Hey, everybody. I feel like I need to start with an apology: I am truly sorry I never finished "I keep your secret". This story got such a positive reaction that I really gave it my all to continue, but I just lost the feeling for it when the storyline continued on TV and many things I addressed where solved so differently – and probably much better than I would have come up with. But I am still in love with the show and Olicity especially, and this time I am not making the same mistake: This time I'm writing AU – I will integrate some things from the show and ignore others. You will see. I hope you like this story and enjoy reading it. Let me know what you think. Much love, Jules.

Disclaimer: (Green) Arrow and everything connected to it belongs to DC Comics aka Warner Bros and The CW. Nothing is mine - apart from the plot, my bad grammar, the typing errors and Felicity's nemeses...

1. Tick Tick Boom (The Hives)

"Talk to me, Felicity."

His tone was demanding; his voice was hard. The combination of both left no room for protest; it was an order that needed to be answered.

And she did. "You need to turn right. Right now."

She nearly stumbled over her words, saying them so quickly, rushing them out to get him the information he needed as quickly as possible. There was her own version of urgency in her voice. He heard it and knew that she was focussed on her computer screens, while her fingers raced over her keyboard. He heard it, and he knew that she was in working mode as much as he was.

His hands tightened their grip on the steering wheel of his motorcycle as he threw it into a sudden right turn only to then turn the gas up again. Rain was pouring down on him, making the back wheel of his bike slinger behind him. It was the wrong night for a high speed pursuit on overcrowded streets, but he kept speeding ahead while his eyes scanned the street before him. He saw nothing. Adrenaline was soaring through his body and now it was mixing with annoyance at the thought that this guy might have actually shaken him off. "Felicity, he's not here."

"He must be there!" came her voice through his ear piece.

The annoyance in him grew. Saying that something must be when it clearly wasn't, just wasn't helpful. "HE ISN'T! Find him, right NOW!"

He was yelling at her, letting his frustrations out at her, he knew, but couldn't stop it. He wouldn't stop it, because he didn't have time to waste thoughts on this, when he needed all his attention on finding, fighting and capturing the man who had detonated three bombs in this city, in HIS city, while rain was limiting his vision and the grip of his bike on the cement. He was in full Arrow-mode, there was no way to hold anything back. She had been confronted with him on an adrenaline high often enough to know this side of him very well, as unflattering as it might be.

"His phone is right in front of you." Her voice sounded unfazed in his ear. He imagined he could hear the clicking of the keyboard as her fingers flew over it, doing whatever she was doing. "Everything's working perfectly. I can't find him again, because I already found him," she told him in the next moment, before she repeated, "He must be there."

He slowed down a little, while his eyes were still scanning the street. "He's NOT here!"

"This cannot be happening." Felicity's words matched his own thoughts perfectly. He was about to lash out at her again, when she spoke up first, the words, again, leaving her mouth in a rushed tumble. "But it is happening, actually this has happened before. Back then we had the right coordinates but the wrong altitude." He remembered what she was referring to and was already scanning the sidewalk for the next subway station, when she said, "I'm pulling up the map of the underground tracks right now."

Oliver found an station, steered his motorbike toward it and down the stairs. His wheels rumbled down the steps till he finally reached the ground. The engine roared as he turned the gas up again, the sound ringing through the tiled tunnel that led to the subway platform. People jumped out of his way, flattening themselves against the walls, while he sped past them toward even more stairs. He slowed down again, rattling down the stairs till he, finally, reached the platform. "Talk to me, Felicity." It was his way of asking her for directions. But when he put the hood on, he never asked for answers, he demanded them.

It took her a moment till she reacted. "He's heading east. Take the right tunnel."

Maneuvering his bike between a pillar and a plastic bench, he headed toward the tracks, jumped down onto them and aimed for the right black hole. He accelerated once again, more than he had before when people had been around, and the roaring of the engine was all around him. He raced through the tunnel, his vision worse than it had been overground in the pouring rain, hoping that he wouldn't be faced with bright lights coming toward him.

"I stopped the trains." Sometimes he swore Felicity could read his mind. But he knew it was just her doing her part, using her expertise and looking out for him. She always thought along and ahead, considering every little detail. "I wouldn't want you to be faced with this kind of light at the end of the tunnel." And this was perfectly her, too. But he was too much in Arrow-mode to react.

