I'm sorry I made you wait a bit longer than usual—it's been a buy week. So let's keep this short: the biggest thank you to all you lovely people you took the time to review, who follow and added this to their favorites. It means a lot. You are amazing.

Albiona will forever be my rainbow-colored unicorn of awesome. Thank you.


The idle rich are hard to entertain

Felicity should be too old for wearing clothes picked by her mother.

Still, Felicity had a wardrobe exclusively bought by her mother.

The result was rather startling: there weren't any pants in her closet. Not one pair.

Shopping didn't hold much appeal for Felicity. Picking out and trying on clothes seemed like a waste of time, like an unwelcome throw-back to her shallow past. She really couldn't be bothered to do that when she had to train and prepare for her night job, trying to make a positive change for the city and the people living in it. Letting Donna Smoak-Lance fill her daughter's closet had been a simple solution for that. Felicity didn't mind the pretty, colorful dresses; she liked wearing them—as long as they covered up her scars.

Despite that, the realization that she somehow didn't own anything but pretty, colorful dresses had been… weird.

Felicity really hadn't noticed before tonight, before deciding that a pair of jeans was casually adequate for going to the movies with a… friend. A male friend. With a male friend she thought was nice. Felicity had mulled it over in her head and decided that this official definition of Oliver worked for her.

What didn't work was not finding jeans in her closet. Because suddenly a question she hadn't asked herself in five years popped up: what to wear?

A pretty, colorful dress, apparently.

It was blue, bordering on purple, with a flared shirt. Her mother had made her add a pink belt while lecturing her on the importance of accessorizing.

Felicity blamed that on Sara completely.

In an action very reminiscent of high school Sara had answered Donna's question of "Where are you going?" before Felicity could, stating, "She has a date."

Donna Smoak-Lance had been ecstatic, which forced her daughter to clarify that it wasn't a date-date, but only seeing a movie with a male friend she thought was nice.

Her mother had raised an eyebrow and said, laconically, "So you're going to the movies with a guy you like? Sweetie, that's a date-date."

And now Felicity was nervous.

And Oliver was late. Not much, but a little. Three minutes. Bordering on four.

Remembering their last shared lunch and the twelve minute delay, Felicity decided to give Oliver another minute or two… or five. Moving an uneasy hand through her hair, Felicity placed a strand behind her ear. She hadn't straightened or curled her hair, had simply air dried it, letting the natural half-curls show, because back then she had still been going for natural, casual, and anti-date.

Standing on the sidewalk in front of the theater, perfectly accessorized with pink high heels to match her belt, she longed for the simplicity of pulling up the hood to face people ready to kill her.

It was her mother's fault. She had been fine before Donna had attached the label Felicity had made sure to avoid. Felicity Smoak had rarely ever dated. Pre-island-Fe had gone out, met guys, and invited them to take a ride in her limo. If they interested her more, she'd ask them to join her in the Smoak penthouse in New York or the cabin in Aspen or the yacht down at the marina. Only her very first date ever had involved a movie. Felicity had been thirteen back then and her dad had taken her. That felt like a lifetime ago. Actually, it was half her lifetime ago.

Heavy footsteps coming from her right ripped Felicity out of her thoughts. Oliver was practically running toward her. She had to bite back a smile, taking in his appearance. His face was flushed again. He wasn't wearing one of the white dress shirts he picked for work or a t-shirt like the night she 'met' him in that warehouse. He wore a blue flannel shirt that wasn't buttoned right, one side lower than the other, and it draped over his blue jeans.

"Felicity," he said, reaching her. "Hey."

"Hi," Felicity answered. Unable to hold it back any longer, the smile broke through. She really liked the way he said her name.

His eyes glued to her. "Hi." He inhaled and spared Felicity from repeating that word again by hurrying to add, "Sorry, I'm late. I'm really sorry."

"It's okay. It's only been seven minutes." Realizing that knowing the exact number probably sounded judgmental and weird, she hurried to motion to his shirt. "I can see that you hurried."

