!" complained Felicity, grabbing at her glasses as they almost fell off her nose. "Not straight into walls," she said in exasperation. "Straight into clear spaces." Felicity tightened her grip on Oliver's arm which was around her neck and tried to keep them both upright. "Here, lean on this bench." She disentangled herself from him and leant Oliver against her kitchen bench top. Felicity then went to close the door and lock it just as her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID as she answered it. "Hi Digg, yes, we've made it."

"How's Oliver?" asked Diggle.

Felicity eyed the drunken-like state of Oliver unhappily as he attempted to stand up straight and ended up lurching over to one side, just managing to save himself from falling down completely by grabbing at the bench top. "Oh you know, still probably not able to operate heavy machinery. In fact, he seems to be getting a little worse." Oliver had another attempt at straightening up and managed to knock her jar of cookies onto the floor in the process, sending ceramic and cookie pieces skittering all over the place. Felicity winced at the noise.

"What was that?" asked Diggle in concern.

"Oliver putting me on a diet," sighed Felicity as she looked at the mess of broken cookies. Some of them might be still alright, right? Felicity had the feeling she was going to need the sugar boost tonight. "Oliver, stop moving around. Just stay where you are."

Oliver blinked groggily down at his shirt, which was still covered in blood and dirt. "I-I need to wash up," he mumbled. "Can't go home like this."

"You're not going home tonight, remember?" asked Felicity in exasperation as she gingerly picked her way through fragments of baked goods and the jar which once contained them. "You're staying here tonight. Just stop moving around. You'll hurt yourself."

"I'm fine," said Oliver unevenly, taking a couple of unsteady footsteps backwards and knocking over the lamp stand behind her, sending it crashing into the wall, shattering the bulb and putting a hole in the wall at the same time.

Felicity gave a groan. "I guess I didn't really need to get all of my bond back anyways."

"Felicity, it sounds like you need some help," fretted Diggle. "I'll come over."

"No," said Felicity quickly, "you need to clean up after this mess from tonight. That's the most important thing now. I can take care of Oliver."

"Did any of your tests show anything yet?"

Felicity grimaced as she tried to help Oliver untangle himself from the lamp. "His endorphin levels are through the roof and lot of his other hormone chemistry is out of whack too. The spectrometer is still analyzing his blood for any toxins the gas may have introduced. That may take a while, probably until morning. His vitals are up but with all those hormones, including adrenalin, pumping through his body, it's not surprising. The whole thing is making him pretty disorientated."

Oliver had managed to untangle himself from the lamp but now seemed determined to get himself out of his dirty clothes. Unfortunately he'd chosen to start with his pants, without removing his shoes first. He was now staggering about the place, not seeming to be able to work out why he couldn't get his pants off over his shoes and crashing into different pieces of furniture in the process.

"Diggle, I've got to go," said Felicity hastily as she worried that Oliver was going to seriously hurt himself. "I'm having flashbacks to my Prom Night."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

Felicity was by Oliver's side, trying to steady him as he careened about. "Take your shoes off first, then your pants," she instructed him loudly as Oliver abandoned trying to get his pants off and started on his shirt. "Yes, yes," said Felicity distractedly, "I told you, we'll be fine. I just need to get him to stay in one place."

"I'll call you when the cleanup is done."

Felicity was trying to hold onto Oliver as he stumbled about, now with his shirt stuck over his head.

"Felicity, I'm having a side effect from the gas," exclaimed a slightly panicked sounding Oliver. "I can't see anything. I've gone blind!"

"You've not gone blind," said Felicity in exasperation. "Diggle, I'll talk to you soon. I have to deal with this."

"Good luck."

"Thanks. I may need it." Felicity quickly hung up and tried to help Oliver pull his shirt the rest of the way over his head but he was now flailing about, bouncing off her walls and then he managed to somehow lurch through a doorway, ending up in her bedroom. Felicity quickly followed him, hopeful that a more confined space might work to her advantage. "Oliver, stop moving! Just stand still!"

"I am standing still!" shouted back a befuddled Oliver as he whirled around and walked at the same time, the pants around his ankles restricting unbalancing his movements even more, t-shirt still wrapped around his head, arms twisted all up in the material. The backs of his legs connected with Felicity's bed, sending him completely off-balance and Oliver toppled backwards, ending up lying diagonally across her bed in a tangle of clothes and body parts.

