A/N: Still not as short of a time between updates as I'd like, but better than two whole months!

I know some of you felt like not a lot was going on last chapter, and all I can say is: you're right! Sometimes chapters aren't going to be as much moving the plot forward. I plan on this being a decently long story, and we're still within the first few weeks of Oliver receiving these pictures. So, I get that it doesn't seem like much development at this point, but as the story moves forward - we'll definitely be seeing some growth. In multiple potential meanings of that phrase. (Sexual innuendo isn't just Felicity's thing).

I've also been struggling with a bit of writer's block for this story, so there's that. Last chapter was very difficult for me to get out for that reason. This one went much faster when I actually had time to sit down and write.

Thanks to everyone who's leaving kudos, following the story, subscribing, commenting, and just generally being amazing about this story. You are all fantastic and I want to hug all of you.

Thanks as always to the wonderful MissyRiver, my amazing beta and fantastic friend. I love you. Seriously - so much.

Chapter 11

This had been the night from Hell. Well, if she believed in Hell, anyway.

This was not how her night was supposed to go. She was supposed to be in the basement of Verdant, wearing her semi-comfortable work dress and the heels that didn't pinch her toes. She was not supposed to be poured into some dress that was uncomfortably tight around her bust and strapped into some sky-high spike stiletto heels that left her feeling like she would fall over every time she took a step.

And Felicity Smoak knew how to walk in high frakking heels. She was a pro. The only woman better at high heels than Felicity was her mother, Donna Smoak, the queen of stilettos, who spent ten hour days in stilettos walking around the casino floors of Vegas. And this was the woman who had taught Felicity to walk in heels. So when Felicity felt like she was going to fall over, you knew the heels were ridiculous.

She was supposed to be downstairs with her babies. Well, not babies babies. She definitely didn't have any tiny humans that shared half of her DNA that she kept in the basement of a club. Well, that was a weird thought. At least she hadn't said that out loud.

Although maybe it would have helped her in this situation and maybe scared off another of hundred guys who had come onto her tonight. A hundred might have been a slight exaggeration, but that's what it felt like. And it was all Kara's fault.

Felicity loved Kara. Absolutely. But right now? She kind of wanted to throttle her because it was her fault that Felicity had been completely unable to sneak away all night, despite her foolproof plan of being able to disable the club's wi-fi from her phone. That plan had proved not-so foolproof after all. How was Felicity supposed to know that no one aside from her actually used the free wi-fi on their phones while at a nightclub? So, when it went out no one noticed or complained and Felicity had no reason to go "fix" it.

In lieu of that, she had tried to invent reasons to sneak away all night, but after her first trip to the bathroom where she had disappeared for forty minutes to help Oliver and Diggle break into the warehouse that was supposed to be housing the gang, Kara had been attached to Felicity's hip. And if she wasn't, she made sure that some random guy was.

It seemed like Kara was literally throwing every guy in the club at Felicity tonight. Maybe hearing about the anonymous, flower-leaving, potential stalker coupled with Felicity's poor mood over Oliver Queen had Kara thinking Felicity needed a distraction. Or at least some stress relief.

But, all it really accomplished was stressing Felicity out even more. She hadn't even been able to get away to help Bruce get a GPS-lock on the guy he was investigating. She had barely been able to even send him a text telling him she wouldn't be able to help out tonight. And when she had, he'd only responded with a quick "OK" rather than his usual pain-in-the-ass, snarky remarks, making her feel like she had let him down.

With everything going on in her life right now, Felicity was stressed to the max, uncomfortable, and exceedingly annoyed with the night. Which was why it was no surprise that when she heard the next guy approach her asking if she was Oliver Queen's secretary, she immediately spiralled into anger. Especially when he asked her what the difference was between secretary and Executive Assistant.

At that, she'd given him a long, ire-filled dressing down.

And when he responded that he hadn't meant to give offense, but rather was sincere in his question, she realized that the poor guy was probably being genuine and really hadn't deserved the rage she'd unleashed on him, but she was feeling particularly horrible tonight and had taken it out on him. After all, it wasn't his fault she was stuck in a position she hated that felt like a demotion even with the bump in pay.