Looking down at his chest, Oliver noticed his messed up buttoning. His lips pressed together in what looked like an uneasy gesture to Felicity. Great, now she made him uncomfortable—but letting him notice himself, maybe hours later, seemed even meaner somehow. "I did hurry," he admitted, reaching for his shirt to fix it. (He wore a white t-shirt underneath, Felicity noticed.) "I was talking to my sister on the phone and I couldn't shake her." He sighed. "I really wanted to be on time this time. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, it's really fine. Don't worry." He closed the last button at the very top and for a moment Felicity contemplated suggesting he'd leave the last one or two open, but then she decided that was probably overstepping some boundaries. Instead, she motioned to the building they stood in front of. "What movie do you recommend? That superhero one you told me about?"

He sounded hesitant. "Are you sure you're up for it? Superheroes? Even though, my sister said she liked the movie. And she really isn't a nerd. She's just into blonde dudes with long hair, big muscles, and a God complex."

Felicity didn't have the slightest idea what he was talking about. The expression on his face gave her the vague idea that there was a joke or something in there, but she honestly didn't get it.

A huff escaped him with the air of amusement. "Okay, with that blank stare there's no choice to make: Avengers it is."

Together they walked toward the theater. Oliver held the door open for her, didn't let her pay for tickets or sodas or popcorn, and made sure he sat behind that really tall guy when they reached their seats. She looked around the room: it was packed with people, male, female, young, old. Seemed like the whole superhero-stuff had really turned into a thing. Weird.

Taking in her surroundings (the emergency exit on the left, the main exit on the right, three fire extinguishers, the guy two rows down whisper-yelling at his wife, the two boys excited about smuggling in their own candy supplies four rows below), she felt the change in the atmosphere behind her. She noticed the stares directed at the back of her head. She heard the whispers, the hushed questions of "Isn't that?" and the urgent directions of "Look!" Felicity could practically feel fingers subtly pointing at her and she sensed Oliver noticing it, too. It was much too obvious to miss, really.

Quiet and immobile, he sat next to her with his back straight (whoever was sitting behind him was probably praying he'd scoot down by the time the movie started). Felicity turned to him in her seat and he unfroze, too, looking at her. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I guess I didn't really realize what coming here would mean."

"Oliver," she answered, speaking quietly herself. "I did. It's okay. I'm used to it."

He snorted. "That's a pretty crappy thing to be used to."

"Yeah," she confirmed—and only then realized how selfish she sounded. Because, yes, she was used to it, she had considered it, and decided that it was okay to face the public like that. But she hadn't considered that he had never experienced curious eyes and people seeking first-hand gossip. There wasn't the slightest chance that he might have considered any of this and she had never bothered to question if it was okay with him. She looked up to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't— It's okay if you want to leave."

"What?" He asked, stunned. "Why would I want to leave?"

"Because this is awkward and uncomfortable and I understand that you don't want to face all that and be seen with the bitch returned from the dead."

"You're not a bitch."

Another smile lit up her face. "That's what you took from that sentence?"

"It is, because it seems like I have to keep telling people that today."

The smile vanished, replaced by a frown. "What?"

Oliver sighed. "It's a long story that doesn't matter." He tipped his head slightly, thinking for a second. Dim hints of awe audible in his voice, he said, "So, you knew that people would stare and try to take pictures of you, of us, and you still came?"

"Yes." She met his eyes, wanting him to see how serious she was, because she finally understood what was going on in his head. It was pretty stupid for such a smart guy. It was also somewhat disappointing and hinted at her pre-island thinking revolving around social status. Felicity needed Oliver to know that she wasn't like that anymore. He needed to know she was perfectly fine to be seen with him, happy even. "I was looking forward to spending the night with you." She flinched, the jerk going all the way through her. "The evening," she hurried to clarify. "Spending the evening with you. Watching a movie. With lots of other people present."

He chuckled. It turned into an honest smile. Felicity noticed dimples appearing and his blue eyes shining. It made her smile herself just as the lights started to dim. Oliver offered her the yellow plastic bucket, "Popcorn?"

Smirking, she took a handful and got comfortable in her seat, not dwelling on the fact that comfortable meant shifting her body toward Oliver. He had the popcorn, after all.