Right now, the darkness around him was getting lighter with each moment until he suddenly sped through another station. He didn't waste one thought on what it might look like to the people waiting on the platform, looking after the figure in dark-green leather speeding past where a train was supposed to be; instead he concentrated on not loosing control over his bike. He was back in the dark tunnel in the next moment, when suddenly Diggle spoke up, "SCPD just received an anonymous call; somebody claimed there's a bomb planted on train 173." His friend sounded calm, "It might be a trick. He must know you're following him."

Diggle was absolutely right, Oliver knew and, instantly, the annoyance was back in full force. The Bomber was probably trying to get him off his back, lure him away from him. But... "I cannot take this chance." He slowed his bike and was about to ask for directions, when Felicity beat him to it and said, "Train 173 was headed for the Glades when I stopped it. It's standing in Bridgewater Station which is... in the opposite direction."

Of course, it was. He slowed down, threw his bike around, accelerated forcefully and sped into the opposite direction. He passed the same platform again, this time headed the other way, and kept going. He had passed two more stations, when Diggle spoke up again, "SCPD is evacuating. They've called bomb squad, but still they're 20 minutes out."

"You need to follow the right tracks," Felicity added, moments before the points were even illuminated by his headlight.

He followed her directions, seeing a train full of passengers standing on the parallel track. "You need to get the people in those trains out of here."

"Excuse me for wanting to let you pass first!" Now it was her sounding annoyed. "Remember the bad light at the end of the tunnel?"

Again, he didn't react to that. It was the usual crisis high tensions. He barked at her, she snapped back, while Diggle kept his calm. The fact that John Diggle was the calming influence in their trio was proven when he brought them back to the topic at hand by stating, "Oliver, you're still five minutes away."

If he had been able to go any faster, he would have. His body was tense, his jaw clenched, his mouth a tight line while he sped in a tunnel that was not made for motorbikes; but he kept going, pressing forward to whatever was waiting for him there. He had to be really close, when a gasp hit his ears. Instantly, the hair on his neck stood up. When Felicity made such a sound it was always bad. His suspicion was confirmed only instants later, when she pressed out, "Oliver, turn around! You need to turn around, get away from there!" The urge in her voice made him react instantly. He was already slowing to a speed that allowed him to steer his bike into any direction that wasn't straight ahead, when she added, "That anonymous call was so not a trick!"

Oliver didn't need Diggle explaining, "Train 173 exploded," to know that exactly that had just happened. Because there it was: the light in the tunnel coming toward him. Flickering and hotly bright the flames of fire crawled through the tight tube. He couldn't outrun them, he knew immediately. Quickly, he looked around and felt his heart make a relieved jump as he saw the door in the wall just a few meters away. Carelessly, he let his bike drop to the tracks and ran toward the door. Not bothering to try the door handle, he used the momentum he had build up running and slammed the sole of his right foot against it.

The metal door rattled, but didn't bulge.

His mouth tightened again as he brought his foot up to kick the door again and again and again, more frantic with each kick as he felt the heat coming closer – till, finally, the lock gave up under his relentless onslaught; the door swung open. He rushed into the tiny room behind it, slammed the door shut and leaned against it. His breathing was heavy as he closed his eyes. He needed a moment to collect himself, because contrary to what some people might believe he still wasn't unfazed by near-death experiences. He felt that his hands shake and made a fist, clenching them so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Oliver..."

Felicity's voice was small, fearful, and he knew that she needed reassurance. "I'm fine," he said. But his voice held an edge that made it clear that he was only talking about his physical condition. Because he was angry, furious even. This whole mission had been a complete failure. He had let this guy fool him, jerk him around and make him run for his life.

"We'll get him next time," Diggle said, once again proving how in sync they all were when it came to this. "We'll be better prepared then. We won't let him outsmart us again."

"No." Oliver sounded deadly determined. "We won't!"

Felicity walked with purpose. There was no other way for Oliver to describe it. She knew where she was headed, she didn't take tentative little steps, but sure strides – no matter how high her heels were. Which was why he was glancing toward the door now as he heard the distinct clicking sound that accompanied Felicity while walking. She was just coming to a stop a few steps into the office.

"Mr. Queen," she said politely in her best EA-voice. "I am sorry to interrupt, but your next meeting is coming up."

There was no next meeting. But he had asked her to rescue him after one hour. That was more than enough time for the reporter to ask him questions he didn't have a real answer to. Question like what exactly qualified Oliver to be CEO of a Future 500 company – the fact that he had dropped out of four top schools? Or that he had managed to decently manage a nightclub that lived off his image as a playboy? Or that he had been away from civilization for five years? The last question was the worst, actually. This reporter, Cliffort Kent, from the Starling Times wasn't here to play nice, which – objectively – was a good trait in a journalist, but which Oliver subjectively hated with a passion.