Felicity saw her opportunity. "Don't move!" she ordered him fiercely. "Stay exactly like that." Felicity rushed around to the other side of the bed so she was at Oliver's head and tried to get his head and arms out of the mangled wreck he'd made of his t-shirt. Easier said than done with Oliver squirming away and twisting his arms and head this way and that. "Stop moving!"

"I-I'm helping," said Oliver unsteadily.

"You're really not," said Felicity in irritation. She gave up as all her attempts to get his t-shirt off ended up only wrapping the stretch material more tightly around Oliver's face and neck.

"Can't-can't breathe," he panted, voice sounding strangled and weak. "Having-having a heart attack."

"Oh for heaven's sake," said Felicity in exasperation. That would so be her luck, a dead Oliver Queen in her bed, killed by a t-shirt. She grabbed for the drawer of her bedside table, opening it and fumbled inside. Felicity found the pair of scissors she was looking for and quickly set about cutting the offending material off of Oliver's body. She pulled the remnants of the shredded t-shirt away as Oliver sucked in a noisy breath, blinking dazedly in the light.

"I can see!" he gasped in amazement.

"Yeah, it's a miracle, Helen Keller," said Felicity dryly, pulling the last of the shirt away and discarding it on the floor.

Oliver's face was upside down as he grabbed her arm and squeezed tightly. "You saved me," he breathed.

"Yes, Oliver, I saved you from a t-shirt," said Felicity dryly. "My place in the superhero hall of fame is secured." She straightened up and walked around to the other side of the bed so she was at his feet. "Now, just lie still." Felicity grabbed one of his shoes and pulled it off his foot, and then she did the same with the other, along with his socks. With the shoes no longer an impediment, Felicity was able to pull Oliver's pants off without any further problem. "I'm undressing Oliver Queen in my bedroom," she muttered to herself, not really believing this was happening. "Guess I can strike that one off the bucket list." She straightened off, dusting her hands off. "Okay, you're no longer a weapon of mass destruction. Let's get you on the couch so you can sleep this off." To which Oliver simply responded with a snort-filled snore as he laid stretched out across her bed, having nodded off at some point during the undressing process. "Oh no you don't," said Felicity quickly. "That's my bed. The agreement was you got the sofa. Up you get, big boy." She grabbed his arm and pulled on it. Oliver didn't even budge. Felicity braced herself with one leg against the bed and tried again, pulling with all of her might but Oliver barely moved an inch. She blew out an exasperated breath and gave up, knowing she had no chance at moving Oliver from where he was obviously settled in to spend the night.

"Okay, fine, you win, you get the bed." She pushed her glasses up a nose made sweaty from her efforts and stared down at Oliver's sleeping form, clad only in his boxer briefs. Somehow, even unconscious, every muscle in his body still looked flexed. "I've got a nearly naked Oliver Queen in my bed," she said unsteadily, thinking about all the times she'd thought about having just that and now she was staring at the buffed muscled reality. Oliver stirred a little in his sleep and in the process emitted a quiet fart into the monumental moment Felicity was having. She pursed her lips at the result of Oliver's obviously highly relaxed condition. "Yup," she said mockingly, "living the dream alright." But then, spontaneous body functions aside, when was she ever going to get an opportunity like this again? "Probably never," said Felicity morosely, knowing Oliver had drawn very definite lines between them which he seemed determined never to cross. Their conversation earlier that night had confirmed that for her. Felicity pulled out her cell phone and snapped a picture of the slumbering Oliver in all of his glory, just to prove to herself that this was really happening. She grimaced as she looked at the picture. "Does this make me a bad person?" Felicity bit her bottom lip. Was it really that wrong to take a near naked photo of your boss when he was vulnerable and didn't have any say in the matter just so you could have a memento of the one and only time you were probably going to get him into your bed? Felicity sighed heavily. That was probably a yes to that question. She quickly deleted the picture, glad no one was around to see her moment of weakness.