Her shoulder was still nearly touching him when the lights switched on again (apparently you couldn't leave during the credits when it came to superhero movies, because there was a scene at the very end of it). The movie was over, people were coming out of their state of quiet observing, starting to chat, gathering their things, getting ready to leave. Expectantly, Oliver glanced down at her. "And? How did you like it?"

"I get the 'God complex' hint now."

Oliver chuckled. "Mission accomplished."

"It was good," Felicity answered, honestly. "I get why your sister's into Thor. And your favorite's the Captain?"

He frowned, ignoring the people around them getting up. "What makes you say that?"

"Because of—" She stopped herself from mentioning a t-shirt with a logo she had seen him wear while under her hood. She dared a shrug, "Just a guess. He seems like a guy's guy. Or Iron Man, he's a dude, too." She got up, quickly. "Shall we?"

The frown still edging his forehead, he stood. Evading his eyes, turning her back to him, Felicity made her way down the row, silently cursing herself for making such a stupid mistake. Oliver was a smart man, and Felicity was sure he was very perceptive. She would be a fool to underestimate him.

All of this felt wrong suddenly—lying to Oliver felt wrong. She had avoided direct lies until now, had simply omitted some things and openly refused to tell him others. Suddenly, Felicity realized that she was fooling herself to think this could be a date-date. Because even if it was, this didn't have a future. Oliver didn't deserve lies and half-truths and deliberate omissions. He deserved better. He deserved better than a woman who had made plans to shut down an illegal Triad casino later tonight (her best-friend-turned-stepsister was part of the reason why), ready to confront a part of her own dark past.

Stepping into the foyer, she turned to Oliver, ready to call it a night, to get to the vigilante-ing and back to the hide-out that Sara had taken over to, well, hide. From her father. She forced a smile. Immediately, his posture crumpled a little. "You hated the movie."

"What? No. It was fun."

"You don't have to lie. It's okay that it isn't your thing."

"It is my thing. I really enjoyed the movie. The only weak link was the dude with the bow; his posture was way off."

"Oh?!" Oliver smirked. "And you know that how?"

Good question. She felt her cheeks warm as another big lie crawled up her throat, only to turn into the sort-of truth on her tongue, "I had archery lessons."

"Seriously?"

She shrugged. "You know, the idle rich. We're hard to entertain."

He shook his head in wonder. "You're a remarkable woman, Felicity."

Felicity's heart did an unexpected jump in her chest. "Thank you for remarking on it."

They looked at each other. Only when somebody bumped into Oliver did they finally notice that they were blocking the way. In sync they started walking, heading through the foyer toward the exit, staying close to each other, but not touching. Outside, the cool evening air welcomed them, a soft breeze brushed over Felicity's bare legs. Disliking the upcoming goodbye but knowing it had to be, Felicity turned to Oliver and saw him give himself a push. "There's a coffee shop down the street. Maybe we could…. If you don't want to call it a night just yet."

Oliver fumbling over his words was unfamiliar but so endearing that Felicity couldn't help but smile while her heart sped up again. All thoughts about Oliver deserving better and this not having a future were forgotten, erased as if they had never existed. "I'm not the one who has to get to work tomorrow," she answered. "I'm up for it, if you are."

"I wouldn't be asking if I weren't." He gestured to the right, moving. "So, tell me more about archery."

Falling into step next to him, Felicity opened her mouth to answer only to close it again. Her eyes sparkling, she glanced up at him. "Oliver Queen, are you small-talking me?"

Air escaped his lips in an amused exhale. "I thought I'd give it a try. You know, normally, that's how people still getting to know each other get a conversation going."

"Apparently, we're not normal people." The words replayed in her head, sounding ambiguous.

Oliver didn't give her a chance to apologize. "Apparently not. So let's dive right into the heavy stuff: you talked to your friend?"

"I did. It was the right thing to do." She playfully bumped her elbow against his arm. "It was very good advice."

"There's a first for everything," he joked and stopped in front of a brightly lit doorway, the word "Jitters" sprawled over it. Oliver reached for the huge handle of the glass door, motioning for her to enter first.

With a smile and a nod she did and decided, "Coffee's on me. How do you want yours?"

"Black." Looking a little sheepish, Oliver added, "But decaf, please."

