Chapter Fourteen
Not calling Oliver wasn't an option but calling him wasn't going to be pleasant. Their last meeting was fairly heated—hell, she practically ordered Diggle to pistol whip him! The man was unlikely to be in a receptive mood.
The phone picked up on the second ring. She held her breath.
"This is Oliver."
"Hi," she said. It was the first thing that came to mind.
"Can you hold for a moment?" His tone was cool and detached, almost robotic. She listened as he excused himself. After a moment he came back on, "Yes?"
"We need to talk," she said.
"I'm a bit busy at the moment but I might be able to pencil you in later."
"Oliver, it's important. Very important. We need to talk as soon as possible and I can't do it at the office." She allowed a hint of irritability to enter her voice because she really didn't want to deal with his hurt pride or his bullshit. "Is Isabel there because, whatever you do you can't let her know I'm on the other end of this call. Say 'I'll try to get those documents to you later today' if she's there."
He took a moment before answering, this time speaking in a clear and professional tone, "I'm so sorry about that, I'll try to get you those documents later today. Perhaps we can schedule a lunch to go over them sometime? Is tomorrow good for you, say around noon?"
"No, has to be tonight." She tried to think fast, "Can you get out early and meet me in," she glanced at her phone, "twenty minutes at the Foundry?"
"Can you make it forty-five?"
"Fine, meet you there." She hung up without any of the usual niceties and headed for the club.
Verdant was closed on Mondays so the place was practically deserted. Still, she parked around the back and under the metal awning just in case Bruce decided to be a butthead again. She doubted he'd show after what happened two days previously but you could never tell with him. One thing she did know was that if he showed up today she was borrowing one of Oliver's bows so he could try dodging arrows instead of toasters and cell phones.
She was still pissed about that. Her house was completely wrecked. She wasn't up to cleaning it yesterday and today she'd been more concerned about getting ready to meet with Isabel so she'd either been avoiding the post-shag debris or just stepping over it. She was seriously considering sending him a bill because it was his fault she flipped her shit and destroyed all that crap while trying to brain him. The worst part was that her coffee mug had left a crack in the drywall. There was no way she was getting her security deposit back. "Ought to charge him for that too."
She unlocked the doors and approached the keypad. She checked her text messages to see if Oliver had sent the new codes but nothing was there. She considered asking him but decided to flex her brain instead and try out the upgrades she had made to her new phone. Placing it near the pad with the key card device attached she activated the decryption app and waited for the click. "Too easy," she said, shaking her head as the light turned green and the door unlocked after only a few seconds. She glanced at her phone and grimaced. She was early but not enough to ensure she had time to rework the system. She'd have to talk Diggle through it later.
She looked around the quiet space for a long moment before sitting down to her work station. For all she knew this was the last time she'd ever see this place again but she wasn't going to dwell on it. She'd cried over too many pints of ice cream this week and it was only Monday. If she kept it up she'd not only be miserable but forced to buy a new wardrobe in less than a month and for her that really meant something. Her bungalow had two fairly good sized bedrooms; one she slept in and one that now served as her closet. She used her actual closet space for shoes and even that was a large walk-in. Between all the take-out, gourmet ice cream, and retail therapy she had been indulging in she was not looking forward to getting her credit card statement at the end of the month.
"Too bad Ben and Jerry's doesn't have a line of fat-free sugar-free ice cream, even FroYo isn't going to cut it for too long if this keeps up," she muttered as she began her searches on Stellmoor International.
She'd researched Stellmoor before, of course. After they found Isabel's name in the book she'd made it her personal mission but she never found much. She had a little more to go on now given Isabel's revelations during lunch so she tried giving it a shot using some of the new information.
She lost time as she began to research everything from Stellmoor's foreign assets to Black Canary and sightings of other female vigilantes. There weren't many but there were more than there had been since last she checked. Most were normal humans, like Oliver, who merely wished to help their communities, but some were meta-human or alien.
Only in the last year or so had the general populace become aware of the existence of aliens or the mutated humans known as metas who, for no apparent reason, had taken an evolutionary leap causing them to exhibit abilities well above the norm. She knew about them because of her brief affiliation with Batman but she doubted Oliver or Diggle did before they started popping up in Starling just after Harrison Wells' particle accelerator exploded during a freak storm.
Of course, there was a theory going around that it wasn't the meltdown of Wells' machine that caused the surge in metas, but alien manipulation. Granted, so far most scientists felt that the only people positing the alien theory were cranks and crackpots, but Felicity was one of the few people who knew for a fact that aliens existed. Bruce had run into a few here and there and she'd seen the files. Oliver knew about enhanced humans like those affected by the Mirakuru super-soldier serum but she doubted he'd be open to the idea of aliens. Diggle was a harder read. He was a skeptic in most things but he seemed to accept the idea of the super-soldier serum with little argument and he had more than a passing association with ARGUS. Then again, perhaps it was because he had seen the effects of the drug for himself and for him that still fell under science; fringe science, but science nonetheless.
Due to the surge in meta-human sightings, Bruce, not known as being the most tolerant person in the world, had taken a special interest in this phenomenon. He didn't trust these super-powered beings and had started a database where he tracked each and every occurrence. It was not done out of blind prejudice but born from the fact that he had seen 'normal' humans commit such heinous crimes that the idea of an enhanced human capable of doing the same or worse filled him with dread. She tapped into the backdoor he didn't know she'd left in the supercomputer she'd built for him and used his database as a jumping off point. Bruce wasn't the only one studying these meta-humans and he had been tracking those for some time as well. Many scientific and government agencies had begun their own inquiries without the general public's knowledge. Bruce would have been more than a little concerned if he heard what Isabel had told her during lunch. The idea of a private company building an army of modern Amazons would have sent him into a fit. To him the idea of power unchecked, whether it was held by man or government, was unacceptable even if the intentions were to protect the public good.
As she began to look into any groups who might be aligned with Stellmoor, many of her leads proved to be dead ends but some led to ARGUS, Diggle's ex-wife's employer. Supposedly they were some kind of scientific research think tank funded by the government but she knew they were more than that. ARGUS was a black hat government agency with strong connections to the military. They were so enigmatic in fact, that even though they had existed since the Revolutionary war under the banner Armed Revolutionaries Governing Under Secrecy then later during the Civil War as Anonymous Ranger Group of the United States, no one actually knew what their true charter was or how far their reach extended. Officially, the modern ARGUS stood for Advanced Research Group United Support, but it had other names including Advanced Research Group Uniting Super-Humans, although that last bit wasn't common knowledge.
