Using Oliver and fun in the same sentence was not something Felicity was used to doing.

She felt bad for thinking that, but – really – it was true. For all she admired, respected and cared for Oliver, she was far more likely to use words like intense and brooding rather than fun. It wasn't meant as a criticism; she knew he hadn't had many opportunities to kick back and chill since he'd returned to Starling. He'd lost his best friend and his mother in the span of a year, and he'd had to save the city from total destruction - twice. It was perfectly reasonable for him to walk around in a near-constant state of grrr. Indeed, there had been times over the last couple of years when she'd wondered whether Oliver had lost the capacity for fun. After all, any muscle could atrophy if it wasn't used.

To her delight, it appeared Oliver hadn't lost the use of his joy muscle.

Felicity cringed as soon as soon as the words joy muscle popped in her brain. Thank God she hadn't said them out loud – at least she prayed she hadn't. She glanced at Oliver, sitting next to her in their horse-drawn carriage as the driver took them through Central Park. He wasn't smirking or rolling his eyes so she was pretty sure she'd only thought them. They'd just spent an hour at the Metropolitan Museum as part of her play tourist day in New York City. Felicity had been reluctant to propose anything as scholarly and sedate as looking at paintings, but to her surprise Oliver had suggested it after a quick search on his cell phone for the current exhibits. His mother had loved the Dutch Masters, he'd said, and looking at them almost made him feel like he was spending time with her.

After the museum, they'd headed into Central Park for fresh air and a little people watching. It was a glorious fall day. The leaves on the trees were beginning to turn to orange and gold, and the sun's warmth felt good on her face. They'd strolled past a Saturday pick-up soccer game, a group of middle-aged women doing yoga, and a hoard of roller skaters careening wildly along the paved paths. When they'd spotted the horse-drawn carriages, Oliver had insisted they take a ride. Once again, Felicity had been caught off balance. It seemed like such a couple-y thing to do and they were not a couple, even though this day had her feeling like they were – just a little. Oliver was being attentive and at times a bit physical; nothing that he really hadn't done before - a hand on her lower back or a brief touch on her shoulder – but for some reason today it felt more intimate. Maybe it was because they had slept beside each other last night, Felicity thought. Or maybe it was because he was doing it when they weren't in the midst of an epic battle with someone at risk of losing his life.

Indeed at this moment there was no sign of danger in the form of the Martin brothers or Beasts, and Oliver was making her laugh by providing a running commentary on the people they passed in the park. As their driver steered the carriage at a leisurely pace, he pointed out a number of men and women, making up stories about their lives. A few of the stories were serious, but most were silly; the construction worker whose dream was to dance with the New York City Ballet or the stockbroker who was secretly keeping 25 cats in his apartment. She laughed because the stories were funny, but even more because it was good to see Oliver so light-hearted.

"Check out the John Mayer-wannabe," he said, pointing to a man seated on a blanket, strumming a guitar and glancing soulfully at the woman next to him. The couple appeared to be sharing a picnic and a bottle of wine. "I'll bet he's singing Your Body is a Wonderland."

Felicity smiled and shrugged. "Not my favorite song, but he gets points for effort. Being serenaded and having wine and a picnic on a beautiful day isn't a bad idea. She certainly looks like she's appreciating the thought he put into it."

Oliver shook his head. "He put no thought into it at all, Felicity. This is a routine for him – standard operating procedure. He picked up the food at a local deli, the wine at the liquor store next to it, and I'll bet knows how to play three songs on that guitar. He just wants into her pants – and this is his MO to get there." He studied the couple for another minute. "I'll admit," he added, "that it seems to be working. She's making it easy for him."

Felicity turned to look him. "That sounds a little cynical."

Oliver gave her a small grin. "Maybe it is, but believe me, I know his type. I used to be that type when I was younger."

Felicity laughed once more. "You played the guitar to get into girls' pants?" she asked. She had a hard time picturing that one.

Oliver's grin turned sheepish. "Not the guitar. My dad was a billionaire and I didn't need musical talent. But I had my own routine that included Jagermeister and a Jacuzzi. Not exactly original, either."

"And it worked?"

Oliver sighed. "More often than I'd care to admit."

Felicity leaned back against the cushions in the carriage and gazed at the couple on the blanket. Oliver might be right about the routine, she thought, but that didn't mean those two weren't happy. Neither of them would be going home alone tonight, and there was something to be said for that. She continued to watch the couple until the movement of the carriage gradually shrank them into the distance. "Well, routine or not," she said wistfully, "I wouldn't mind someone making some kind of effort to impress me, beyond a stupid pick-up line. When I first started at QC in the IT department, you wouldn't believe the stuff that guys said to me hoping to get into my pants. They didn't even bother with a cup of coffee, let alone lunch and playing a guitar."

Oliver frowned, suddenly more serious. "What exactly did they say? And who said it?"

Felicity pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, let's see, there was…" She lowered her voice in an imitation of her male colleagues. "'Hey Felicity, let's go into the conference room and I'll show you how well my hard drive works,' or how about, 'Why don't we stop by my place after work and you can check out my memory stick'."

Oliver clenched the hand that seconds ago had been resting loosely on his thigh. "That's sexual harassment. You should have reported it."

Felicity shrugged. "I thought about saying something to HR, but in the end I found a better solution. The Hard Drive guy somehow lost all the code he'd worked on for a week, making him late for a big project. He was eventually fired – not a big loss for QC because he was a really bad coder. I was able to finish his assignment in a couple of days and it was much better code, believe me. And the guy who was so proud of his memory stick sent a series of crazy emails to our IT boss and was put on leave for counseling. He swore he didn't send them, but they certainly came from his account. It all worked out in the end."