To his credit, he seemed actually genuinely interested in her, questioning her about her background and leaving the sore subject behind. Or so she'd thought. Then he asked her the same question she'd been asked a million times over, the one that depressed her even more: with her background, why wasn't she using it?

Yeah, this guy was for sure not getting laid tonight.

She bit out a quick response that she was sure reflected exactly how she felt at her current position in life. Then, probably sensing Felicity's mood just by the look on her face, Kara made eye contact with Felicity from where she was standing behind this guy. Her friend began making kissy faces and waggling her eyebrows suggestively behind his back. When Felicity barely reacted, Kara upped her game, and started pointing at the guy and then humping the air.

The contrast of Kara dressed to the nines and perfectly coiffed making herself look ridiculous in the middle of a crowded nightclub just to make Felicity feel better was enough to get to Felicity. She couldn't hold it back any longer and she let out a loud, horribly embarrassing laugh that actually had heads turning toward her to see what sound was! But Felicity couldn't bring herself to stop laughing.

It was only when she returned her attention to the guy in front of her and saw him grinning that she realized he must have said something to her and thought he'd made her laugh. She decided to let him feel like he'd accomplished something, giving him her name in response to his while her eyes continued to flit back to Kara who had started walking towards them. She sighed in relief, realizing Kara was about to rescue her from… was it Connor?

Or, so she thought. A thought that was quickly dashed when Kara instead reached into Felicity's purse and pulled out her keys and told her to let Connor take her home. She may have suggested more than just a ride, too. Without waiting to hear Felicity's protest, Kara turned around confirming that Carter could take her home.

Wait. Carter? Did Kara mean Connor? Or was his name actually Carter? Crap.

Just as she was about to tell what's-his-face that he didn't need to drive her home and then sprint to catch up with Kara, heels be damned, she heard John's voice in her earbud distracting her from that plan. He informed her that they were heading back to home base and that she should feel free to go home. When she looked around, Kara was gone.

Well, it looked like What's-His-Face would be taking her home. Ugh.

She tried to excuse herself to the bathroom so she could sneak downstairs and remove the earbud to leave it with the rest of the Arrow equipment, but he insisted on walking her and waiting for her.

And he'd followed her to the bathroom, leaning against a wall to wait for her, so there was no sneaking off. Overbearing, much?

There was no way she was leaving the earbud in the bathroom at a club because, ew. And she couldn't put it in her clutch because the bag was too small and might crush the super-expensive tech. Her only option was to leave it in. She reached up and was going to turn it off, but Oliver seemed to have an opinion on that. A very strong one.

"Felicity. If you can hear me, leave the earbud in."

Uh, no. It was bad enough that some random guy was going to have to drive her home, but having Oliver Queen listen in on it? Uh uh. Not happening. "Yeah - no. Sorry," she whispered, hoping he could hear her over the bathroom noise and the club music that was still pounding.

"Felicity." Oooh. Growly Oliver was making an appearance. She loved growly Oliver. She paused at that thought, waiting to see if he'd react, letting her know whether she'd said that out loud or not. When she got nothing, her shoulders dropped in relief. She might have had a little more to drink tonight than she'd thought. Normally, she wouldn't even let herself think things like that because she could never guarantee that her thoughts wouldn't come out of her mouth.

"Oliver." She tried to make her voice low and growly, too, giggling at her attempt.

She could practically hear the hidden smile in his voice when he responded, "You're a little tipsy, I can tell. Please leave the earbud in? Just so I can hear that you got home safe. Please?"

"Okay, okay," she relented. Who could say no to a pleading Oliver Queen?

"Thank you."

Felicity rolled her eyes as she exited the bathroom, earbud still in place. She met the smile of What's-His-Face. "Okay… you." Yeah, that wasn't awkward at all. "Let's go home. To my home. Not yours. And.." Slow down. Breathe. Don't laugh. "Yeah. Moving on."

He offered her his arm and she took it because the shoes were literally a pain, and she had trouble walking on the spiked heels when sober. Which she definitely wasn't right now.