It appeared that they had some crossover with Stellmoor though and that worried her. Was Lyla their leak? Doubtful, she nearly died protecting their mission and she risked her life to come after them when Waller sent in drones to take out Slade and the entire city. Even though she and Dig broke up after she lost the baby, she was still a trusted team friendly. Was Waller? Oliver had never gone into details but he once worked for Amanda Waller and she was aware of the fact he was the Arrow. Could it have been ARGUS who told Stellmoor about Oliver? It was possible but he'd been the Arrow for over a year before she and Diggle met back up. Isabel could have been lying about knowing Oliver's secret for that long though and she was with them in Russia. Funnily enough, she'd never even blinked or asked why an injured woman was coming back with them on the QC jet. At the time they'd just been relieved to be going back home so she hadn't even thought to question it. Isabel had kept her so busy with paperwork and after hearing her bitch at Oliver for most of the flight home the only thing she'd wanted to do was get the hell away from her. Now though it was really giving her something to think about.
What if she didn't just happen to show up for that flight? What if Amanda Waller, the head of ARGUS, had tipped her off so she could assess Oliver up close and in the field? What if his bedroom skills weren't the only thing that had caught her interest that weekend? That might have been when Stellmoor caught their coms and realized her place within the team. Being in Russia Felicity had to work with limited tech and do things on the fly. Her encryptions might not have been her rock solid/steel trap usual. That would have made her the weak link, not Lyla or ARGUS.
A shiver ran down Felicity's spine as she thought about that. What if she'd given Stellmoor a backdoor into everything? Not just the LAIR system and their coms, but the call she'd made to Barbara. That would give them an in to Watchtower—no, she decided quickly. Barbara was almost as fanatical about security as she was, and Bruce, no computer slouch himself, made them look sloppy in comparison. Watchtower was probably safe but it didn't mean LAIR was.
She glanced at her phone to see if she had time to run a diagnostic and was surprised that she'd been there for well over an hour and he still hadn't showed up. Concerned, she texted him.
/Are you okay?/
/Coming, just held up. Be there soon/
She rolled her eyes and sighed. She never in a million years thought that she'd wind up becoming yet another woman in Oliver Queen's life that he ran from.
She ran the diagnostic program in the background and began upgrading the entrance security. By the time she was done another hour and 45 minutes had passed and still no Oliver.
"Screw it," she said and grabbed her jacket and bag. He could sit and twist; she wasn't about to wait on him forever.
She left the Lair and was half in her car when he pulled up.
"You're leaving?" He asked coolly as he stepped off his motorcycle.
"You kept me waiting almost three hours, Oliver. I told you it was important," she pointed out with a scowl.
"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "I had a tough day at work. My EA quit on me without notice last week and I've had to play catch up all day using a temp."
If it wasn't for the fact that she now knew his identity was compromised and that a bigger conspiracy was looming over all of their heads she would have flipped him the bird and let him figure it out for himself. "Fine," she said, slamming the door to her Mini and stalking to the keypad.
"We changed the codes," Oliver said casually from behind her. "I'll have to open—"
She keyed in the new code and didn't even bother turning around to see his expression. "I wrote the security encryptions, remember. By the way, check your phone. I sent both you and Dig the new door codes. The Lair should actually be secure now."
She could practically hear him grinding his teeth into dust as he followed her down the stairs to her workstation. She immediately clicked on her diagnostics to check that everything was still secure and finished the security sweep that would alert her to the possibility of any bugs or locational listening devices within range.
"You're the one who wanted to meet so are you going to tell me what you have to tell me or what? I cancelled a dinner meeting for this," he said in his 'I'm pissed off so obey and fear me' voice.
She rolled her eyes and waited another second for the sweep to show an all clear before she turned to face him. "You're identity has been compromised. Isabel knows you're the Arrow."
"And how do you know that?" Oliver asked skeptically.
"I had lunch with her today and she told me."
"She had lunch with you after you punched her in the face last week and told you, point blank, that I was the Arrow?" He said with a raised eyebrow. "No reason, she just blurted it out over appetizers?"
"She offered me a job at Stellmoor based on the fact that I was your tech for Team Arrow. She actually said the words, 'I know that Oliver is the Arrow'. So yeah, she just blurted it out. But not over appetizers, she saved it for the end of the meal." She added.
"She offered you a job? Isabel?" Oliver laughed. "Right." He sighed and sat on the edge of her workstation, "She was obviously lying."
"No, she wasn't," she said slowly. "Oliver, you have to believe me—"
"You should know better than to believe anything she said to you, Felicity," Oliver said in a condescending manner. "It's obvious that she was just playing a game of cat and mouse with you as payback for the other day." He straightened his back and focused on her more alertly, "You didn't accidently confirm anything she said did you?"
Felicity took a moment to remove her jacket and toss her bag into the chair in front of her monitoring post angrily before speaking. She turned to him and pushed her glasses off the bridge of her nose with her middle finger. And yes, she thought at him, that was deliberate. "I know better than to just blurt out your secrets, Oliver! I'm not an idiot."
"I'm not saying you're an idiot," Oliver told her evenly. "However, you and I both know you have a tendency to babble a bit when you get nervous and Isabel tends to put you on edge."
"I was not babbling and I was not on edge!" She said sharply before muttering to herself, "Until she hit on me and then I may have babbled a little bit."
"She hit you?" Oliver asked, his face darkening slightly as he straightened his spine and seemed to zero on her face as though looking for injuries.
"No, she didn't hit me," she let out a noise of exasperation. "I said she hit on me; as in made a pass at me."
Oliver's face widened into a huge grin and he chuckled a bit as he relaxed. He ran his hand over his mouth and tilted his head toward the ceiling, scratching at his ever present stubble as he did so. "Diggle is going to be so disappointed that I gave him the night off when he hears about this."
"This isn't funny!" Felicity scowled at him, her temper quickly beginning to escalate.
He tilted his head and gave her another grin, "It's a little funny."