Felicity went to her cupboard and pulled out a blanket and then laid it over Oliver, tucking him in. She took a seat on the side of the bed and made a face. "You really scared me tonight," she told him unevenly. "Don't ever stop breathing on me like that again. That was not cool." Oliver didn't respond, of course, still in a blissful state of slumber. She pulled the blanket up a bit more and tucked it in more securely around his neck. Felicity looked down at Oliver's face, enjoying a rare moment of being able to stare at him without fear of him catching her. "You really are beautiful," she whispered to him, knowing she'd never dare say anything like that to him when he was awake. "I mean, you're like ridiculously good-looking," she complained to him. "It's really not fair. And if you were just pretty, that would be one thing but you're so much more than that. That whole brooding dark hero thing really works for you." Felicity bit her bottom lip. "Works for me," she confessed unevenly. Felicity wiped away some dirt from Oliver's forehead, unable to stop thinking about how close yet again she'd come to losing him forever. "I love you," she said softly, the words slipping easily from her lips before she could stop them. Oliver's eyes flickered open and he looked up at her, their eyes meeting. Felicity gave a squawk of panic and grabbed a nearby pillow, slapping it down over his face, not meaning for him to have heard such a telling confession on her behalf. "You didn't hear anything," she said urgently. "You're dreaming." Felicity cautiously lifted the pillow and peeked at Oliver whose eyes were once again closed. After quickly checking that he was still breathing and she hadn't just smothered him, Felicity let out a relieved breath. "Okay, no more blurting out things that are going to get you into trouble, Felicity Smoak," she cautioned herself unsteadily.

Felicity stood up and went to leave him get some obviously much needed rest but paused at her doorway. She pulled out her phone and took another picture of the sleeping Oliver. "I'm only human," Felicity comforted herself, "and no one else has to know." She looked at the large stuffed owl which always sat on her bed and was now currently leaning up against Oliver as he lay there. She pointed a warning finger at the bird. "And that goes for you too, Professor Hoots-a-lot. You didn't hear or see anything, got that?" Felicity walked out of the bedroom and ran her hands through her hair. "What a night," she groaned. She and Oliver had both nearly died in separate incidences and now Diggle was out there trying to cover their tracks. Why did everything they touch have to end up with some kind of life or death situation? Felicity knew that was a rhetorical question but that didn't exactly help. She walked over to the sofa and started up her lap top, pulling out the USB stick and dog tags she'd brought home with her, along with the camera. "Okay, time to do a little research and see just exactly what the bad guys were up to tonight." Felicity knew she wasn't going to be able to get any sleep until Diggle called in to say he was all clear so she may as well spend her time doing something useful.

#

Diggle parked his car on the perimeter of all the frantic activity surrounding the now smoking remains of the warehouse. He'd already disposed of the van, setting light to it on the outskirts of town and driving away in a car he'd stashed nearby in case of emergencies. Diggle believed in being prepared and he had several places dotted around Starling City where he could find transport, money, fake ID's and weapons. You never knew what you were going to need and when, certainly not with the kind of life he'd chosen to lead. Diggle slipped into the crowd of emergency workers and police, keeping his head down. Walking around the back of a fire truck, he sneaked a fireman's coat and helmet, quickly slipping them on. Now blending in with the many firemen scurrying about, Diggle was free to get himself closer to see if anything had been retrieved from the fire. He recognized Quentin Lance talking to a fire investigator as a fireman walked out of the smoldering warehouse with something in his hand. Diggle grimaced as he recognized Oliver's bow. He got closer, pretending to be unkinking a hose line and listening in on their conversation.

"Found this in the debris," said the fireman.

Detective Lance's eyes lit up. "I knew it," he growled. "The Hood is up to his usual tricks."

"Haven't heard him being involved in explosions before," noted the fireman as Detective Lance grabbed an evidence bag and had him carefully place the bow into the plastic bag.

"Wherever that guy goes, disaster follows," said Lance grimly. He held up the bag and looked at the bow. "But if we can lift fingerprints offa this thing, we might finally have a lead on this vigilante."

"Detective Lance!" One of his uniformed police officers called out to him and Lance nodded that he was on his way. He stopped another police officer before he went. "Put this in my car." Lance handed over the bagged evidence.

Diggle kept his head down as Lance walked by him and then Diggle was following the cop with the bow. He waited until the other man had deposited the evidence in the back of Lance's car and walked away. Diggle surreptitiously sidled up to the car and in one deft movement, undid the lock and retrieved the bow. He secreted it away under his fireman's coat and then just kept on walking, away from the crime scene and with the damning evidence safely in his possession.

