A/N: I don't know what you guys will think about this chapter. It's different from the others. But, I had an idea and I ran with it! I hope you enjoy this!

Chapter Seven

She didn't know how it happened. One minute she had been perfectly fine, making fun of him for not being able to eat with chopsticks, and then she was kissing him, a container of mushu pork knocked to the ground by her foot as she climbed onto his lap.

She was kissing him. Oliver. She was kissing Oliver.

"But I'm getting ahead of myself," Felicity said, taking a deep breath. "We need to start at the beginning."

It all started because Tommy was out of town. Malcolm decided that it was high time for some family bonding, and while Tommy was partial to spending time with his father he was not partial to spending time in the Bahamas with free drinks, so he went along, opining how he could probably grab himself a few islanders to entertain him when he'd had enough of Malcolm.

He left on a Tuesday, teasingly telling Felicity and Oliver to behave, and then two became one. Unaccustomed to having the apartment to himself for such a stretch, Oliver called Felicity to join him for dinner. She'd agreed – having nothing more than Netflix and wine on the agenda – and showed up with a Rosati pizza and their famous cheesy bread.

"I could write an ode to this bread," she'd cooed, picking at a glob of cheese on the edge of the bread and pulling it off. "Really. I'll write one right now."

"Please don't," he'd returned drily.

"Fine. But it's your loss. My odes are a thing of beauty."

And so the week without Tommy began. Felicity went there every night, bringing a different cuisine from the bountiful Starling City selections. Wednesday it was Al's Pancake House – where they surprisingly did not sell pancakes. Thursday it was Mariano's. Friday it was Bombay Bistro. Saturday it was Bombay Bistro again – "I could write an ode about this curry." "Please don't." - and Sunday a rare night of leftovers. Monday, the last night of what could arguably have been called the culinary tour of Starling City, they went all in with Lang's Chinese Express.

Somewhere during the week they'd moved from the edges of the couch to the middle, her legs folded underneath her with her inner knee resting on his thigh. They brushed arms as they reached for food, sharing dipping sauces and even occasional bites. It didn't seem like anything at the time – but then again, maybe it had. Felicity distinctly remembered a tingling in her chest when Oliver insisted she eat the last wonton. The sudden cheek biting to mask the idiotic smile that spread on her face when she saw him ignore a text from whoever was blowing up his phone.

"But it was nothing," Felicity said, reaching up and adjusting her glasses. "We're just friends. I mean, that's all we could ever be. Because he's him. And I'm me. And, oh my God, if Tommy finds out…"

Who knew that Chinese food was such an aphrodisiac? They'd been talking, nothing out of the ordinary, but both of them could feel that something had shifted. Her knee was still propped up on his leg, but now his hand had curled itself around her knee. He'd never done that before, but they'd never been this close. His hand felt comfortable on her knee, and she found herself leaning against him.

Mushu pork. It was a sexier food than Felicity ever knew. She'd never really considered food sexy, but then Oliver was eating it next to her and all she could think about was his lips and mouth, and what his lips and mouth would look like in other places.

She'd tried to put distance between them, tried to sit a little farther away and not stare at him as his tongue darted out to catch an errant noodle, but it was no use. Somewhere between Tuesday and that night she'd caught a fever of sorts, and there was no cure in sight.

By the time he'd dropped a whole clump of noodles on his shirt, she was a goner. She'd laughed, picking them up with her fingers and tossing them on her plate. Bringing her fingers to her lips, she'd absentmindedly sucked the sauce from them, unaware of the way his eyes darkened and jaw ticked. But the naked lust was still there when she'd wiped her fingers on her jeans and returned her gaze to his. It had surprised her then – the way he was looking at her – but perhaps what surprised her more was that his look mirrored the exact feelings churning in her own body.

It had been a while since she'd just wanted someone. She was usually more of a logical person, following her head and whatnot. Passion didn't play much of a role. But there, in his living room, she'd had the distinct realization that she wanted nothing more than to crawl onto his lap and kiss him senseless.

So, that's what she did.

"I don't know what's worse, the fact that it happened or that I don't really care. I mean I care. I don't just go around kissing people and not caring. Not that there's anything wrong with people who do! I just don't. Kiss and not care, I mean. But…right after I was all worried and sure that we had made a huge mistake, but I don't care anymore. I just did what I wanted for once and it felt pretty nice. Sure, the fall out could be catastrophic. And there's a very good chance that when Tommy finds there will be hysterics to American Pyscho proportions. But what's life without some risks, right?"