The drive to her apartment was way more pleasant than she'd expected from What's-His-Face.

She'd done her best to discourage his advances, letting her word vomit run wild. She'd told him that she was a super geek, divulging her passion for Doctor Who to hopefully scare him off. Instead, he'd laughed and quoted the Doctor, leaving her gaping at him before she laughed at the absurdity of this situation. They'd traded quotes back and forth the whole way to her place and when they arrived, her mood was significantly lightened, as only the Doctor could accomplish.

Even walking up to her door, the guy continued with the geek TV show references, actually getting her to outright laugh again.

Not that it was a difficult feat considering she was still feeling the effects of the alcohol from Verdant. The bartender there, Kyle, always poured heavy for Felicity, ever since she'd been able to recover his manuscript off his hard drive that had a disastrous encounter with his two-year-old and some orange juice. And she'd had quite a few of his drinks tonight. She was a lightweight; it would be a bit before she sobered up.

She'd been so lost in her head remembering the particulars of fixing Kyle's laptop that she hadn't noticed What's-His-Face start angling for an invite inside. No matter how many drinks she'd had, his voice calling her a secretary was loud and clear in her memory. There was no way this guy was getting in her apartment. She couldn't help but giggle at how hard he was trying though. It was entertaining.

It was less so when the guy artificially softened his face and told her she was beautiful. Even drunk she could see right through that little play, especially when choreographed with his hand pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. How many romance novels had this guy read?

When he leaned in for a kiss, Felicity couldn't help the gasp that left her lips. But it wasn't because of Mr. Questionable Name. No, when he'd moved, she caught sight of the flowers by the door of her apartment.

This time the petals were a bluish purple, setting off the bright white of the multiple stamens. And there were a lot of them. So many. She'd have to step over them to get into her apartment.

She ducked under What's-His-Face's arm while his eyes were closed and he was leaning into her personal space. Like that was ever going to happen. She didn't even know which name was really his!

"Thanks for the ride, and the quote war, it was nice to meet you," she dismissed him.

If she would have looked at his face, she'd have seen his shocked expression move quickly into annoyance and anger, but she was too focused on the brightly colored blooms at her door to give Whatever-His-Name-Is any more of her attention. She only had so much brain power, and while it was significantly more than non-genius levels, she was also inebriated, and couldn't waste the extra focus power on a guy she wasn't interested in.

Now, if Oliver had been leaning in to kiss her, the apocalypse wouldn't have been able to drag her attention away from him. But that was a different story, and a different guy. And why was she even thinking about Oliver Queen when her stalker was back with the leaving flowers thing again?

This was why she couldn't give What's-His-Face any additional attention - her extra brain capacity would always be thinking about Oliver Queen in the periphery.

She scoured the five full bouquets on the floor in front of her door, but there was nothing. No note. No indication of any flower company that dropped them off. Nada.

Screw this guy. Or girl. She supposed it could be a girl. This was the 21st century and girls could be stalkers, too, probably. Not that she'd heard of that happening, outside of girls with celebrity crushes that would take it too far. But Felicity Smoak wasn't a celebrity. And why was she thinking about being a celebrity again?

Oh right, she was drunk. And the guy sending her flowers had struck again. And she was assuming it was a guy because she wasn't famous. Focus, Felicity.

She shoved her keys into the locks, trying multiple keys in each one before she got them to work. Damn, Digg and his overprotectiveness. He'd forced her to install multiple locks, all keyed differently, on her doors as a security measure after she'd been forced to move from her old apartment. Additionally, she had a security system that she'd designed, similar to the one she used in the lair, also at Digg's insistence. It was sweet, really, how much he cared, and she absolutely loved him for it, but at times like these, where she was drunk and panicked, it was a definite hindrance to her getting inside.