#

Oliver slowly fought his way out of a dark, dreamless sleep. He blinked against the morning light, trying to work out where he was. An intoxicating scent filled his nostrils as he turned his face into the sheets. Its heady fragrance was deeply familiar but he didn't know why. If just made him feel safe and secure for some reason. Oliver's slowly sharpening gaze focused on a stuffed toy owl, staring back at him with unblinking, oversized eyes. The owl and Oliver engaged in a staring competition as Oliver tried to work out what the hell he was looking at… and why. He sat up in bed and was immediately forced to put a hand to his throbbing head. Oliver felt like he'd been hit by a truck. Had he gotten drunk last night? Memories of last night was foggy at best. And where was he? He was in a bedroom, a woman's bedroom judging by the items in the room but he had no idea whose. Oliver swung his legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand up but found his legs surprisingly unsteady. He sat down again and waited for his head to stop spinning and then tried again. Oliver looked around the room and saw a pink dress hanging over the back of a chair. He walked unsteadily over to it and picked it up. The faint scent of that familiar perfume immediately assaulted his senses as he held it in his hands. He unconsciously lifted the material to his face and breathed deeply.

Felicity.

He blinked. This was Felicity's bedroom? Snatches of last night came back to him. Oliver remembered the press of soft lips against his and he unconsciously put a hand to his lips at the memory. Felicity had kissed him. Oliver could recall the taste of her in his mouth and he felt his heart skip a beat and then continue beating with an unsteady tattoo. Why did Felicity kiss him? Oliver looked back at the bed and then down at himself, dressed only in his boxer briefs. Okay, this couldn't be what it looked like, could it? Oliver ran an unsteady hand through his hair. Surely he'd remember something like that? Oliver noticed his pants neatly folded up on the dresser and he hurried over to them, pulling them on. He couldn't see his shirt but there was a grey shirt sitting next to his pants which seemed to have been left out for him, so Oliver pulled it on. Somehow this felt like a situation he should be fully dressed for. Oliver looked down at the t-shirt and frowned as he read the writing on the front of it. 'Are you my Mummy?' Okay, what did that mean? Nothing seemed to make sense today. From outside the bedroom door Oliver heard the unmistakable sound of Felicity's laughter and the sound had his stomach clenching uncontrollably. Oliver followed the laughter, walking out of the bedroom to see Felicity standing in her kitchen but she wasn't alone. Both she and Diggle had their back to him as they stood at the kitchen bench.

Felicity gave another laugh, bumping playfully against Diggle. "You're such a liar."

Diggle bumped her back. "I'm telling you, I had to throw down with a little old lady to get that last cronut, so think a lot of it."

"You see, that's why I love you, Diggle, ready to maim the elderly just so I get my sugar fix," said Felicity teasingly.

Oliver felt a sharp flash of annoyance at the picture of easy domesticity the two of them made and he was taken aback by the force of the unexpected emotion. "What's going on?"

The two of them swung around in unison.

"Awake at last, sleeping beauty," said Diggle easily. "We were beginning to think we'd need to start sourcing a handsome prince."

"How are you feeling?" asked Felicity solicitously.

"Like I've been dragged behind a herd of wild horses," said Oliver unevenly.

Felicity made a concerned clucking noise and came over to stand beside him. "I knew we should have taken you to hospital last night." She put a hand to his forehead. "You feel all hot. I think you've got a fever."

The touch of Felicity's soft hand was a cool relief against Oliver's brow and he was surprised at how good it felt. "Last night?" he asked unsteadily, staring down at her.

"After you were caught in that warehouse and were gassed," she prompted him. "Don't you remember?"

Suddenly Oliver did remember, that green gas filling the room, him trying to suck in air to oxygen-starved lungs when there was only more gas to be breathed in. "The warehouse," he said sharply. "I was trapped."

"Diggle got you out," said Felicity. "He saved your life."

"And Felicity saved your again when you stopped breathing," interjected Diggle.

"I stopped breathing?" repeated Oliver.

"You don't remember?" asked Felicity, a worried look on her face. "We went back to the Foundry first and then you said you couldn't go home, so I brought you here."

"And let me sleep in your bed," said Oliver, filling in more of the blanks. Fragments of last night were coming to him now.