"Oliver, I'm serious," she said insistently. "Isabel knows about you. She said that Stellmoor International is more than just some evil Vulture Capitalist Corporate Raider Conglomerate, it's a worldwide organization that has a particular interest in people like you." She frowned and shook her head, "She also said a few other things that struck me as odd—"
"Of course she said a few things that struck you as being odd, she was lying," Oliver said wryly.
She through her hands up in exasperation, waving them about in emphasis. "She wasn't lying! She knew everything; she even knew about-"
He moved close to her, grabbed her hands, and held them still. "Felicity, she was lying," he said calmly as he looked down at her. "She was just trying to play some kind of mind game, she's good at that, but I know for a fact that she was lying to you."
Felicity scowled, "How do you know?"
He released her hands and leaned against the desk again. "Well, for one thing, I definitely know she's not a lesbian."
"And why's that? Because you slept with her once?" She asked, cocking a superior eyebrow in his direction.
He crossed his arms across his chest and continued to look smug. "As a matter of fact, yes; and, trust me, she's definitely not gay."
"Sara—" she began.
"Sara had one serious girlfriend," he broke in. "One. I'm not saying she never messed around with other women while we were together but, believe me, there's a big difference between a woman who sometimes colors outside the lines but still genuinely enjoys sex with men and someone who's putting on a show. Trust me, Isabel wasn't faking it."
Dumb ass! Felicity wanted to shout but instead she said, "First off, you might want to call Sara before you start spewing out numbers because, trust me, I've been there when she's six shots into a bottle of the good stuff and it's been waaay more than just the one. As for Isabel and the gaydar detector in your pants; haven't you ever heard of the Kinsey scale or is your he-man 'I'm a stud' ego just that big?" She pulled a disgusted face. "News flash, Romeo: Human sexuality is a sliding scale. Women can identify as lesbian and still find men attractive. From what she told me, I'd say Isabel's a four; bisexual but with a strong preference for women." She shot him a filthy look, "Believe it or not, Oliver; my time is still valuable and I don't have time to sit here and stroke your ego all night long. I'm telling you the truth, make of it what you will; I don't care anymore."
"Is that right?" Oliver said, seemingly unimpressed.
"That's right," she told him.
"Well, my time is pretty valuable, too. Sorry if I kept you waiting but I still have a job; two of them in fact," he said with a confident grin. "Speaking of which, if you want to hear my theory as to why you're really here, it's not because you think Isabel's a threat; it's because you want to come back and you're too embarrassed to admit it."
"You're full of crap!" She snapped at him.
"Am I?" He asked, arching an eyebrow in her direction. "You quit just the other day and yet this is the second time you've shown up at the Lair under some pretense or another. And, FYI, if you're that interested in what is or isn't in my pants I can promise you it wasn't just my ego you were stroking while we were in the conference room."
She flushed hotly at the reminder of what had happened between them and glared, "While I hate to interrupt this commentary on your sexual prowess, were you even listening when I told you that she knows you're the Arrow? That she probably has had you followed for some time? That there may be some sort of way for her to intercept our transmissions? No. You just focused on making fun of me and ignoring everything else." She snatched her jacket and purse off the chair, "Look, if you don't want to take me seriously, then fine! I'll handle it on my own."
She headed for the stairs with him trailing after her.
"Felicity, you know you can't actually empty her bank accounts, right?" He said in a slightly bored yet indulgent tone. "She was just trying to get your goat."
She whirled on him, her finger poking him in the chest. "First off, I most certainly could go all kinds of cyber-vigilante on her if I chose, but I won't. For once she's not the one being an ass; you are. Keep that in mind as you continue to piss me off!" She snapped.
He sighed in exasperation, "Look, I realized Isabel might have scared you with her little prank but you need to take a breath and think it through: Isabel has been with the company for two years now; why would she wait that long to reveal something like that and to you of all people?" He took a step towards her, "Felicity, if you want to come back we can work this out but Isabel isn't a threat, I promise you."
"I'm telling you the truth!" She said angrily. "She wasn't just playing a prank, she was dead serious, but since you refuse to see it then I have no choice but to either handle this myself or go to an outside source for help. You're not the only one who could be affected by this kind of security breech!"
That got his attention, "What 'outside source'?"
"You know what Oliver, just don't worry about it," she said with a sigh, the fight leaving her. "I'm done. Sorry I wasted your time."
She turned to walk away but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back, speaking in a low growl, "You are not to go to Batman with this, do you hear me?"
She snatched her arm back and glared up at him, "Don't grab at me and don't tell me what I can or can't do, I don't work for you anymore. That said, I wasn't planning on going directly to him but to one of his associates. Believe it or not I do have other means at my disposal other than you."
"No, you're not going to go to anyone about this, do you hear me?" He said, getting very close and looming over her intimidatingly. "Especially not to someone associated with Batman. You may not work for me anymore but this is my city and my business."
She shook her head at him and her eyes reflected the disappointment she was feeling at that moment, "You know, I would have gone to the ends of the Earth for you not so long ago. I did things for you that I never imagined I was even capable of doing—I jumped out of a plane and landed in a minefield just to convince you to come home so you could be the Arrow!" She dropped her eyes to the floor, no longer able to even look at him. "I've done and I've done and I never asked you for anything, not once, and the one time I do, the one time I ask you to show some faith in me, just hear me out, you can't even do that. You don't believe me, fine. Like I said, I'm a big girl; I'll figure it out." She headed up the stairs. "Goodbye Oliver."
"Can you blame me, Felicity?" Oliver said angrily from the bottom of the stairs. "Why should I have faith in anything you have to say when I found out a few days ago that you've been lying to me this whole time?"
She spared him one last glance, "Have a good life, Oliver Queen." And left.
*\?/*\?/*\?/*
When Felicity got home the first thing she did after stepping over the remains of her toaster and the broken bottle of wine was head to her 'closet' and hang up her new outfits. She had to do a bit of shoving and rearranging to get them in there. For a split second she thought about heading out in the morning to the big hardware store downtown to pick up some more of the rolling garment racks that filled the entire room before she remembered she was supposed to be moving out that weekend.
She glanced around the space skeptically. There was no way she could do this by herself. Note to self, she thought, call around and see if any of the moving companies in the area offered packing services as well. It would cost more but it would be worth it.