"Still, Felicity…"

She placed her hand on top of the fist he'd formed and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry about it, Oliver. It was a long time ago. And once you made me your executive assistant, it all stopped. No one at QC had the nerve to come near me - too afraid of pissing off the boss."

He relaxed slightly. "Well, then something good came out of making you my EA. You weren't bothered by jerks like that anymore."

She smiled wryly. "Says the man who's dated three women since I've met him."

He turned to her, curious. "What exactly does that mean?" And then, "Who are the three women?"

Felicity patted his hand. "It means that despite our evening job, you've managed to find time for a little companionship while I've had a couple of years of…" she hesitated before saying, "celibacy. Making me your EA during the day plus your technical assistance at night certainly helped me avoid jerks, but it also kind of helped me to be a nun." Oliver's inquisitive expression became slightly guilty and she paused, not wanting to continue this line of discussion. She'd already busted his chops earlier that morning about not allowing her secrets; she didn't want to ruin the fun they were now having by suggesting he was responsible for her perpetual singleness. Besides, if she were honest, she knew most of the blame rested with her. Digg had managed to find a relationship and still be on Team Arrow. She hadn't done the same because she hadn't tried.

Wanting to return the mood to lightness, Felicity poked him gently in the ribs and added with a grin, "And the three women are McKenna, Helena and Sara. It's really four, if you throw in that temporary insanity with Isabel in Russia."

And, thankfully, Oliver grinned back. "Isabel definitely doesn't count. I'm blaming that entirely on nerves before the mission." After a second he added, "And the vodka."

"Right. We'll say it's three then, and keep the vodka to a minimum in the future."

"Good plan."

They sat in silence for a few moments, once more in accord. Somehow the hand she had been resting on Oliver's fist was now on his thigh, with his hand lightly covering it. It felt nice. She wouldn't mind doing this for the rest of the day, she thought. They were above ground in the sunlight with no one on the verge of losing his life. Oliver seemed happy. She wondered if it would feel the same if they did this more often or if it would get old - if one or the other of them would miss the thrill of the foundry and the comm links and the mission.

Oliver squeezed her hand. "You know, Felicity," he said suddenly, "I hope you know you shouldn't settle." When she gave him puzzled look he continued, "When it comes to men, I mean. You shouldn't settle for a cheesy line or pickup routine."

There was humor in his tone but his eyes were serious, and she felt her heart flutter – just a little. Where exactly was he going with this? She turned to face him and raised her eyebrows.

"I know I don't say it enough," he continued slowly, "but you're an amazing person. You deserve someone who'll make more of an effort than the standard routine he uses for just any woman. You should expect a man to do something original, something meant only for you."

Oliver was giving her dating advice? That was unexpected. "Such as?" she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know." The twinkle returned to his blue eyes. "Maybe swinging in an elevator shaft – or blowing up a building."

Two things they had done together; the flutter in Felicity's heart grew stronger. Was this Oliver's way of suggesting that he was the man who knew what was meant for her? With their eyes connected, she felt like some kind of second, silent conversation had started between them and only wished she knew what was being said. Oliver was so guarded it was tough to tell whether he meant this to be about the two of them, or if he really was just telling her to hold out for the right man. They stared at each other for a long moment.

And then the moment ended. Oliver let go of her hand and glanced around. "Well," he said with a smile, "our carriage ride is just about over. What do you want to do next for your be a tourist day?"

Felicity hesitated. "I'm not sure."

"I thought you had a list."

"I do, but I don't know if some of the things will appeal to you. They're kind of geeky. For example, I was thinking of going to see the Intrepid. It's an air and space museum on an aircraft carrier."

Oliver smiled. "Actually, it sounds pretty good, but since the weather is so nice I have a suggestion for something else we should do first. Remember, we still have time tomorrow, too."

He was going to do this again with her tomorrow? Yay. "Okay, Oliver. What were you thinking?"

Oliver's smile broadened. "Coney Island – Luna Park, specifically. Nathan's hot dogs, cotton candy, and a ride on the Cyclone."

Felicity didn't return his smile. "The Cyclone – that's a roller coaster, isn't it?"

"One of the oldest and best."

She exhaled sharply. She hated to be a buzz-kill, particularly when Oliver appeared as enthusiastic as a little boy, but there was no way in hell she was getting on some old roller coaster. The last time she'd been on one, she'd given up her lunch and her breakfast. "The hot dogs and cotton candy sound good, Oliver," she suggested by way of a compromise. "Why don't you ride the Cyclone and I'll watch."

He shook his head firmly. "Oh no, Felicity; we do this together or we don't do it at all."

She frowned. "Roller coasters really aren't my thing. I like to show gravity some respect."

He took hold of her hand again. "You swung through an elevator shaft on the 24th floor of the Merlyn building with me and you jumped out of an airplane with Digg," he coaxed. "A roller coaster should be a piece of cake."

"Should be, but isn't."

"When is the last time you were on one?"

Before she'd left for college. "I don't know - close to ten years ago, I think."

He leaned toward her and put his hand on her shoulder. "Then let's try it – just once. You can grab onto me if you get scared."

She studied his eager face. She would do this, she decided, if only to keep Oliver looking this happy. "Fine," she sighed. "But if my hotdog ends up all over your shoes, remember whose idea this was."

"Duly noted."

The driver brought the carriage to a stop and they climbed out and headed for the subway. Felicity's heart was still fluttering – whether in anticipation of the roller coaster or because of Oliver, she wasn't quite sure.