Synopsis: By 9:00 a.m., she had broken a heel, lost her cell phone, and been the victim of a coffee catastrophe. By 9:30 a.m. she had "borrowed" the NSA mainframe. By 10:00 a.m., she was engaged to Oliver Queen. Really, it was all in a day's work.

Rating: strong T

Warnings: very suggestive dialogue

Spoilers: Anything up through episode 2x6 "Keep Your Enemies Closer" is fair game.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note: I honestly didn't intend to let so much time pass without an update. I promise I've not abandoned this one. It is plotted out and huge chunks of future chapters are written. I've just had the darnedest time getting from point A to B. I blame my inner squirrel.

I hope there's still interest in this one because I do have some fun things planned. :)


Part Eleven: "People in Glass Offices Shouldn't…"

"It's time to arrange a family reunion."

Oliver's words echoed in Felicity's ears until she could perceive little else. Belinda and Oliver continued their conversation, but Felicity was lost in her own remembrances. The sprawling, sterile office at QC faded away to Felicity's too small college dorm room.

"What you're doing isn't legal. You know that, right?"

"What's wrong, Jack? Worried that I'm going to get caught?" Felicity teased as she looked at him sideways, her computer in her lap. She could feel his fingertips tracing her spine even through the thick sweatshirt she had hastily thrown over her pajama cami. "I'm really, really good at not getting caught." She shifted on the twin-sized bed, moving closer to him while still cradling her laptop. With the pressing of her lips to his to emphasize each really, she left little doubts that the conversation topic had turned. She pulled away and added, "What good is it to have mad skills if I never use them?"

"We should put those mad skills to use."

"Now you're just trying to distract me."

He held up his hands as though in surrender. "You're the one who started it. Besides, I didn't fly across the country and pay your roommate to leave us alone only to watch you tinker with your computer."

"Tinker? No, no, no. I don't tinker. I stroke the keys."

Jack grinned broadly.

"That didn't sound quite right."

"I thought it sounded perfect," he replied nuzzling her neck.

"Seriously, this is important," she said as she gently pulled away. "Life or death important. Okay. Maybe not the death part of that expression. That's kind of not the point." She took a deep breath. "But this is my life. My mother has been no help, of course."

"Maybe she has her reasons for wanting to keep you away from him. You've had everything you've ever needed, which is more than a lot of folks can say. So why does it even matter at this point anyway?"

Felicity glared at him. "You know why it matters." She returned her attention to her computer screen.

"This isn't the first time you've hacked into a database?"

"Such an ugly word. I'm just visiting. Without permission," she replied distractedly. A few more clicks of the mouse and a decryption sequence later, and Felicity was staring at a DMV record. "Wow. I think that's him."

"What are you going to do?"

"I think it's time for a family reunion."


"A family reunion?" Belinda Carlen questioned. "Oliver, what aren't you telling me?"

"We—Felicity and I—have reason to believe that my father's dalliance with Isabel Rochev resulted in a child."

Belinda exhaled. She opened her mouth to speak, thought better of vocalizing her initial reaction, and instead said, "That was not something I expected to hear."

"His name is Kirill. He's being raised by Isabel's adoptive parents as their own."

"That certainly complicates matters." Belinda clicked her tongue repeatedly, a nervous tick that she had tried for years to abate.

Oliver's stomach churned. "That's putting it mildly."

"The way I see it," Belinda began, "we have several options available to us.

There's the modified come-to-Jesus method, in which you, Oliver, confess your shortcomings, admit that you had a brief relationship with Ms. Rochev during a breakup with Felicity, but assure the stockholders that you've worked through your issues. We'd, of course, need Felicity to stand by her man like a country song."

It's time to arrange a family reunion.

"There's the bait-and-switch method, in which we acknowledge the existence of the photograph but claim it was Photoshopped and the woman in the picture is actually Ms. Smoak." Belinda threw a glance at Felicity who said nothing. "I've never been more grateful for a fake fiancée in my entire professional life. Though usually it's been closeted gay men…"

"I've asked enough of Felicity," Oliver interjected. "I won't ask her to pretend that."

"Just as well. I'm not sure which of the two is more embarrassing, though certain 'celebrities' have certainly made sex tapes a cottage industry. You said you wanted to take the offensive. A woman like Isabel Rochev must have enemies, present company excluded. Given enough time, I should be able to find something to discredit her."

Oliver shook his head. "Time is one thing we don't seem to have, and Isabel has done an admirable job of whitewashing her background. Kirill may be our shot at neutralizing Isabel."

"Yes," Belinda replied, considering Oliver's line of thought. "That has potential to either work marvelously or marvelously backfire."