But the PR department had insisted that he did this. And no matter, if he much rather drove through a subway tunnel toward an armed bomb than giving an interview, he had to participate in this spread about Starling City's billionaires and the upcoming generation of businessmen. And, to be fair, most questions had actually been about the company and his future plan for it as the man in charge – even if most questions had implied that he had no plan and was the perfectly wrong man for this job.

So, of course, Oliver jumped at the opportunity. "Yes, thank you, Miss Smoak." He sent Felicity, his savior, a thankful smile, before he turned back to the journalist, who was glancing at his watch. "I am sorry, Mr. Kent," Oliver stated, while already moving off his seat, getting ready to dismiss the reporter in the quickest way that could still be considered polite. "But, as you mentioned yourself, I have a business to run." He accompanied that hint with his best CEO-smile – the kind that never reached his eyes. "I hope you have everything you need."

Mr. Kent nodded. "I think I do. If not, I will contact Mrs. Sullivan."

The idea that the head of QC's PR department took care of anything else appealed to Oliver very much. He held his hand out to the man. "Yes, please do."

Cliffort Kent took Oliver's offered hand and shook it. "Thank you, Mr. Queen."

"You're welcome. And thank you for including Queen Consolidated in your spread." Polite lies, Oliver had mastered them.

The men shared another polite smile before Felicity directed Mr. Kent toward the elevator. Sighing, Oliver sank back down on the black leather seat that was placed with its back against the window giving him a perfect view around his large office as well as Felicity's office to his right and the conference room ahead since both were separated by glass walls. He was exhausted. Blocking out the office view, he closed his eyes.

Last night, when he had finally made it back to the lair, he had still been pumped, high on adrenaline and anger, and he had needed to vent both. He had attacked his training dummy with everything he had till his hands had felt numb. He had to admit that while he had done that Diggle and Felicity had thought rationally about their next step. The result had been Felicity hacking into the surveillance system of Starling City's subway system to identify the man only known as The Bomber and to find out where he had escaped to.

They had mapped the exact route of his underground escape – but that was it. This was much work for a whole lot of nothing, and that was just utterly exhausting. A sudden banging from behind him startled Oliver into alertness – which in his case meant that his eyes snapped open as he jumped off the seat to his feet, his muscles tensed and his body ready to strike. But there was nobody, nothing to strike against. He was greeted with an empty room. Slowly, he turned around and his eyes connected with those of a window washer, who was staring at him stupidly from the outside of the glass. Realizing that the man doing his job had been the reason for the unexpected noise, he relaxed, but couldn't help but feel slightly caught. Normal people didn't react the way he just had to a simple tapping against the window. This here was another proof that he just wasn't normal – and sometimes that was all he longed for: normalcy, being ordinary. But he knew that he never would be, he never could be.

He sent the window washer, who was still looking at him with suspicion, an apologetic smile and turned toward the door from where he heard Felicity walk toward him. Her steps were heavier than normal, he realized, she must be angry. He sent her a look full of question. She understood and answered immediately. "That reporter had the nerve to ask me what the working atmosphere was like here at QC. Said he was trying to get a feeling what kind of boss you are." Her hands flew up as she now drew invisible quotation marks in the air. "'Off the record', of course." She had started talking quickly, but picked up her pace with each word. "Like I would fall for that again. Last time I answered this question I was thrown out of Prof. Mindell's class – which was record breaking since nobody had ever even failed an 'Introduction to the history of technology' before. But, in my defense, you could never wear a skirt to his class, because he would keep staring at your legs. If that doesn't count as inappropriate behavior for a teacher, I really don't know what does!"

In the lair he mostly cut off her rambles and forced her to get to the point. But right now there really was no rush. Still, he felt like the fact that the reporter had tried to get some dirt out of her was more relevant to the current situation than her previous perv professor. "Kent tried to question you?"

She walked over to where he stood by the seats next to a small table and nodded. "Yes, he also wanted to know, if we spent any time together outside of work." His lips tightened as he inhaled deeply. She knew what this meant perfectly and hurried to add, "I just told him that the elevator had arrived and wished him a nice day."

He hadn't worried about what she had said. Felicity might be a babbler, but his Executive Assistant was astonishingly small lipped. Maybe it was her worry to say something wrong that made her say as little as possible. She hadn't been the reason for the tension in his face, the reporter had been. How could Kent put Felicity in a situation like this? That man really didn't play nice.