She headed out of the 'closet room' and into her bedroom where she stripped down the bed to change her sheets that still smelled like Bruce and briefly considered tossing them in her fireplace. It was tempting but smashing a $40 bottle of wine and a coffee mug was one thing, setting her favorite 1500 tread-count Egyptian cotton sheets on fire was another. She shoved them down into the hamper, took off her dress and hung it to go with the rest of her dry cleaning in the morning, then headed for the tub.
She soaked until her fingers and toes got prune-y, refreshing the cooling water with hot as she went. Her little bungalow had its faults with the drafty walls and the huge windows that, while charming, let in all kinds of light at the butt crack of dawn (she had become a big fan of black-out curtains), but she'd miss this. Lucius lived in a penthouse at Wayne Towers and it was beautiful, modern, and comfortable, but it lacked the charm of her shabby-chic little house. There would be no pipes rattling in the middle of the night, no water spots on the ceiling marring the crown moldings and ornate plaster, no scarred claw-footed tubs. Not that she didn't enjoy modern conveniences; she was a techie after all and loved her gadgets, but this had been her first place and she'd miss the freedom it provided.
She spent her tub time flitting between melancholy, regret, Isabel's revelations, and the more practical concerns of moving before finally giving up and deciding it was time to get dressed in her warm and fuzzies and start putting her house to rights. She tugged on the thick chenille robe her dad had given her for her birthday and headed for her bedroom.
She loved the long fuzzy oversized robe that she could easily wrap around herself twice over with its embroidered polka-dot cats and steaming coffee mugs. She had a few of the whimsical plush robes. She'd been a big fan of The Nanny when she was younger, one of the few non-sci-fi shows she enjoyed, and she, Tam, and their dad would all sit in front of the television and laugh whenever it came on while Luke moaned and groaned even though he secretly enjoyed it as well. He made a point of getting her and her sister a new robe every year since they left home as a reminder of their nights spent watching movies or Nick at Nite, drinking hot cups of cocoa, and snacking from big bowls of popcorn on the coffee table. She stroked the soft material on her lapel with a little bit of melancholy and wondered briefly if she could catch an episode or two before bed.
She went straight to the old fashioned steam trunk style chest at the foot of her bed to pull out a fresh set of sheets then turned to her large ornate chest of drawers for some pajamas. As she turned she caught some movement from the corner of her eye and screamed, her heart thumping in her chest. As soon as she was able to focus she yelled, "Goddamn it, Oliver! What the hell?!"
"Sorry," he said, although his relaxed pose in her bedroom doorway said different. "I wanted to talk to you some more and I knocked but you didn't answer. I was just going to leave a note but then I saw the mess." He frowned and hitched his thumb at the living room, "What happened out there? Did someone break in or something?"
"Sort of," she scowled. "Speaking of breaking in, I have a security system on my door."
"You're not the only one who can hack a keypad," he shot back a bit too smugly for her tastes. "I checked the other rooms just in case after I saw all the glass and broken stuff. By the way; your guestroom?" He moved into the room further, his hands in his trouser pockets as he arched an eyebrow at her. "Wow. And I thought Thea was a shop-a-holic."
She gave him her best 'go to hell' look grabbing the pillows on her bed angrily as she shoved them into the fresh cases then tossed them on the overstuffed chaise lounge by the window. "Just say what you have to say and go, Oliver. It may seem pretty early to you but I'm tired and I still have a lot to do before I can go to bed tonight."
She began to unfold the sheets and Oliver wandered over to the other side, his eyes downcast and looking a bit guilty. "Need help with that?"
"I didn't think boys with trust funds the size of yours made beds," Felicity said a bit facetiously.
He threw her an amused look, "So says the daughter of one of the greatest financial geniuses in the world? Are you telling me you don't have a trust fund squirrelled away somewhere-and before you answer that keep in mind I saw the guest bedroom."
"Fine!" She pouted, tossing him the other corner of the sheets as they tucked them under the corners, working in tandem. "For the record though, I've never touched it—my trust. Everything I have I earned all on my own."
"I didn't realize QC paid that well," Oliver snorted as he pulled the sheets tight before tucking the bottom corner.
She stopped and placed her hands on her hips. "For your information, I had a life before I came here. I sold some software I developed before I was hired on-it's half of the reason I got the job to begin with." She folded her arms over her chest with a frown, "Wait, have you ever even read my file?"
"Of course I did." He paused, catching her expression of disbelief, "Well, no, I never actually got around to it." Oliver said before grinning sheepishly at her disgruntled huff, "I already knew everything I needed to know about you, okay? I trusted you so I didn't really care what some file said; I already knew all I needed to."
She unfolded the top sheet and muttered, "Trust, right."
He snagged the other corners of the sheet and pulled them over to his side. "Yeah, I actually came over tonight to apologize." He tucked in the bottom of the sheets and looked up at her, his eyes filled with remorse. "I'm sorry for being an ass. I should have listened."
She looked over at him, her anger deflating, and motioned toward the duvet. "Help me fluff the covers, okay?"
"Fluff?" He smiled, a genuine one and not one of the all too frequent practiced smiles he saved for the rest of the world. "That a technical term?"
"Just fluff," she ordered. They snapped the duvet between them until it floated gracefully onto the sheets. It had always been her favorite part of making the bed, that magical little moment when the covers seemed to hang in the air like a parachute before covering the entire bed in a whisper soft puff of air. It was weird but it always made her smile. She looked over at Oliver and noticed he was staring at her, his eyes fixed on her chest. He quickly looked away and she blushed crimson when she realized why. Her robe had loosened and it was open almost to her navel.
She tightened it quickly as he cleared his throat. "So," he said, "Um, software development, huh? I'm not exactly a fashion guy but even I could tell that you must have done pretty well for yourself."
"It was just a few programs, nothing big," she shrugged, willing her embarrassment away. "I mean, I was probably overpaid but Bruce has deep pockets, so—"
"Wait, Bruce?" He said cutting her off. "As in Bruce Wayne? You worked for WayneTech?"
"No, not exactly," she said clearing her throat. "I just consulted for Bruce on a few private projects after MIT."
"Is that all there was between you two?"
"What?" She looked up at him, her embarrassment giving way to anger once again.
His eyes were hooded and the lines around his mouth had deepened into the beginnings of a scowl. "Not that it's any of my business or anything but I saw the way he acted toward you the other day, not to mention the way you kept trying to avoid him." His eyes locked onto hers and something dark and deadly flitted across his eyes. "Wait, he didn't do anything to you, did he? Harass you or hurt you?" He seemed to pause over the word 'hurt'. "Is that why you moved here from Gotham?"