Finally in the safety of her home, she warred with herself about what to do with the vases of flowers outside. On one hand, she could leave them where they were. But if she did that, Kara would see them when she came home in the morning. And they could be seen by other early morning visitors that she might have. Not that it happened a lot, but she wasn't sure whether Oliver would decide to make it a habit. And she definitely didn't want Oliver seeing the flowers, for so many reasons. Also, if she left them outside, there was a chance they'd be gone by morning. She still didn't live in the best of neighborhoods, so someone might come along and steal them from her door. If that happened, she'd be losing potential evidence.

But, if she brought them inside, she was bringing something from a potential stalker into her home, and that seemed like a terrible idea. The flowers could give off toxic fumes or something. Maybe her stalker had hidden a microphone or a tiny camera in them. Or they could be filled of sex pollen, like she'd read about in so many fanfiction stories, and her stalker could wait for her to be infected and show up. Plus, if he was watching, he could interpret that her bringing them inside as her acceptance, maybe even excitement for receiving them. People like this were delusional, and she didn't want to do anything that could be read as encouragement. These were the scenarios that Drunk Felicity was coming up with. Drunk Felicity was fantastic at letting her imagination go to work.

Ultimately the logical Felicity that was buried under all the irrationality of Drunk Felicity won out. And Logical Felicity knew she couldn't let the evidence potentially disappear. Besides, sex pollen wasn't really a thing, right?

She turned the knob of her front door slowly, attempting to open the door as quietly as possible. It seemed important to Drunk Felicity to keep things as quiet as possible, even though the door itself opening would've been a visual cue that Felicity was coming back out anyway. When the door was fully opened, she stuck her head out and looked for any sign that someone might be watching her. Aside from the security cameras that she'd installed for her security system, there was no evidence that anyone was watching. She quickly pulled each vase inside and shut the door, throwing all three deadbolts in rapid succession and resetting her security system.

There. They were in. The evidence was preserved. But, she was in no condition to be doing any analysis on them tonight. So now? She desperately needed a distraction to stop the panic from hitting her full force. Otherwise, she would just sit there, panicking all night, her drunk brain coming up with increasingly terrifying scenarios as to who her stalker might be. And because she was drunk, Logical Felicity was having a hard time coming out to make Felicity behave in a semi-rational manner. So, a distraction was necessary.

What had never once failed to provide Felicity Smoak with a distraction? Oliver Queen, of course.

With that thought, she fished her phone out of her purse and opened it. She pulled up the pictures and went to send one to Oliver, hoping that the act of sending him another picture would get her to panic about that rather than the stalker flowers littering the floor in front of her doorway. She opened her contacts, found Oliver's name, and attached the picture.

As her finger was hovering above the SEND button, she realized her mistake. If there were contacts listed in that phone, that meant it was her personal phone and not the safe burner phone that Oliver didn't know about. She'd almost revealed her biggest secret to the one man who could never know. Frak. Normally Drunk Felicity was still too smart to come close to making that kind of rookie mistake, but her panic at the flowers had thrown her off her game.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she went back to searching her purse for the proper burner phone. Finally locating it, she pulled it out and powered it up. Then the phone did something it had never done before. It buzzed with a notification. Her burner phone had received a text.

9:45 A.M.: Hello, Beautiful.

Oliver Queen had texted back in response to the boudoir photographs she'd sent him. What. The. Frak.

She wasn't sure why that one fact surprised her so much. After all, that's what a person was supposed to do in response to a text message. They were supposed to respond. Why had super tech genius Felicity Smoak not anticipated that Oliver Queen might respond to the pictures she'd been sending him anonymously? But she hadn't, and she was thrown for a loop that he had.

Hello, Beautiful. That's what his text message had said. He'd called her beautiful. A semi-hysterical giddiness threatened to consume her. It was the first time she'd had confirmation that Oliver had liked what he saw in those pictures. She'd suspected from the few times she'd seen him open the messages that he'd liked them, but she hadn't been sure. Now, Oliver was telling her that he absolutely thought her body was sexy. And then it hit her, what the message really was.

It was an invitation to start a dialogue. All she had to do was respond, and she'd be texting Oliver Queen. Not that she hadn't already been texting him. Felicity texted him semi-regularly for work reasons, giving him quick updates, helpful reminders, etc. She'd even texted him the occasional inspirational quote, hoping he'd find the humor in them. But this was different. This wouldn't be Felicity Smoak texting Oliver Queen, it would be Anonymous Sexy Picture Girl responding to him.