Felicity wrinkled her nose prettily. "Well, let is a pretty strong word. A more accurate summation was that I couldn't get you out of it once you fell into it." She eyed him teasingly. "I've mentioned you're heavier than you look before now, right?"

"We slept together?" Oliver's stomach gave a painful backflip at the thought, his muddled brain trying to keep up.

Felicity gave him an odd look. "Oliver, I didn't sleep in the bed too."

"You didn't?"

"Yes, because I'm not some weird stalker who takes advantage of incapacitated men," she said hotly even as she surreptitiously pocketed her cell phone and avoided looking him in the eye.

"I'm sorry," he said unsteadily. "Of course you're not. I'm just a bit… disorientated this morning."

"You need coffee," said Felicity. "And Digg brought us breakfast."

"All the artery clogging, diabetes-inducing pastries you can eat," agreed Diggle, his eyes running over Oliver. "So, any side effects from last night, apart from the headache?"

"I'm kind of aching all over," conceded Oliver. "And my jaw really hurts for some reason."

"We all agreed last night that the jaw thing was a side effect of the gas," said Felicity hastily, her gaze skittering away from his when Oliver looked at her.

"We did?" asked Oliver in surprise.

"Yes."

He gave a little shrug. "Okay. Do we know what the gas was in the end?"

"I'm still running diagnostics on it," said Felicity, "however I do have some information for you. But first I think you need to eat something."

"I'm not really that hungry," said Oliver dismissively. "I'd rather get down to business."

Felicity laid a hand on his arm. "Oliver, I think you should eat something. You must be starving, even if you don't know it."

"Okay," said Oliver without hesitation. He blinked as Felicity moved away from him, surprised at how easily she'd changed his mind. Suddenly he was ravenous.

Felicity quickly poured him a cup of coffee and put some pastries on a plate, including the cronut.

Oliver arched an eyebrow. "I get the cronut?"

"The one who came closest to death gets the best pastries," said Felicity easily. "And last night you won… or is that lost?"

"I walked away from the thing, I call that a win."

"Technically Digg carried you away," said Felicity disapprovingly. "So, at best, I'd go with a draw."

"A draw isn't a loss," said Oliver philosophically as he tucked into his breakfast.

"Mm," said Felicity non-committedly.

Oliver wolfed down his breakfast, finishing his before the others were even halfway through.

"Glad you weren't hungry or we might be next on the menu," said Diggle wryly.

Oliver shrugged. "I guess being gassed into unconsciousness works up an appetite."

"I want to take your vitals again," said Felicity, moving to collect a blood pressure monitor and a thermometer. "Here, under your tongue." Oliver obediently placed the thermometer under his tongue as Felicity put the sphygmomanometer cuff around his arm. "And I want to take more blood when we go back to the lair."

"Okay," mumbled Oliver around the thermometer in his mouth. He watched Felicity as she was intent on measuring his blood pressure, pressing buttons on the automatic readout display to get it to start. She was close to him, blonde hair hanging lose by her face as she focused on the job at hand. As Felicity moved a little, that heady scent was back in Oliver's nostrils, the one he'd woken up to. It was so strong he could actually taste it but it wasn't a bad sensation. In fact, it felt really good. "Mare you mearing a mew murfume moday?" he asked her.

Felicity gave him a distracted and confused look. "What?"

Oliver took the thermometer out of his mouth. "Are you wearing a new perfume today?" he repeated.

"Don't take the thermometer out of your mouth until it beeps," she said in exasperation. "We'll have to start again." Felicity pressed a button and put it back in his mouth. "Don't take it out until it beeps and no, I'm not wearing a new perfume, I'm not wearing any perfume."

Oliver frowned a little. Then what was he smelling? The scent was definitely associated with Felicity. "Mampoo?"

"What?"

Oliver pointed to her hair. "Mew mampoo?"

"New shampoo?"

He nodded.

"No, why, do you think I need to shampoo my hair?" She put a worried hand to her hair. "I did it yesterday. I don't wash my hair every day, it's not good for it."

"Your hair is fine, Felicity," Diggle reassured her. He gave Oliver a curious look. "What's up with you?"

"Mothing," mumbled Oliver, not really wanting to go into it as he didn't even know what 'it' was." The thermometer beeped in his mouth and Felicity withdrew it and looked at the read out.