"No!" Felicity said quickly then paused, "Well, yes, but not in the way you're implying." She pushed her rapidly drying and slightly frizzy blonde hair from her eyes and sat on the bed heavily. "It's a long story."
"So tell it," Oliver said in a far too casual to be believed tone.
"No, absolutely not," Felicity said, playing with a loose thread on her robe.
"You're the one who said I never ask you anything personal," he pointed out.
"There's personal and then there's personal."
Oliver moved closer to her to stand at the foot of the bed. He bumped her knees with his and offered a wry twitch of the corners of his mouth, hitching a thumb at his chest, "My longtime girlfriend asked me to move in and I responded by sleeping with her sister, and running away to China—or I intended to anyway; the whole five years spent on an island hell was kind of a karmic kick in the teeth, but still. The point is that you know all of my fucked up crap and I don't know any of yours, so talk."
"We really should be talking about Isabel," she pointed out in an attempt to dodge the conversation.
"We will, but first I want to, I don't know, establish a baseline or something." He sighed, sitting down next to her. He reached for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "I trust you, I do, but you've got to show me you can let go of some of your secrets first. Not all of them, but something easy. Too many people in my life have kept secrets and I need to, I don't know; get back to normal with you before I can relax again."
Oliver was not a words kind of guy so, when he admitted that, it pretty much blew every argument she had out of the water. She shut her eyes, her cheeks already stained red, and dove right in. "Okay. Well," she began as she struggled to figure out the best way to tell him without giving away too many of the more important details, "It was nothing really. I was barely 19 and I'd never even been out on a date much less kissed a guy or anything—"
"Wait," he said stopping her, "How is that possible? You were 19 and had never gone out with anybody? By the time I was nineteen…" He let his voice trail off with a naughty gleam in his eye. "Let's just say I was a very busy guy."
She raised her eyes to his ruefully, "Not all of us were as precocious as you. Besides, I started college when I was barely thirteen years old and my brother and I shared an apartment because my dad didn't want me staying by myself at MIT; especially after some creepy Lacrosse player decided to get all stalker-y my freshman year. And Luke, well, he can be a bit overprotective."
"Lacrosse player?" Oliver asked, a hint of the Arrow coming through. "Why would a grown man stalk a thirteen year old girl?"
"I was fourteen by then," she shrugged. "It was during the summer session so I had just had my birthday. Not that it matters to the story, but I wanted to graduate early so I was packing in the hours and, apparently, it was slim pickings on campus during that time of year, I guess."
"Slim pickings?" He said with a deepening scowl.
"Yeah, it was some stupid frat game," she said dismissively, although at the time it had scared her. "I don't think he actually knew I was only fourteen at the time. I mean, I looked young, that was obvious, but I think he figured that just meant I'd be a pushover and he was trying to score as many points as he could."
The truth was that her mother's reputation had apparently followed her. Sebastian 'Trip' Hady III (otherwise known by the pithy frat name Trip 'Get Laid-y' Hady), the boy in question, had family in Gotham and he figured the apple didn't fall far from the tree but she wasn't going to tell him that. Some things were still too private.
"Points?" Oliver bit out.
"Yeah," she said closing her eyes at the memory, "the frat had this thing called a 'cherry picking'—"
"I'm familiar with the term," Oliver said grimly. "What happened to the lacrosse player?"
"Well, let's just say that after Luke got finished with him he wasn't playing lacrosse anymore," she said ruefully. "Also the frat got shut down as a result of their 'game'. It…didn't exactly make me popular with the Greeks. Nobody ever messed with me again though."
"I think I like your brother," Oliver said at last. "Is he your only sibling?"
"No," she gave him an incredulous look. "You didn't even look into Lucius's background before the meeting either?"
He shrugged, "Didn't have time."
"You spend hours preparing for a mission and you can't take five minutes to skim some research at work?"
He looked at her askance, "I dropped out of four different colleges; this surprises you?"
Felicity took a deep breath and sighed, "You drive me insane, you know that? Okay, so I have a brother and a sister; technically they're my stepsiblings since they're from his first marriage but Lucius helped raise me since I was just a few months old and adopted me before I was two so we've never split hairs. Luke used to be with the Peace Corps but now he works for The Wayne International Charity Foundation in Africa; he runs a program in Tinasha, that's in the Congo, educating kids."
"From MIT to the Peace Corps to the Congo running a charity? That's admirable but a bit of an odd career trajectory isn't it?"
"Yeah, well, Dad wasn't all that happy with the idea at first. He graduated a year early from MIT with a job offer from Wayne Enterprises working directly with Dad but he turned it down. Sitting behind a desk or spending time in a lab just wasn't his thing. He's always been very physical and active, always more of an engineer than a software geek like me. As kids we'd design stuff and he'd put it together. He joined the Peace Corps because the idea of helping people appealed to him as well as the labor intensive stuff like building bridges and schools, he liked the hands-on thing and he apparently loves teaching. It's weird because he was never the most patient guy in the world but he's happy and he sends me updates every once in a while along with requests for treats to give to his students." She smiled, "Hey, wait," she reached over to her nightstand and showed him a picture of her brother in a silver frame surrounded by a bunch of barefoot and slightly dusty and sweaty kids who had obviously been playing a rousing game of soccer if the ball in Luke's hand was any indication.
"That's your brother?" Oliver said in surprise as he examined the picture before handing it back to her, "Pretty buff guy for a school teacher."
She smiled and put it back on her nightstand, "Yeah, well, like I said; he's always been a physical kind of person. He did a lot of kickboxing and mixed martial arts in college. It helps because he really got involved in helping the child soldiers down there, providing education and protection. He doesn't say it but I know things can get pretty dangerous in that part of the world. Along with the basics he teaches the kids martial arts and self-defense. He says it helps them focus, teaches them discipline, and directs their aggression into something constructive. When David Zavimbe, the former Director, resigned from the Foundation Bruce offered the job to Luke. He been down there for a few years now and I really don't think he'll ever leave; he loves it too much."
Oliver smiled at her, his eyes lighter and softer than they've been in a long time, "He sounds like a really great guy."