The woman blinked at Felicity, reaching up and adjusting her headset wedged under her Big Belly Burger baseball cap.

"That's nice. Um, but the 'how are you today?' was really more of a rhetorical question. We have to ask or our manager yells at us."

"Oh. Right. I'm sorry."

The woman smiled uncomfortably. "Your total comes to $8.37."

Felicity took a ten dollar bill out of her wallet and then leaned over and handed it to the woman through the drive through window. When she got her change she pulled up to the second window where her food would come out, thinking that you've probably reached rock bottom when you're relating your problems to the Big Belly Burger drive through person.

Her and Oliver agreed to meet the day after what she'd secretly began referring to as The Mushu Pork Incident. With time on her side – i.e. roughly twenty two hours or so – she began to think that perhaps making out with him on his couch wasn't the smartest thing. First, they were friends. That made it messy enough. And then he was Tommy's roommate. Oliver she could erase from her life if things went south, but she couldn't do that to her own blood.

All she could hope, as she walked to the local coffee shop where her and Oliver set to meet, was that he'd agree it was a mistake. Otherwise, they'd have to face truths that she had a feeling neither was fully equipped to contend with.

She spotted him through the large bay window before she walked into the coffee shop. He was sitting at a corner table, looking uncharacteristically anxious in his dark green zip up and cup of coffee. She watched him from outside for a moment, grinning when he spilled some coffee down the front of his shirt and wiped at it with a napkin, furtively glancing around to see if anyone noticed.

She did. But she thought to herself that she seemed to notice a lot of things about him that others didn't.

She walked into the coffee shop and headed back toward his table. When he saw her he jerked a bit in his seat, like he was about to get up but decided against it halfway out of his seat. She'd never been nervous around him before, but she undeniably felt that familiar – albeit unfamiliar around him – sensation grip her.

"I got you an Earl Grey," Oliver said, pushing the mug toward her. "I can get you something else if you-"

"Earl Grey is perfect," she said, taking the mug and wrapping her hands around it. The mug warmed her palms like a small space heater.

"So, how are you?" he asked.

"Okay. I mean, I did treat a Big Belly drive through person as a personal shrink earlier today, but all things considered…"

Oliver smirked. "So, yesterday. We should talk about that."

"Yes. Yesterday. Like the Beatles song. But not. Because no one makes out in that song. As far as I know. There might be some subtext I'm unaware of."

"What are your thoughts?"

She narrowed her eyes. "What are yours?"

He laughed – the sound somewhere between nervous and exasperated – and he said, "I think you're wonderful. I think that you're beautiful and smart and any guy would have been lucky to make out with you. But it probably shouldn't have been me."

She nodded, wondering why after hearing exactly what she wanted she felt disappointed.

"First off, Tommy would kill me," Oliver continued. "Or I guess the proper tense is will kill me. And, I'm not right for you. You're a relationship girl."

"And you're not a relationship guy?" she asked, thinking this went against everything he'd been trying to tell her for the past few weeks. But again, she was getting what she wanted. Why was she fighting him?

He shrugged. "It's better this way."

"It is," she agreed, stopping herself before she could go and argue with him more and while she was at it ruin everything. He was letting her off easy - not even questioning why she'd essentially jumped him. It was time for her to shut up and just agree with him.

"So, we're decided," she said with a decisive nod. "It was a mistake. And it definitely won't happen again."

Tommy came home and remained – at least for the time being – blithely unaware of what had transpired between his roommate and cousin. Felicity almost thought they'd gotten away with it until her dry cough she'd had for the past week or so turned into a hacking cough and she was hit with such debilitating exhaustion that she'd left a Sex And The City DVD playing the opening screen saver for three hours straight until the TV turned off on its own – too tired to get up and change the DVD herself.

She dragged herself to the doctor's office one afternoon and a few days later received a dreary diagnosis for someone who was swapping saliva with someone only a week and a half earlier.

Mono.

She called Oliver, wincing when he answered the phone with a loud, phlegm-filled cough.

"Sorry," Oliver said, voice hoarse. "How are you?"

"Admittedly, not great," Felicity said.

"What's wrong?"