Well, she'd wanted a distraction.

12:46 A.M.: Hey yourself.

Almost immediately three little dots popped up on her screen indicating that Oliver Queen was texting her back. Right that instant.

12:47 A.M.: She does exist. May I ask with whom do I have the pleasure of texting?

She should have known Oliver would be a perfect grammarian via text. After all, he'd been on the Island for a lot of the textspeak revolution. Felicity couldn't help her eyes rolling into the back of her head, nor could she help the little smile she let loose as she tapped out her response.

12:47 A.M.: U can ask. I won't tell. Spoilers.

She giggled at her response, hearing River Song's voice in her head on that last word. Only when she shifted in her spot on the floor did she realize she was still in her clubbing clothes.

While the three dots popped back up on her screen, Felicity reached down and unhooked the straps keeping her feet locked in the heels of pain and kicked the shoes across the floor. She stood up then, wobbling a bit as she attempted to regain her balance sans shoes, and walked down her hallway, hand reaching behind her to lower the zipper of her dress. She was halfway to her bedroom when the red monstrosity puddled at her feet, leaving her in only her bra and panties as she entered her room. Shucking those off as well, she flopped onto her bed letting the cool of the room soothe the heated flush of her skin that had taken hold from a combination of the alcohol and the panic of a few minutes ago.

The burner phone vibrated again, clattering loudly against the hardwood flooring she'd left it on back out in her living room. Her curiosity overwhelmed her sense of inertia, prompting her to get back up to retrieve the phone. On her way, she detoured to her closet to grab a tank top and sleep shorts from her collection.

The thin white tank top would allow the chilly air to continue its cooldown of her body and the white shorts with black binary code brought on a sentimental smile as she remembered the proud look her mother had given her on the day she'd received them as a gift: the day she'd graduated two years early from MIT. Her mom had been so proud of Felicity, but also of herself for being able to find the shorts that were all-too appropriate for the occasion.

The repeat vibration pulled her out of her memories. She went into her bathroom, grabbed a makeup removing wipe from her counter, and padded back out to the living room while gently stroking away the remnants of her makeup. She scooped the phone off of her floor and stumbled over to her couch, banging her shin on the coffee table in her drunken state.

Gently, she lowered herself onto the plush cushions and read Oliver's messages.

12:48 A.M.: Well, if you won't tell me who you are, show me.

12:49 A.M.: Please?

She imagined him giving her a set of impossibly blue puppy dog eyes. The same ones he usually gave her when he was trying to get his way over something she found to be objectionable. Like that one time he'd ordered broccoli on their pizza because he wanted Felicity to eat more vegetables. She'd given in that day, too.

She quickly pulled up the picture she was going to send him before, then decided against it. He had asked her to show him, afterall, so he would at least get a hint. Drunk Felicity was bold.

Scrolling through the photos that she had loaded into the phone's storage, she settled on one of her absolute favorites. It was one of the few shots that Kara and Felicity had decided to leave in color. After all of the girls had seen it, the vote to not edit anything about the picture was unanimous. In it, Felicity was laying on a white, completely undetailed bedspread and the backdrop was also white, setting off the colors even more. She was clothed in a dark purple, single piece bodysuit. One section on her back and the section of the bra was made of lace, while the other panels around her body were simply sheer fabric.

There was additional lace detail surrounding the bottom of the bodysuit, hugging tightly to the upper portion of her butt, making her ass look incredible. Like most of the lingerie pieces they'd all picked for the photoshoot, this outfit had her wearing thigh high stockings that were attached to the bottom of the delicate piece.

She was laying on her stomach in the picture, with a few blonde curls thrown over her shoulder, visible to anyone who viewed the picture. In this case, Oliver Queen. It would be one of the first pictures she sent him that revealed her natural hair color.

Drunk Felicity clicked send before Logical Felicity could finish screaming internally.