It's time to arrange a family reunion.

"What do you think, Felicity?" Oliver asked the uncharacteristically quiet blonde. "Felicity?"

Oliver's question shook her from her preoccupied thoughts. Felicity swallowed hard and tried to keep her voice steady. "Belinda, I need to speak with Oliver please. Alone."

"That's quite all right. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to attempt to beat water out of stones." With that, the older woman left the office.

Oliver's eyes fell on Felicity who sat stiffly, her normally smiling countenance marred by disappointment. "Don't," he warned her.

A huff of disbelief escaped her.

"Come on. Don't give me that look," Oliver reiterated.

"Oh, I'm going to give you the look," she replied as she stood and walked around the desk to face him. "Kirill is a twelve-year-old boy who may not even know that Isabel is his mother. You can't bring him into this."

"I'm banking on him not knowing."

"Last night you told me you would protect him, that you wouldn't let him become a pawn in this tug-of-war between you and Isabel."

"And I meant what I said," Oliver replied with measured words.

"So long as it's convenient?" she shot back.

"We are talking about my family's company! This place is my father's legacy, his life's work is in the brick and mortar and steel, and it's this company that makes it possible for us to do our night job!" Felicity visibly flinched at Oliver's raised voice. He forced himself to calm. "I'm not going to let Isabel jeopardize that."

"You are so wrong! This…place…isn't your father's legacy. You are. You. Thea. And a little boy who has absolutely no idea of his role in any of it." She crossed her arms, hugging her own body. It was a protective stance he had seen her take only a handful of times, and it made her look even tinier than she already was. Did she feel as though she had to protect herself from him?

"Don't compound a mistake with another mistake," she entreated.

Oliver's eyes fell on the manila folder that, beneath its cover, housed the photographic evidence of his tryst with Isabel. His stomach twisted. "Sometimes I don't have the luxury of being a nice guy. I don't want to pull Kirill into any of this, but I need Isabel to believe that I will."

"Mutually assured destruction? She destroys your reputation and you destroy her family? Your family." She took a deep breath. "You always have a choice." Her chin trembled, and even through the glasses she wore, he could see the tears welling in her eyes. "I need some air."

"Felicity."

She shook her head. "Not now. You have a meeting at 9:00 with Julian Edenmiel from Applied Sciences. He's bringing the prototype of the Tempewrist." With that, she exited his office and headed past her reception area and on down the hall, passing Digg along the way.

Diggle strode into Oliver's office. "What was that about?"


"No offense, but you look awful."

Felicity turned from the Keurig in the break room at the sound of Casper van Pels's voice. Lovely. She couldn't even get a cup of coffee without running into a Rochev crony. She studied the tall, pasty young man's face, and did not see the gloating that she was expecting. "Right. Why would anyone take offense to that?"

"I'm sorry. That was a terrible thing to say. Is there something I can do?"

Felicity tilted her head questioningly. "Isabel let you off the leash long enough to show concern for someone other than her?"

At that, Casper's thin lips cracked a smile. "Today is a good day. Ms. Rochev was unexpectedly called out of town, which means today I get to breathe."

How convenient. Drop a bomb. Step back and let the dust settle. Perfect way to let Oliver stew. "She didn't mention anything to Oliver."

Casper colored slightly. "Sorry about that. I am supposed to contact Mr. Queen's office at…," he looked at his wristwatch, "9:15 a.m. to make notification."

Felicity managed a wry smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Consider the office notified."

"I know what you're thinking," Casper began.

"I'm thinking a lot of things. It's kind of a Ninja Blender up here. You'll have to be more specific."

"You're thinking that you should sound the alarm to Mr. Queen that Ms. Rochev is working on deals without his knowledge."

She's working on deals, all right. Photographic. Pornographic. Potentially seismographic. "If we're being honest with one another, that scenario isn't all that far-fetched."

"Between you and me, I don't think Ms. Rochev's absence is QC related. I took the call early. The man had a deep voice and stunning accent. Australian, if I had to guess. I could listen to that all day. And it sounded as though their dealings with one another are of a personal nature."

"I was starting to think she was more machine than woman."

"She can be quite animated when she lets down her guard," Casper assured Felicity. "But I can see how she may come across as mechanical."

"And just like that she was gone?" Felicity asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "That doesn't sound like Isabel."

"So maybe Ms. Rochev is human after all," Casper mused.

"It's the power of an accent. I swear I once bought a vacuum cleaner because the spokesman had an accent that could melt the M&Ms in my hand. And I really, really hate vacuuming."

"Australian accents are sexy."

"You know, Queen Consolidated has an office in Sydney."