"I mean what else should I have said?" Apparently, Felicity had switched her EA-mode off, because she was still talking full force. "It would hardly be appropriate to tell him how we spent our nights together."

The tension left his lips as he had to smirk at her choice of words; it was so typically her. He nodded agreement, playfully repeating, "Hardly."

Another bump came from behind him, reminding Oliver of the window washer. He was pretty sure that the guy outside in the blue working overall couldn't hear a word that was spoken inside, but he didn't want to take any chances. They had made it a rule to have no direct Arrow-talk at QC, if it was possible to avoid it.

It was that rule that made him ask cryptically, "Have you made any progress in our research?"

"I have." This caused interest to show up on his face, and she seemed happy that she could give him good news for once. "I have very promising data. I narrowed it down to three possible locations for..." she searched for a fittingly vague word for a second before settling on, "...an engagement. I hope I will be down to just one by tonight."

He was about to react to these really great news when he was distracted once again by somebody coming toward them. He was surprised to see Cliffort Kent passing Felicity's desk. "Mr. Kent," he greeted him, straightening up and putting his CEO-mask back on, "did you forget anything?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." An apologetic look on his face, the skinny man with the badly fitted suit walked toward Oliver and Felicity. "I forgot my phone." He motioned toward the table between the leather seats where a black iPhone was resting. The reporter quickly reached for it and sent Oliver another smile. "Thank you again for your time." He nodded to Felicity and headed back out.

Suspicion awoke in Oliver as he watched Kent walk away. He seemed to be hurrying while trying not to appear like he was in a hurry at all. It was too forcedly casual. But before he could really register and analyze this, Diggle suddenly appeared. Marching with heavy steps toward them he said. "Mr. Queen, we have to go. Your schedule changed, you have to get to the suit fitting right away."

The feeling that they really needed to work on their coded conversations popped up in Oliver's head, but he dismissed it instantly. Because not only his friend's words, but also his stiff posture made it absolutely clear: It was time to suit up.

Being the Arrow mostly was a night job. But right now he was dressed in green leather while the sun was shining down from a cloudless sky. Well, he certainly had a better vision than he had last night in the pouring rain as he now stood on the rooftop of a building looking down at the people streaming out of Starling City's most popular mall. This target fit the Bomber perfectly; it was a crowded place with a high number of possible victims, it was public and located at an interchange that allowed for a quick escape.

Why the Bomber did what he did, it puzzled Oliver. Because even though he chose very public places, he always called ahead. He clearly didn't care, if people were killed, but his warnings had reduced the number of victims. There had never been any letter claiming responsibility that named a reason, a cause – however twisted – for these acts of violence. This guy just went and planted bombs in highly frequented public places, spreading fear. A cinema had been hit first. A nightclub had followed. Verdant's biggest rival had gone up in flames with nearly 20 people dying in the blast. Felicity's hint that another night club owner might have hired the Bomber to neutralize competition had been typically her – and very much still besides the point. Because the next bomb had gone off in Starling City's only zoo. If one local attraction was unrivaled, it was that one. Last night a bar, a theatre and the library had been hit simultaneously, followed by a subway train. Today the Bomber had started early, in the afternoon, to strike again. It felt like it was getting worse. Oliver knew he had to stop him; it had to end tonight... Or rather: today.

"The bomb squad arrived," Diggle informed him now. From his spot on the roof Oliver saw the men in their protective wear arrive. He could also see where Diggle parked. It was a good position, giving him a perfect view on the mall and onto the escape route the Bomber would most likely choose – at least according to Felicity's calculations based on the data they had gathered last night during that complete fail of a mission. Diggle had chosen the exact spot Oliver would have taken to wait until he could spring into action. That just proved again: Diggle was a professional, a real asset, an important part of their team – and a great friend, but that was irrelevant for what lay ahead.

"Let them take care of the bomb. We'll go after the Bomber," Oliver instructed now, knowing that it was the only way to stop this.

"Do you even know how to disarm a bomb?" Felicity wanted to know. It really wouldn't be Felicity, if she didn't add a question to his orders. It was even more typical that she had asked a question that was only loosely connected to the situation at hand.

"Yes, I learned it in Afghanistan." That was Diggle, the former soldier, talking. He had real expertize; Oliver had only second hand knowledge, but he didn't feel like sharing that. Instead, he continued to take in his surroundings, until his eyes landed on the building next to him. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling about it. He couldn't explain it, but he was very sure that the Bomber was there. The guy had always stuck around to watch the explosion – maybe that was the simple explanation for everything: He just enjoyed blowing stuff up.