"You're hot," she declared.

Diggle gave a little smirk. "Something tells me you're not the first woman to tell him that."

Felicity blushed a little and straightened up her glasses. "I mean you've got a bit of a temperature. It's not bad but we should keep an eye on it." She looked down at the blood pressure monitor. "But your blood pressure is down, so that's good."

"Can I ask a question?"

"Sure," said Felicity easily.

"Where is my t-shirt?"

"I had to cut it off you," said Felicity. "You were trying to kill yourself with it. It was you or the t-shirt. I flipped a coin, the t-shirt lost."

Oliver accepted that at face value. "Alright then, can I ask another question?"

"Shoot."

He looked down at the loaner t-shirt he was wearing. "This t-shirt is yours?"

"I sleep in it and it was the only one big enough to have a chance of fitting you."

"Okay, but I don't understand what's written on it. Are you my Mummy? What's that supposed to mean?"

Felicity and Diggle both grinned at him.

"It's a famous line from Doctor Who," explained Felicity.

"Doctor Who?"

"A British TV show about a time travelling alien," said Diggle.

"And you watch this show?" he asked Diggle in surprise.

"We both do," said Felicity blithely. "We're doing a tradeoff. I'm introducing Diggle to the joys of British TV, such as Doctor Who and Downton Abbey and he's training me to develop some upper body strength so I can defend myself better in the field." She looked down at her slight frame and gave a rueful smile. "We're doing Diggle's thing first," she conceded.

"And what, you get together and watch these shows?"

Felicity grinned. "Yep, it's our very own date night. In fact I've got a back log of the last couple of weeks recorded. We've just been too busy to find a clear night to catch up."

"I see."

Diggle looked at him oddly. "Are you alright, Oliver?"

"Of course I am," said Oliver evenly, even as his insides turned over in turmoil. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you look like you're trying to snap that knife in two."

Oliver followed Diggle's pointed look and noted in surprise that he did have a death grip on the butter knife he didn't even remember picking up. It was just hearing that Diggle and Felicity were doing things together behind his back had caused feelings of absolute rage. Oliver gave a little shake of his head, instantly realizing how ridiculous that thought was. They weren't doing anything behind his back and they were perfectly free to spend their down time anyway they pleased, and that included watching some TV together. Oliver forced himself to let go of the knife, needing to change the subject. "Okay, breakfast is over, time for us to get back to work."

"I've got an ID on Cruella DeVil," said Felicity, referencing the woman with the two toned hair. "But the info on the USB stick is going to take me longer. There is some seriously heavy duty firewalls built around the information stored on that thing. I created a decryption worm and loaded it into the program last night. Hopefully it'll break the encryption soon." Felicity looked over at her lap top expectantly and then when nothing happened she ruefully wrinkled her nose. "If this was a movie, the worm would have opened the program just then." She sighed. "Real life has much less convenient editing."

"Just tell me what you've got so far, Felicity," said Oliver. "I feel like we need to get moving on this quickly. We've upset their operation, I want to keep the momentum moving on that, if we can."

"Of course," said Felicity, standing up and clearing all three of their plates. "But I don't think you're going to like what you hear."

Oliver sighed heavily and rubbed his aching temples. "Why should today be any different from all the rest," he said morosely.

"Nice pep talk from the team captain," said Diggle wryly. "A real winner."

"You telling me you're not worried about what was going on in that warehouse and what that might mean for Starling City down the line if we don't put a stop to it?" When Diggle didn't immediately answer, Oliver gave him a pointed look. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Oliver just needed to get this show on the road. He hated inertia, particularly when he knew the bad guys were using that time to regroup. They needed to get on top of this latest threat and they needed to do it now.

A/N: Just a by the by as I post this but I'm actually watching the first episode of Doctor Who with the new Doctor – Peter Capaldi. It's a great first debut by the new Doc. I'm a huge fan girl of the show, always have been and couldn't resist putting a little nod to the legendary show in this chapter. Hank's not happy but hey, what's the worst he can do? Actually, a surprising amount of damage if he puts his mind to it but let's not dwell, eh?

Hope to see you in the next chapter where more elements of this drama will be relieved… and PS that wasn't the gratuitous naked scene with Oliver I was talking about writing. That's way ahead… something to look forward to. ;)