Felicity sat in her rolling chair, one leg curled underneath her, eating her Chinese with chopsticks. She answered all of Diggles questions but pointedly ignored Oliver. For his part, the playboy turned vigilante sat on the floor, his back against a table leg and tried to ignore how he felt every time the slim bamboo sticks touched those glossed pink lips. Forget how she managed to button that shirt, how does she managed to use chopsticks with her hand in a splint? Is there anything she can't do?
"So," Diggle asked, "Detective Lance called you up and warned you that you were endangering Oliver's life?"
"For the tenth time, yes." She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, stop finding this so amusing."
"Come on, you have to find it a little funny. Lance hates Oliver. His feelings about the Hood might be ambiguous ever since the quake, but he hasn't wavered in his anger at Oliver. You'd think he would be happy about Oliver getting an arrow in his chest."
Her blue eyes flicked, briefly, to the man in question. "I got the impression he was fishing for information, to see if the rumor in the press was true. He asked me if I wanted to press charges! The nerve really! Where does he get off believing that Oliver would be that kind of person and then to act like anything he read in the press is true when we all know that his family gets dragged through mud just as often between his work and Laurel, for him to call me is just outrageous and if I wasn't so mad about that stupid article I might have pressed charges—against him for police harassment. He can't just barge into our lives and try to pin anything he wants on the Hood, or Oliver for that matter! I mean where does he get the right?"
"Felicity."
Oliver's quiet tone, laced with just the right amount of guilt, regret, and exasperation, silenced her rant.
Diggle waited a few minutes before asking, "What are you going to do?"
He'd meant the question for Oliver, but Felicity answered. "I have an idea, but I need to think it through some more before I implement it."
"No." Oliver stood up. "I'll take care of this. It's my mess, and I'll handle it." He gave the other man a soft smile. "Digg, can you take Felicity home, please? I don't think she should be driving. Goodnight you two." He walked out of the room.
Felicity clamped her teeth shut to avoid shouting at his retreating back. There he goes, giving me orders and deciding what's best for me. I need to hit him with one of those stick things he's always working out with. I bet it would hurt him more than my hand did. She looked up at Diggle, who was smiling as if he could hear her thoughts.
"Your carriage awaits, mi'lady."
"I can drive myself."
"Maybe, but please let me do this for you. Also, you've stressed him more than any man can be expected to take in one day." He held up a hand, eyes fairly twinkling with good humor. "Now before you take a swing at me, let me say that I know he's been a royal dick lately. He's deserved everything you've thrown at him. Just don't push him too hard or too fast, ok? He's still too close to the emotional edge and I'm not sure either of us could save him if he went over."
"Went over, again." She looked up at him. They had an understanding. They both cared for the moody, murderous, loyal, loving, scarred man in the other room.
Walking up the stairs to exit the lair, Felicity started giggling.
"What's so funny?"
"You called Oliver a dick. A royal dick"
Diggle reached up to tug on her ponytail. "No tattle-telling, young lady."
A/N: Yes, another short one. However, I should have the next chapter up by the end of the day! Also, please remember that I've chosen to capture Felicity's speech cadence through the use of run-on sentences.