The roof Oliver was on had the most perfect view, but nobody else had shnown up. Maybe, the Bomber had – for whatever reason – gone for the second best option, which was the next door building. Oliver's gut was telling him that the Bomber had. And his gut had saved Oliver's life many times already. Call it sixth sense, call it intuition, call it dumb luck, but it had always worked till now – and Oliver believed in never changing a running system.

He started moving, running toward the edge of the building, gathering momentum to push himself off the ground. He flew through the air – the gap that was created by two ten story buildings gaping below him –, landed on the neighboring rooftop rolling off his right shoulder to reduce the impact. In the next moment he was on his feet and moving again toward the door that lead into the building.

"Oliver, where are you going?"

He didn't answer Felicity's question, but instead aimed an exploding arrow at the door lock. The thought that he could have done that last night in the subway tunnel popped up in his head for a second, but in his hurry to escape the nearing fire of the explosion, he had relayed on brute force. Well, whatever worked. Pushing this absolutely useless thoughts out of his mind, he threw the door open and entered the narrow staircase behind it. Taking two steps at a time, he hurried down the stairs, but reflexively stopped when he heard Felicity gasp an "Oh, crap!"

"What!" he demanded to know.

"He just turned his phone on. You were right, Oliver, he's in this building." He was already moving again, when she added, "That's all I can tell you. I have no idea what floor he's on."

Again, Oliver didn't answer. He didn't tell her that she had already performed a miracle when she had connected the phone to their Bomber last night. She had begun to explain it to him – mentioning cell towers, hacking Starling Mobile, a search algorithm –, but had stopped herself as soon as she had seen his face. He had been ready to go out there and not in the mood for any delays. She had done her part, now it was time for him to do his.

He had just taken the last steps of the small stairs and was about to open the door leading to the top floor, when he heard Diggle's calm voice. "He wants to have a front row view on the explosion," his friend reasoned now. "He must be in one of the apartments on the top floor with mall-view."

With long strides Oliver entered the hall. He saw doors left and right, but knew that only those on the left mattered. Not hesitating, he walked to the first one and kicked it open. He was greeted by a shocked woman in a cheesy maid's uniform – including a bonnet – who let out a strangled scream. Wrong apartment. Not reacting to the distraught woman, he turned back around, ready to attack the next door.

Angry barking greeted him there, a sound equally unpleasant for mailmen and vigilantes alike. His face tightened as he unhappily reached for his quiver, but Felicity's voice stopped him, "Try apartment 908, one floor below you." Trusting her suggestion without question, Oliver was already running toward the stairs, when he heard her ramble on, "Apparently, even households have Facebook groups now. And the Mastersons were kind enough to inform their neighbors that they would be vacationing in Tahiti for three weeks. But the current power usage suggests that this apartment is not empty. And, people, this is why you shouldn't post this kind of information on the internet! Even though... Tahiti sounds good. I wish I was there."

That was the moment Oliver arrived at his destination: apartment 908. Another door was kicked in with a loud cracking sound. One second Oliver had been about to strike, in the next his well-trained reflexes kicked in. He had barely registered that something was coming toward him, when his back was already flat against the wall next to the door, the bow in his hand resting against his chest. He saw a throwing net fly past him and against the opposite wall with a loud bang. Oliver glanced at it for a short instant as it lay sprawled out on the thick blue carpet that covered the floor of the hall. Nets were trouble, because they restricted movement. That could have been a serious problem.

Anger was growing inside Oliver – and he planned to put it to some good use. He brought his bow up, reached for an arrow and stepped around the corner. He registered four, no, five men. The first was immobilized by an arrow though his quadriceps, the second by a fist tightly closed around a bow breaking his nose while a slammed down foot in his popliteal space shattered his knee. Oliver twirled around, balancing his weight on his right foot while he brought his left up. The man who had been coming toward him walked right into it. Not really acknowledging the third body that was dropping to the floor, Oliver straightened up again to slam his palm against the throat of a forth man, leaving him snapping for air helplessly, before Oliver brought his knee up and his fist down. It resulted in a fourth dropped body. They all had been muscular, heavy and strong. But Oliver knew that the real challenge was the man standing by the window with a remote in his hand. He was small and thin – no wonder he had hired bodyguards.

"Drop the remote!" Oliver ordered in his distorted Arrow-voice.

The man just looked at him. Desperation was visible in his eyes – without a doubt the shock to be finally caught.