"He is," she said with a bright smile. "You know, growing up we never fought. He and Tam used to go at it like cats and dogs but…I don't know, they were always my whole world. I was always especially close to Luke. I mean, Tam and I are close, don't get me wrong, but Luke was my hero growing up. He still kind of is," she said, glancing at the photo again.
"I wish I had that sometimes," Oliver said with a contemplative look. "I always wished I had an older brother, someone to look up to. It would have been nice to have someone there to turn to or just to call me on my shit when I messed up, you know? Not like my parents, not in a judgmental 'you're screwing up and embarrassing the family name' kind of way; just someone who had already been there and who could help me to get through it when I needed someone to rely on."
"You had Tommy," she pointed out.
"Not really," he said with a slightly sheepish grin, "Tommy and I were like brothers, yeah, but he wasn't my hero; we were more like partners in crime."
She laughed, "Yeah, that's me and Tam. Every adventurous thing I ever did was because of her. I mean everything. She's a total instigator. She took me to get my ears pierced when I was twelve and my dad about had a fit when I came home with five holes in each ear."
"I'll bet!" He grinned, "Is she the one responsible for the tattoo?"
She lifted her foot and looked down at the girlish cursive along her instep that said 'Dream Big', "Yep; she took me to the tattoo parlor just before she left for La Fémis after Sarah Lawrence. She even got me my first fake ID so we could get in because I was underage. The place was a total hellhole smack dab in the middle of the worst part of town, and I'm lucky I didn't contract Hepatitis from the tattoo needle, but at the time the only thing I was upset about was the fact that they didn't even bother checking it. I spent two whole days watching Fargo and memorizing my fake birthday because of that stupid ID."
"Fargo?" He asked in confusion.
"The movie," she clarified. "For some reason the guy who made the fake ID gave us Minnesota driver's licenses and I wanted to have the accent right, just in case."
He laughed; one of his rare laughs that brightened his whole expression and shaved years of pain from his face. "Your sister sounds like a trip."
Felicity smiled, "Tam? Oh man, Tam is the best. She's the oldest so she's always been leader of the pack and the rest of us just fall in line. She's fantastic: smart, wicked sense of humor, fearless really. She speaks five languages fluently, is incredibly sharp, and can kick some serious butt if you piss her off. She works at Wayne Enterprises in the Entertainment Division and really seems to enjoy it."
"So everyone but you works for Wayne in your family?" He asked.
"Yep."
"Why didn't Wayne offer you a job there as well?" He asked, his tone casual but his eyes were sharp.
"He did, so did Dad. I just wanted to do something on my own," she said, not looking at him directly. The truth was she couldn't have survived working day after day in the same building as Bruce after what had happened but she didn't want to say that. He broke her heart and even though the job at QC was entry level, she was more concerned with distance than prestige or money when she accepted it.
Oliver gave her a puzzled look, "Can I ask you something before you tell me your undoubtedly tragic and humiliating Bruce Wayne story?"
"I love the way you phrased that," she muttered. "Go ahead." She prepared herself for one of a thousand questions he could ask her like, 'Why did you say your dad abandoned your family if you consider Lucius to be your dad?' 'Why didn't you wait for a position in Applied Sciences instead of taking the first thing available in IT?' or 'Why not accept a job closer to home at AmerTech or LexCorp in Metropolis?'.
"If Lucius is your dad and he raised you then how are you Jewish?"
That was a bit out of left field, she thought. She looked at him askance, "You do know that black people can be Jewish, right? Black people, Asian people, Latin people, Indian people, anyone can be Jewish; the twelve tribes are nothing if not diverse." He squinted at her slightly in the same way he did at the office when he was pretending to understand something that was completely foreign to him like computers or pop culture references. She narrowed her eyes and gave him her best, 'you're not fooling me' look. "Judaism isn't just an ethnicity; it's a religion, a nationality, and a culture as well and converts have the same standing within the mainstream Jewish community as someone who is considered an 'ethnic' Jew." At his blank look she sighed, "Lenny Kravitz is Jewish, Oliver."
"Um, sure. Yeah, I knew that," Oliver said unconvincingly.
The corners of her lips quirked upwards as she noticed the slight flush on the usually unflappable man's cheeks and decided to let him off the hook for once, "Lucius's first wife was of mixed heritage and Jewish so he converted for her and then he met my mom who was Jewish as well. That said we weren't very observant, just the High Holidays, and we had a Menorah and a Hanukah bush that tended to stay up until Christmas so there might have been a little wiggle room here and there. The Hanukah bush/Jewish Christmas thing started when Tam made the argument that since at least part of our heritage was Christian, even if Lucius had converted years ago, we should do both. Mostly though it was just because she liked getting presents and Lucius just went with it that way Tam and Luke could do Hanukah with his first wife's family and Jewish Christmas with us," she added. "Trust me, none of us were complaining."
"Got it," he nodded. "Okay, now that I've managed to completely embarrass myself by exposing my lack of cultural knowledge, it's your turn. I'm ready for you to tell me all about your totally humiliating sexual awakening."
"Oh God…" Felicity's eyes practically bugged out of her skull and her tongue seemed to swell like she'd just pigged out on one of those monster tubs of peanut butter she saw at the Price Club last time she went shopping for supplies.
"Hey, I just put my foot in my mouth and practically admitted that the only thing I know about Jewish people is that they're good with numbers and that Jerry Seinfeld is funny as hell," he said blithely. "It's the least you can do."
"Really? Jewish accountant jokes?" Felicity asked, her jaw practically hitting the floor.
"Are we going for honesty or political correctness because you get one or the other but not both," he drawled.
She closed her eyes and prayed for lightening to strike her. "I can't believe I'm telling you this," she muttered before taking a calming breath. "There's really not much to it: I was 19, I was working on a special project for him, it was late, one thing led to another, blah blah blah." She shrugged and played with the ends of the tie holding her robe together nervously as she avoided his gaze. "It was one weekend and then on Monday he basically said, 'thanks for the sex, hope you enjoyed it, and here's some cab fare' and then I moved to Starling City a week later."
"Cab fare, huh?" he said with a ghost of a smile. "I bet he just pulled out his wallet and asked 'how much' after he was done."
"Better than that; he left it on the night stand after he got dressed."
"Nice," Oliver snickered.
"Really," she agreed her cheeks almost the same shade of dark pink as her robe. "He even threw in a tip for the driver."