"Dare to dream, right? I'll never see it. Personal assistants are a dime a dozen as Ms. Rochev reminds me every opportunity she gets. Though I guess you aren't exactly a dime a dozen to Mr. Queen," he replied eyeing her engagement ring. "Of course, Ms. Rochev's not really my type."

"Too grrr?"

"Too girl."

"There is that. Casper, I think we can help each other."


"I screwed up with Felicity."

Diggle shook his head, his lips pressed in a tight line as Oliver finished filling him in on the photo and subsequent disagreement over how to handle it. "Somehow I thought it would take longer."

"You give me too much credit," Oliver replied morosely. "I don't regret going to Russia, backing you up, but where Isabel is concerned, I knew better. I knew she didn't have my best interests at heart and still…I…" He swiped his hand over his face. "I hurt Felicity then. I hurt her just now. I hurt the people I care about. That's what I do. Maybe I should just accept that I'm not meant to have more than my mission."

"So that's it? You're just going to feel sorry for yourself rather than fight for what you want?"

"I'm not the nice guy, and that's what…a nice guy is what Felicity deserves. What I want is for her to be happy."

"Then we agree on something. She does deserve a nice guy, but for some reason she wants you. Look, Oliver, for more than a year, I've watched the two of you banter-"

Oliver interrupted, "Did you really just use the word banter?"

"Flirt. Have eye sex. Whatever you want to call it. I've seen you make her laugh. And I've watched her put her foot in her mouth to the point of it being painful. And I've seen you smile. Genuinely. Not that fake smile you wear when you're being a self-absorbed…"

"I get it."

"I've seen you two go toe-to-toe. She's one of the few people who gets through that thick skull of yours."

"This was different. She looked…defeated. It isn't that I want to go out of my way to hurt Kirill, to blow apart his childhood. He's a kid, my…my half-brother. But if Isabel thinks I will, I can use that."

"I think you've lost sight of the bigger picture."

"No, I haven't. I can't approach situations like this one with Isabel with a 'we'll hug it out' mentality. Our objective is to do whatever it takes to save this city from the corruption that plagues it. That means we secure Queen Consolidated so we have the means to effect change."

"And to hell with whomever gets hurt in the process?"

"Do you think I wanted to put Felicity in this position?"

"I won't even pretend to understand what goes through your mind where she's concerned. You push her away, pull her to you. You brought her into this 'engagement' without discussing it with her first—real dick move, by the way—using the fact she cares about you and our cause against her. Sometimes you forget you're dealing with people—people with real feelings, who aren't chess pieces to be moved around. When you wear that hood, you stop seeing people. You see objectives. Nameless, faceless objectives. I understand that better than you know. Right now, you might be dressed like a," Diggle eyed yesterday's suit, "a rumpled version of Oliver Queen, CEO, but you're still wearing that hood. But you've got to decide. What kind of man are you going to be?"


When Oliver caught up with Felicity a few minutes later, he found her in the ladies' room lounge area, tablet in hand.

She looked up when she saw him come in and adjusted her glasses. "How'd you find me?"

"The tracking app on your phone."

"If not for what we do after hours, I might find that more than mildly disturbing, but since you aren't carrying a lacrosse stick, I'll let it go."

"You've got to tell me that story sometime."

"Sometime," she replied rhetorically but didn't elaborate. "I'm in a bathroom. Did you consider that maybe I was busy?"

"That would have been awkward," Oliver acknowledged.

At that, Felicity's lips quirked. "You did see the sign on the door, right? Ladies."

"The sign on the side of the building trumps the sign on the door," he replied with a smile, hoping to defuse the tension with charm. She merely stared at him, reminding him that his patented Ollie-of-yesteryear moves had little effect on her. "Is the coast clear?"

"We're the only ones in here," Felicity confirmed.

"Good," he replied, turning and locking the anterior door. She huffed slightly when she saw that.

"Being here brings back memories. Last time we were in here, I proposed. Sort of. I think you called it the proposal that every woman dreams about." He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Said no woman, ever." She tilted her head. "And then you offered to take me out for tacos."

He couldn't help the self-effacing smile that crept on his lips, despite the heaviness he felt. "I'll never live that down."

"I still stand by my premise that you can't order a fiancée like you order a taco. Unless your name is on the side of the building, evidently."

He sat next to her on the couch. "I'm sorry."

"I know. Believe me, I know. I'm trying really hard here to be a good sport, but I was never good with team sports."

"Felicity, you're the glue that holds our team together."

"No pressure or anything."

"I don't mean to pressure you. That's not what I want to do."