"I said, DROP the remote!" Oliver brought a threatening hand up and warned, "Don't make me tell you a third time!"

He didn't. Instead, the Bomber jumped head first out of the window.

He preferred being the Arrow to being a CEO. Oliver didn't let himself dwell on what that said about him. But as he now rode up the elevator to the top floor of the QC-building he had to admit that he would much rather walk down the metallic stairs of the Foundry. Especially after last nig-, last afternoon's events.

Once word got out of the four bound muscle men in apartment 908, the crashed body on the sidewalk in front of the building and the Arrow-sighting on the scene, speculation had run wild if the Arrow had pushed the suspected bomber to let him fall into his death. The police had released a statement that claimed to have found no evidence to confirm or deny this theory – which wasn't exactly helpful. Even Detective Lance had admitted that. Felicity had filled him in on the events of the afternoon with a rather lengthy explanation that involved the hint that the Arrow was done dropping bodies, so he wouldn't now start to push people out of windows only to be dropping bodies quite literally.

Oliver really wished he would have captured the guy alive. He really would have liked to hear his explanation why he had planted those bombs. Because, really, it made no sense. It made even less sense now that they knew how he was. Or rather: had been. Laurence Burton had been a physics teacher at a local high school. He had been voted the teacher most likely to cut students some slack. He had a wife, a son and a baby on the way. Not the typical guy to go blow stuff up and jump put a window.

"Mr. Queen."

A female voice ripped him out of his thoughts. Before he had been staring ahead, thinking, not really seeing anything, but now he registered the brunette, who had just greeted him when she had entered the elevator. Oliver had no idea who she was, and he had no idea if he should know. So, he just settled on a small, polite smile and took a small step to the left.

He was on his way to the top floor of QC surrounded by the mirrored walls of the elevator. He really should let yesterday's events go. The Bomber was stopped, this danger was eliminated – and that was really all that mattered. Instead, he should focus on being CEO of this company. He should focus on the meetings ahead that were very important. Board members were displeased with his way of leading the company. Actually, they were displeased with his general lack of leadership. So, they were getting antsy, threatening to sell their shares, which had to be prevented at all costs. Really, he should concentrate on this and get his head in the game. His employees were depending on him. Employees like the woman next to him... Who was trying to watch him inconspicuously out of the corner of her eyes. She tried to be sneaky about it, but he noticed – even though he acted like he didn't. She was really sizing him up. He had to admit that had happened to him before, women checking him out, but it had happened while he had been partying, at clubs. It had never happened at work, at his own company. The thought that her behavior was really inappropriate popped up in his head, but then the elevator came to a stop. Now looking openly at him, she sent him another smile and left the elevator.

One minute later Oliver was walking toward Felicity's desk. She was already sitting at it. No matter how late the previous night had gotten, she always was at work before him. Normally, she greeted him with a smile. He never knew, if the smile was for him or the latte he always brought her. It was a small thing, but he knew it was a gesture she appreciated. It had made her smile the first time he had done it – and he really liked seeing her smile. By now it had become a routine.

A routine that was broken today, because today she didn't welcome him a with smile. In fact, she didn't even seem to register him. Her eyes were glued to her computer screen, her lips, colored in a light red, were slightly opened, her back was stiff. He tipped his head to the side in interest, studying her as he stepped to the desk and stopped in front of it. She was in full working mode, the really intense one she normally reserved for the Foundry. He took another moment to study her, thinking that she really was quite the sight. A slight smile played around his lips as he placed one coffee filed paper cup on her desk. "Looks like you really need this."

His voice made her jump. Startled, her eyes flew to him and what he saw in them caused him to frown. The normal gleam that brightened her eyes was missing, instead he saw... Something he couldn't quite place, but that most definitely wasn't good.

His voice was soft as he asked, "Felicity?"

"It's Executive Assistant."

The frown grew stronger. "What?"

"Executive Assistant, not secretary."

Was that supposed to explain anything? Because, really, it didn't. He continued to stare at her, waiting for her to finally say something that made sense. But she kept quiet. She just turned her computer screen toward him so that he could see what she had been looking at. Instantly, he a cold jolt shot through him, followed by a hot one. He froze to the spot, feeling paralyzed as his brain shut down for a second.

Strangely, when it had rebooted, the first thought that crossed his mind was that an "executive assistant" really would NOT improve this. Not at all. Because there on the screen stood, sprawled out in the lime green letters that were the trademark of the most notorious gossip side ever: "Oliver Queen engaged to secretary."