"Ouch," he winced with a grin then looked up at the ceiling scratching the stubble on his neck in a familiar gesture. "I can't say much; I've done that and worse and didn't even say 'thanks' or offer cab fare when I was done."
"Well, since you two are charter members of The Billionaire Playboy Club, I'm not surprised," she said ruefully.
"Hey, at least he didn't knock you up, ruin your life, then have his mother pay you off, right?" He said. The words were said jokingly but she could hear the edge of self-hatred in his voice.
"It's not too late to have a relationship with Connor, Oliver," she reminded him for the umpteenth time. "Merlyn is dead. You could call Waller, have her send them a message…"
He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I can't, not now. Maybe later when he's older but right now he deserves to have an uncomplicated life, you know? It's bad enough that he and Sandy had to leave their entire lives behind them because of Merlyn, I just want him to have a chance to be a kid and not have to deal with any of this." He smiled tightly, "Besides, this is about you and me, remember? Connor…he's a discussion for another day."
"Fair enough," she said dropping it, then looked over at him. "Is it my turn to ask questions now?"
He looked at her cautiously, "What do you want to ask?"
"Nothing bad," she assured him. "It's just that you're always doing this," she mimed the scratching of his stubble gesture, "thing; have you ever considered just shaving?"
"What? And shave off my manly stubble?" He asked in mock horror before shrugging, "I don't know, I guess it's my way of holding onto that little bit of the old Ollie. I mean, I'm running my dad's company and I have to hide what I do as the Arrow from everyone, keeping the scruffy beard is my little way of thumbing my nose at the whole three piece suits and boardroom thing. Besides, the ladies dig it," he grinned. "Makes me look like a bad boy who just needs the right woman to help him change his wicked ways."
She couldn't help but roll her eyes at that. "You know, I could go on and on about the psychological theories behind why most politicians and businessmen believe a clean-shaven look makes them appear to be more open and trustworthy whereas a beard implies they have something to hide and then go on this whole tangent about what your uncommitted beard thing says about you, but I won't. Instead I'll just clue you in on the fact that, FYI, most women don't like getting beard burn when they kiss a guy so you might want to rethink that."
"I don't know," he said softly as he looked into her eyes, "I've never gotten any complaints." She shifted nervously and he cleared his throat. "So."
"So," she repeated.
"Well, at least Wayne is in your past and you've moved on since then, right? That's something."
She swallowed and stared down at her bare feet. "Right, yeah, totally."
He frowned a little, an inquisitive look lighting up his expression once more, "Well, I mean, you've dated plenty of guys since then, I'm sure."
She gave a bark of laughter at that, "What guys? How many 'guys' have you seen me date since you've known me?"
"Well," he seemed to think about it carefully, "there was Barry."
She nodded sadly, "Yeah, Barry; Barry who I shared all of one dance with and an exciting night of saving you from stroking out in the Lair." She shook her head ruefully, "Some love affair; we never even held hands much less kissed. On our 'second date', the one where he had to shoot you full of rat poison, he told me we could 'be friends' then went home where he was hit by lightning and spent months in a coma. Then, after weeks of me going to visit his bedside, he woke up as the Flash, had a new girlfriend he got together with while he was still in the coma, said 'thanks for being there', and left to do the whole superhero thing in Central City."
"Oh," Oliver said uncomfortably.
"Yeah, 'oh'," she snorted.
"Daniel?" He said, although not enthusiastically.
"You mean the other billionaire vigilante who was using me just to get close to you?" She said dubiously.
"Yeah well, I never really thought that guy was good enough for you anyway," Oliver muttered then paused. "Wait, what do you mean the 'other' billionaire vigilante?"
She froze, "Um, just that you're a billionaire vigilante and Daniel was a billionaire vigilante so that means you're, um, the other billionaire vigilante…" She let her voice trail off weakly.
"Okay, I guess so," he shrugged then scowled again, "I hated that guy. He was such a-"
"Asshole," she supplied then thought better of it, "No, actually he was a nice guy, he just had his own mission and went about things the wrong way."
He smirked, "No, you were right the first time; Garret was an asshole for using you like that and, for the record, I never trusted him. I kept trying to tell you something was off with him but you wouldn't listen."
"And your point is?"
He smirked, "That, for once, I was right and you were wrong."
"Really?" She said looking at him askance, "You're choosing now to rub my nose in that?"
"You never apologized for calling me a territorial asshat after I followed you guys to the restaurant."
"That's because you were being a territorial asshat," she said dryly.
"No, I was trying to protect you because I could tell that something was off about that guy and it turned out I was right," he said defensively.
"He was a mask, not a creepy supervillian with a mind control cocktail in his pocket," she said with a snort.
"But he could have been," Oliver said with a scowl. "The chemicals did come from his labs after all; you just don't want to admit that I was right when I said he was hiding something."
"Okay, you were right," Felicity told him in exasperation. "Happy now?"
"Yeah, pretty much," Oliver said with a twinkle in his eyes.
She snorted, "God, you've been waiting a year just to hear me say that, haven't you?"
"I have; yes," he admitted. "I also never thought Barry was a right fit for you either. Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy, but if he was really into you he wouldn't have hooked up with Iris the first chance he got."
"Yeah, well…" She said dourly.
He paused, "Plus, if you ask me, he's also got a thing going on with that little lab assistant chick, what's her name."
"Caitlin?" She asked incredulously.
"Yeah; her," he frowned. "Frankly something's off with her, too. I can't put my finger on it but—"
"First off, Caitlin isn't a 'lab assistant', she's a biochemist. Secondly, there's nothing going on between her and Barry," she told him flatly.
"Yes, there is," he said confidently.
"How do you know?" She asked in exasperation.
"Oh, I know," he said with a slight upturning of his lips. "And, trust me, when that whole thing blows up in his face you don't want to be anywhere near it."
"They just work together," she snorted.
"Yeah, like I said; complete disaster just waiting to happen," he smirked. "I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard. Love triangles always end in disaster, especially when all of the parties involved are also teammates."
"Kind of like when Laurel decided to try out Sara's wig and go leaping from rooftop to rooftop with you guys as the new Canary and then when Sara came back you hooked up with her again leading to a huge catfight all because you couldn't keep your Arrow in your pants?" She shot back.
"Yeah, like that," he said looking at her with a pained grimace. "Ouch; talk about a low blow, but yeah, like that," he said with a wince. "The point is, neither of those guys were good enough for you. You told me once that I deserve better, well; so do you."