The earnestness of his voice made her heart clench. This wasn't what she wanted, to make Oliver feel worse than he already did. "You should be preparing for your meeting with Mr. Edenmiel, not in here coddling me."

"There's nothing more important right now than you."

"Don't. Please don't. I need my anger, Oliver. I need it so I can fix this. I need to fix this."

He shook his head. "It's not your job to fix this situation with Isabel. It's mine."

"But you said it yourself. We're a team."

"We are," he agreed. "In the beginning, I was going to do everything by myself. Now I—I depend on you more than is fair. I want to be a man that you can look at with admiration and trust, someone you can depend on, but I've not done a good job being that man. I'm sorry that what I did in Russia keeps coming back to hurt you. But even more than that, I'm sorry that I let myself lose sight of why we do what we do."

"Well, for a guy who's spent as much time as you have in a forest…"

"I should know what trees look like." He reached over and took her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Sometimes I have to be reminded."

She took a deep breath. "We'll get through whatever Isabel or anyone else throws our way."

"But you are really upset with me, and I need to make this better. Felicity, you're the last person in the world I want to disappoint, and I think that's all I do."

"Not everything's about you." She paused and her eyes automatically widened in horror. "That sounded awful. I didn't mean that in a grrrr way. Just that I have a few issues of my own to work out, and with you talking about a family reunion, I may have been projecting a bit."

"What's going on? Maybe I can help."

She shook her head, as though trying to snap out of it. "It's over and done with. It just hits me sometimes, and when you were talking about using Kirill to get to Isabel…"

"I told you I wouldn't," Oliver interjected.

"I know what you said, but it just looked like when push was coming to shove…You've noticed that I don't talk about my family all that much, but I'm going to give you a crash course." She took a deep breath. "I was fifteen when I found out that Ben Smoak isn't my biological father."

Oliver's brows furrowed as he took in this new information about Felicity.

"My mom and dad got married when I was two, and he adopted me. I was too young to remember a time before him, and he's…a wonderful dad. He never made me feel like I wasn't his child, but the way I found out…"

"What happened?"

"Gabe and I had been arguing off and on all day. You know, regular brother/sister stuff. I annoyed him. He annoyed me. It was a rite of passage. One Saturday, I had a science project I preferred to work on, but I had to go to his soccer tournament instead. I complained. Loudly. Shocking, I know. And when his mom didn't show, I said something about her being a flake for missing his soccer game, which I really shouldn't have done, and he basically told me that at least he had a dad. Mine couldn't be bothered to stick around. As soon as he said it, he tried to backtrack, but I dragged the cat the rest of the way out of the bag. Gabe was older than me. He remembered what I couldn't."

"Felicity…"

"I'd had no idea. I mean, I knew my parents didn't get married until after I'd come along. My mom always seemed embarrassed about that, but in retrospect, I think she was worried I would start asking questions and piece it all together. I knew I didn't really look like my dad, but I'd never even imagined…and that little bit of news sent me into a tailspin that in some ways, I don't think I've ever fully come out of. Why didn't my biological dad stick around? I thought maybe he didn't know about me, but when I started to ask questions…" her voice trailed off. "I'm a big believer in honesty, which I know seems counterintuitive considering our night job…and the fact the world thinks we're getting married when we're not. But in this case, the ends don't justify the means. If Kirill doesn't know, it's not right to tell him. Not to hurt Isabel. He'd be the one hurt, and you'd lose any chance of getting to know him in the future."

"You're right. I'll find another way."

"Thank you." The invisible weight on her shoulders seemed to lift.

"Did you ever try to find him, your biological father?"

Felicity cleared her throat. "You're going to be late for your meeting."

With that, Oliver knew the topic was off limits—for now. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"I thought you were trying on a new reputation."

"Point taken." He stood and straightened his suit jacket.

"And now I think it's time you try on a new suit. Or, you know, one that isn't yesterday's."

He hesitated at the door. "Are we…are we okay?"

"We will be—as soon as you get to your meeting on time. Because let's face it: an executive assistant only looks as good as her boss."

"You definitely make me look better than what I am. You coming?"

"Not yet. I'm following a lead," she replied holding up her tablet.

"In the restroom?"

"A girl used to be able to get some privacy in here. Maybe it's a wild goose chase. Maybe it's not. I'll know more soon."


"That's it?" Felicity asked an hour later as Oliver secured a sleek bracelet around her wrist. They were back in his office, he had changed into a fresh suit, and the manila folder was out of sight, if not out of mind.

His calloused fingertips lingered on the soft skin of her inner wrist momentarily before sliding away. "Looks more like a peace offering than something Applied Sciences would have put together, but this is it."

"How does it work?"