"Don't be mad. But, um, I went to the doctor earlier this week and I sort of have…mono."

Oliver was silent on the other end of the line.

"Oliver?"

"Are you saying you gave me mono?"

"No. I'm suggesting that I gave you mono."

Oliver groaned. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm sorry."

"Mono? Seriously? I didn't think people got that outside of high school."

"They do. I'm living proof. And possibly you. Did I mention I'm sorry?"

"Are they sure it's mono? Maybe it's just a cold or something."

"No, they tested me. It's mono. So, um, you probably should go and get yourself tested, too. Who knows, you could just have a boring old cold! How great would that be?"

She could almost hear Oliver roll his eyes.

"I'll go to the doctor tomorrow."

Felicity planned to keep it to herself that she had mono, but then Tommy tried to drink her coffee, and almost like a gut reaction she blurted out, "No, the mono!"

He'd looked at her like she was insane and then after she admitted that she had mono made fun of her for a good twenty minutes about having the kissing disease.

"Who were you kissing, Felicity?" he'd teased.

"No one," she'd returned vehemently. It was partially true. She didn't get it from kissing. Who knew how she got it. She thought of her mug at work, and how it sat in the communal kitchen. Knowing her luck some mono-infected-coworker used it on the sly and stuck her with his or her illness. But it definitely wasn't kissing. She hadn't been doing that for a long while before Oliver.

It was because of this knowledge that Tommy Merlyn found it particularly puzzling when he overheard a message on his and Oliver's answering machine from Starling City Community Hospital relaying that Oliver's mononucleosis test results were in.

When Oliver came home from his run – which he hacked all the way through – Tommy told him about the message.

"You know, it's funny," Tommy said offhandedly. "Felicity has mono."

"She does?" Oliver asked carefully, wiping at his face.

"Yeah. She told me a few days ago. Actually, more like yelled it at me when I tried to drink her coffee. That girl is territorial with her caffeine."

Oliver answered with a stilted laugh. "Yeah. Well, I'm going to shower."

He almost made it to the bathroom before Tommy put everything together.

"You have MONO?"

Felicity was several capfuls of Nyquil into the night when there was a knock on her door. She gave her nose a quick blow before standing up and dragging herself to the door. When she opened it she was surprised to see Oliver standing there with a collection of duffel bags. His nose was red, just like hers, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"So, Tommy knows," Oliver said. "And he kicked me out."

"What?"

"Do you think I could crash here until he gets over himself? It usually takes him two days. Three tops."

Felicity nodded, stepping back. He glanced around her apartment, eyes taking in the tissues strewn all around every visible surface and then finally the steaming pot of chicken noodle soup on the stove.

"Is that soup?" he asked unnecessarily, but he felt the need to ask it anyway as he padded over to the kitchen.

"Help yourself," she said, settling back on the couch.

He returned with two bowls – one for him, one for her - and sat next to her on the couch, a respectable distance between them. He got himself a spoonful and then raised it a bit from the bowl as he hoarsely said, "To our mono."

"I'm really sorry," she said.

"It's okay," he said with a shrug, sticking the spoon in his mouth. "It's about time for Tommy and my yearly blowout. Usually it's in the summer – the heat riles him up and all – but this is good. Get it out early in the year."

Felicity laughed, and the laugh turned into a cough. Oliver patted her on the back.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I feel like I'm dying."

"Hey, me too," he returned glibly with a thin smile. "At least you feel like you're dying with company. That's something, right?"

"You shouldn't be here. This is all my fault. I should have never jumped you," Felicity said morosely.

"If I remember correctly, I was very complicit in the jumping."

Felicity remembered how his hands felt against her skin and murmured, "Yes. Yes you were."

"We'll get through this."

She didn't know if he meant the mono or everything else, but she nodded anyway, thinking that it was an appropriate statement for all of the above.

"I hope."

A/N: A few things (1) Bonus points if you can catch the Gilmore Girls reference here! (2) Just pretend Oliver and Tommy would have an answering machine. Yes, I know it probably wouldn't happen IRL but...plot device! (3) Some of you will think this happened too fast. I sort of agree. But I got the idea and it felt right. And note where they end up at the end. They are no closer to being together, it's just added another layer to their relationship. So...hopefully you don't think this was too OOC for these kiddos.

I'd love your thoughts! Dying to hear them, actually!