"Maybe," she said quietly.
"No maybe about it," he said, laying his hand on hers and squeezing slightly before pulling away. "You're remarkable, remember? You deserve someone just as remarkable as you are."
"Remarkable, right," she scoffed, "because a guy who can travel at superhuman speeds is too humdrum for someone as utterly extraordinary as me."
"Exactly," Oliver said with firm assurance.
She sighed, "Look, I know that Barry and I might not have worked out and it wasn't meant to be but, thing is, I liked him. He was funny, and he was safe, and we spoke the same language. He might not have been all that handsome or exciting compared to…" she glanced up at him before clearing her throat, "some people before the whole 'Flash' thing, but I liked having someone interested in me for a change. Of course, once he meta'd out, all that changed. Before it just felt like I was being left behind in a cloud of dust; then Barry got zapped and, well…" She expelled a discontented breath, "I don't know; I guess I'm just cursed. I should just give up; it's not like anyone's interested in me anyway, right? Unless, of course, you count random psychopaths or masked vigilantes with intimacy issues and then, boy howdy, is my dance card full."
"Plenty of people find you interesting," he defended, ignoring the directed 'intimacy issues' remark.
"Then why was he was the first guy-the only guy-to ask me out in four years? And notice, I'm not including Daniel because he was a hell of a lot more interested in you than he was in me. Don't think I'm ever getting over that one either; at least when Barry asked me out, he was actually interested in me and not in the Arrow. Well, he was interested in the Arrow, but he was more interested in me." She frowned, "No wait, he didn't ask me out; you asked him out for me, remember?" She reminded him. "Crap. Technically speaking he was the only guy I ever really dated at all and he dumped me less than twenty-four hours into our relationship, plus he was basically a...oh God, it was some kind of weird pity date by proxy, wasn't it? How did I not notice that before?"
"A what?" Oliver asked in confusion.
She ignored him, "I don't know; maybe I should just go the bad 80's movie route and build my own man-bot. Of course, he'd probably just dump me for the toaster oven," she added under her breath.
"Felicity, you're gorgeous, you know that right?" He asked with a puzzled frown as though her beauty were merely a fact.
"I'm somewhat attractive in the sense that I have symmetrical features and clean up nice," she corrected him. "At best I'm pretty, as in, sweet old fashioned girl next door pretty."
"Yes, you are," he told her. "Very pretty."
She smiled, "Thanks, but my kind of pretty isn't exactly what most guys are looking for these days. I mean, we live in the plastic surgery capital of the world where everyone expects you to be this statuesque epitome of female beauty with big fake boobs and I'm too…well, not perfect; like the complete opposite of perfect. Totally imperfect."
"That's not true," he told her. "When have you ever seen me with a plasticized human bouncy house?"
"You have a point," she admitted ruefully, "but trust me when I say that you're the exception to the rule. Besides, you have your own weird thing going on with tall, willowy brunettes."
"I do not," He objected.
"You so do," she snorted.
"Sara was blonde," he pointed out in self-defense.
"Sara was the exception to the rule as well," she said dryly. "Besides, you and Sara have that whole superhero thing going on and I'm just…" She sighed then shrugged, "I don't know; girls like me just don't inspire passion. I'm too short, too nerdy, too 'cute', too," she looked down at her modestly proportioned chest and raised her eyebrows slightly, "you know. The first thing most people tell me, if they notice me at all, is 'You're cute', or 'Aren't you just adorable?' Newsflash; adorable is worlds away from sexy. Don't ask me why, but I give off this vibe that reminds them of their little sisters—I know this because I get told that constantly." She said with a resigned grimace.
"I don't think of you as my little sister," Oliver said with a deepening frown.
She gave him a dubious look, "Yeah, well, maybe not since 'the dress thing'," she emphasized by curling her fingers into air quotes, "but you kind of did before that." He started to protest and she cut him off, "It's okay, Diggle does the same thing; most people do. For some reason men take one look at me and assume I'm some fragile little thing and having any kind of romantic interest in me makes them into some kind of pervert. I'm pretty much used to it and on the rare occasion someone does decide to pay me any sort of 'attention' all I have to do is open my big mouth and they're out of there."
"That's not true," he said firmly. "I've seen plenty of men give you a second look, Felicity. You just haven't noticed."
"It is true; believe me, I've seen the skid marks on the floor when they make their escape after I go into full ramble mode." Felicity shrugged half-heartedly. "Look, this whole 'cheer up Felicity' thing you're trying to do is nice but it really doesn't bother me," she said with a stiff smile. "I've known for a very long time now that I just wasn't meant to have something like that with another person. I have my work, the mission, you guys…" She closed her eyes with a wince, her chin dropping to her chest, "Oh yeah, almost forgot. Guess I don't have any of that anymore," she muttered.
"Felicity…" his voice was pained but she refused to look up at him.
She forced a smile on her face, her eyes still cast downwards, "Seriously, you don't have to build up my self-esteem or worry about it. I'll be fine. I'll just finish packing up my house and go home to Gotham; find a job, get a condo and a couple of cats. Maybe I'll take up knitting or something. I always wanted to learn how to do that and now that I won't be hacking into the FBI database all night long I might actually have time for hobbies again."
She thought he'd laugh and drop it but instead he tilted her head up so she was looking into his eyes as he spoke, "Don't do that."
"The knitting or the cats?" She asked jokingly.
"Don't put yourself down; don't try to convince yourself that you deserve less, or that you aren't worthy of having something because you are the best, brightest, bravest person I know," he said seriously. "And, for the record, you still have me and I think you're beautiful. Or couldn't you tell how I felt about you from the other day?"
She gave a slightly nervous chuckle, pointedly trying to ignore the last thing he said, "That's a lot of 'B's'."
"And I meant every single one of them," he told her, his eyes fixed on her and his tone serious.
She blushed and dropped her eyes, "Yeah, well, it's nice of you to say so but that was just the dress; that wasn't me."
"No, it wasn't," he said quietly, his fingers still on her chin, his thumb tracing the dimple on her cheek.
"Trust me, it was," she scoffed, trying to move away to defuse the intimacy of moment but he held her fast, his eyes searching hers, and the air grew thin between them.
"It wasn't just the dress," he said before leaning down and brushing his lips against hers.