She waited for his response. And waited. And waited some more. Her eyes began to droop and she had to fight to keep them open. Just when she was about to lose the battle with unconsciousness, the phone vibrated in her had startling her eyes open.

1:15 A.M.: You are seriously gorgeous.

1:15 A.M.: But that's not what I meant.

Of course that's not what he meant. He wanted a picture of her face, he wanted to know who was behind sending him the pictures. He would totally flip his lid if she did that. Drunk Felicity considered the idea for a minute, but decided it was more fun to toy with him.

1:16 A.M.: Don't be a spoilsport.

1:17 A.M.: I'm not trying to spoil anything. I just want to know whom I should thank for sending me picture of a gorgeous woman.

Perfect punctuation and grammar again. Was this some kind of ploy to be perceived as flirty or sexy? It was kind of working.

1:17 A.M.: You should probably thank the tech gods. They're the ones who created the digital camera and the cell phone. Both of which were used in bringing these pictures to the screen for your viewing pleasure.

1:17 A.M.: It has definitely been a pleasure.

Guh. What was she supposed to say to that? Her brain was too fried and too drunk to come up with anything cogent. Everything that popped into her head sounded super dorky and super geeky or literally made no sense. How her mind got her to consider saying something about a platypus was one she was sure psychologists would study for years to come, if only they could read her thoughts.

She hadn't realized how long she'd gone without responding to his text message until the phone buzzed in her hand, lighting up with a new message.

1:25 A.M.: I apologize if that was coming on too strong. Did I lose you?

Knowing Oliver as well as she did, she could hear the underlying guilt and self-loathing he was injecting into that last text. He probably felt like he'd reverted to Ollie Queen and was beating himself up for it immensely. She rolled her eyes as she realized what she'd just thought - how did he have her referring to him in different third person names? It was creepy.

She needed to pull him out of that funk. Now.

1:25 A.M.: Nope. I was just thinking about sending you another picture. For your pleasure, of course.

Drunk Felicity was definitely bold. She was sitting there, gripping her phone, picturing Oliver getting pleasure out of her pictures, and she felt a flush cover her body that had nothing to do with her alcohol consumption.

1:26 A.M.: Yes. You should absolutely do that.

1:26:A.M.: Please. Do that.

She giggled at his blatant begging for more pictures. It was too adorable picturing his gorgeous baby blues wide open, trying to con more naughty pictures out of her. Oliver Queen desperately wanted to see more of her body.

But, she was drunk. And she was sitting down on her couch with her head leaned back in the cushions, a warm blanket over her legs. The alcohol running through her veins was making her relaxed and tired. So very, very tired. She couldn't send him another picture in this state. Who knew what she might send!

1:27 A.M.: Sry 2 disappoint, Mr. Queen. You'll just have to wait until tmrw.

His response was immediate.

1:27 A.M.: So you know who I am. I should get to know who you are, too. Fair play and all.

1:27 A.M.: Not going to happen.

1:28 A.M.: Earlier, you said, 'Spoilers.' Does that mean you will eventually tell me who you are?

Not frakking likely, Felicity thought to herself. If she had her way, he would never find out. But she couldn't very well tell him that.

1:30 a.m.: The mystery is part of the fun.

That was a vague enough answer. She hadn't said that she would never tell him, but she hadn't agreed to it, either.

The couch cushions began calling to her, begging her to sink further down into their warmth. She pulled the blanket up over her shoulders, settling in to wait for the next text message from Oliver to come through. Her head leaned back and she snuggled further down into her couch. Her eyes slowly slipped closed.

Her thoughts were occupied with the idea of Oliver somehow discovering that it was Felicity sending him these pictures. Her mind kept imagining different scenarios over and over, and since it was her imagination, most of the scenarios she created ended with them tangled together in bed. Or on her couch. Or the mat on the floor of the lair. Or against the wall in his office. As her mind kept playing them out, they drifted from conscious fantasies into even better dreams, and her mind never again strayed to the bunches of flowers waiting on her floor.

A/N: THEY'RE TEXTING. And the maybe-stalker has made another appearance. Seriously - what's with all the flowers?

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