"It's working now, activates automatically. Theoretically. It should be alternately giving you pulses of heat or cold depending on what your body needs."

She looked at the bracelet with skepticism. "I don't actually feel it doing anything other than, you know, accessorizing me."

"Maybe you need something to react to." He closed the distance between them, his chest to her back, and leaned down to hum in her ear, "Truth or dare."

"Oliver."

"Humor me. Truth or dare."

"Truth."

She waited for him to ask her a question; instead, he remained silent. But she was all too conscious of him. With one hand, he trailed along the smooth lines of her abdomen, securing her against him. She sighed as she felt her body meld against his. He was tantalizingly male, hard planes and controlled strength. Awareness surged through her, as it always did when she was near him.

With his other hand, Oliver carefully pulled the ponytail holder from her hair, freeing it to fall in cascading waves of gold. He combed through it with his fingers, savoring the warmth of her and the tiny murmurs that escaped from her throat as he began massaging her scalp.

"The truth is the other morning when I came out of the shower and saw you pulling on your stockings, this was what I wanted. I wanted to bury my hands in your hair. I've wanted to do that so many times."

Felicity remembered the heated look and the way the towel he wore tented. "Is that all you wanted?"

"No," he replied as he brushed his lips against the curve of her neck. "I wanted to bury myself in your body."

She trembled even as her heart sped.

"I want you, Felicity. Does that bother you?"

"No…I mean, yes," she stammered. "What do you mean bother? There's bother, as in annoy. And then there's bother."

He gently turned her body, but kept her close.

So close.

Not close enough.

He cupped her face, his eyes intent on hers. She could feel his desire for her pressed against her belly. Her body felt warm, feverish even. And then suddenly she felt a cool pulse on her wrist.

"Oh," she squeaked looking down at her wrist. "I think it works just fine." And she suddenly became acutely aware of their surroundings and lack of privacy. It was amazing, really, how Oliver could make her forget everything. Too bad there wasn't some way to bottle that intangibility of his. It was better than any psychotropic drug, or so she imagined. "People in glass offices shouldn't…" Felicity stepped back, caught sight of the pilfered hair elastic, and quickly smoothed her hair back into its sleek ponytail. "This bracelet could be the start of an absolute game changer."

Oliver wiped his hand across his face, his jaw clenched tightly as he fought to get his own body under control. "That's what I'm counting on." He took a deep breath and added, "Here's an interesting statistic."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"An interesting statistic. You're starting to sound very much like a CEO, Mr. Queen."

"Maybe it's time I start to take my role in this company more seriously. If I had, we wouldn't be in this position to start with."

"If we want to get technical about it, I'd say it has more to do with your moth—you know what? I'm all ears."

"In 2007, 87 percent of households in the U.S. used air conditioning. That's compared to roughly 11 percent of households in Brazil and only 2 percent in India. By 2025, booming nations are projected to account for one billion new customers for air conditioning worldwide. We're poised to use a devastating amount of energy to keep homes and offices comfortable, but why not just heat and cool our bodies instead? It's more practical."

"And as an added bonus, no more fighting over the thermostat in the lair."

"With the right backing, this could catapult QC not just into a new direction with applied technologies, but we could literally change the way the world uses its resources. And the best part is we're going to beat Isabel through smart business, not through her tactics."

"Speaking of…so this lead I was chasing down…I should back up a little bit. I ran into Casper van Pels. You know, Isabel's assistant. He mentioned to me that she was called out of town unexpectedly. It seemed personal to Casper, but who really knows. I mean, if it was personal, why not call her cell phone rather than an office line? But that made me curious. With as busy as Isabel must be, between housebreaking all her flying monkeys, corporate intrigue, and her affinity for amateur photography, who or what could make her drop everything?"

"And?"

"So I used a…" she began to explain the technical process but thought better of it, "used some magic of my own and accessed the phone records from Isabel's office. As best as I can tell time wise, she received a call from Spondeo Incorporated's switchboard. Not really a household name, but then I dug some more, and an actual name popped up. Edward Fyers."

"What?"

"He's the CEO of Spondeo. Not exactly a Fortune 500. Looks more like a dummy corporation, actually."

"That's impossible."

"Who is Edward Fyers? I feel like I should know that name." She was met with silence. "Oliver?"

But he looked lost in his own remembrances, a haunted expression that Felicity had seen him wear all too often. Finally, he ground out, "Fyers was on the island. The first man I ever killed with an arrow."

"Oh." She swallowed hard. "And you're sure he's…dead?"

"Quite."

"Do you believe in coincidence?" she asked.

Oliver's steely gaze was his only response.

"Yeah. I didn't think so."


To be continued...