"Coming right up." When Felicity returned from the counter, two decaf coffees in hand, Oliver sat by a table in the back corner, away from the windows, his back toward the wall, giving her the option of facing away from the rest of the coffee shop. It was a nice gesture, but the idea of sitting like that made her skin crawl. She stopped next to the table. "Hi," she said lamely, set the two mugs down, and gestured to Oliver's seat. "Is it okay, if I sit there?" Seeing the surprise on his face, she explained, honestly, "I need to see the room, I don't like the idea of people I can't see walking behind me."

"Oh," he practically jumped up from his chair. "Of course, sure. Here." He waited for her to sit down and pushed the seat in for her. Sinking down on the opposite chair, he asked, "Better?"

"Yes, thank you." She felt awkward. "I'm sorry, I know it's weird."

"Felicity. You don't have to explain, it's okay." He sounded so sincere. It had been that exact tone that had made her want to open up to him before. That tone had been the reason she'd told him about Sara and confided in him.

"Thank you."

They looked at each other for a moment and Felicity realized that her mom was right: she was here, on a date-date, with a man she really liked. She could get lost in his blue eyes and that thought alone should make Felicity want to flee from the coffee shop. She couldn't get lost—especially not when she had moved past that, past going cuckoo over men. She had a mission and she wasn't a good person and she didn't deserve a sweet, trustworthy, good guy like Oliver. She deserved to be alone.

But—damn—that was hard to remember when he looked at her like that.

She broke the eye contact, reaching for her mug. Slowly, she took a sip of her own decaf coffee. It was very hot, so she set the mug back down.

"Do you want to tell me about your talk with your friend?" Oliver asked softly.

Felicity knew that she had the option of saying 'no,' but she didn't want to, not when he had been one of the reasons she had tried to see things from Sara's perspective. "It was a good. I mean, okay, we talked about a lot of not-so-good things, but it was good that we talked."

"I understand."

"She's been my best friend since high school. But she's different. I mean, we both are, obviously. But… you were right: we understand what the other went through in the last few years. We… share a new connection." Felicity moved an unruly hand through her long hair.

"Makes sense." He nodded. His fingers fumbled with the handle of the mug, his eyes glued to it.

"I know I'm being vague, but what she experienced…. It's not my secret to tell you."

His eyes snapped up to meet hers. "Of course. No. I was just searching for a way to tell you… I'm always here to listen—to your side of the story." His eyes darted away from her, he swallowed heavily.

"I know." And, really, she did. Ever since their last lunch she was absolutely sure of that. "Thank you." She smiled, seeing the corners of his mouth tick up the barest bit. "But right now I'd much rather talk about you."

"About me?" He seemed surprised. "I'm not interesting."

"I honestly doubt that, Oliver." She sat up straighter in her chair. "How did you get into computers?" Seeing the expression crossing his face, she quickly brought her index finger up. "And don't you dare rate that on your small-talk-meter, because that was an honest question and I want to hear the answer."

"Fair enough." His hands cradled the mug. He inhaled soundly before answering. "I don't really know. I've always been into technical things. I wanted to figure out how stuff worked. My mom's radio, my remote controlled car, I took things apart to put them back together and understand them. I built my first computer when I was six. I like the logic behind it, behind computers and math, things that can be explained by a set of rules." He sighed and his shoulders slumped a little. "I know, dorky."

"No." Her blonde hair flowed around her face with the forceful shake of her head. "Not at all. I envy that. Your passion. You chose this because you enjoy it, because you wanted to and you're really good at it."

Her statement was followed by a moment of silence as they sat in the nearly empty coffee shop, looking at each other. He inhaled forcefully again, looking somewhat awed before slowly nodding. "Yeah, I guess you could look at it that way."

"You should," she corrected.

He cleared his throat. "We're very good with anti-small-talking."

"Yes. Serious-talking. Could be our thing."

"It should." The hint of a smirk showed on his face. "So, we have a thing now?"

A small laugh fell from Felicity's lips. "Apparently."

"Works for me."

"Even though it's not exactly logical?" Felicity heard the teasing in her own voice. It shocked her. She was even more shocked at finding that she didn't want to take it back, didn't want to clarify, justify, and belittle.

"Yes."

The sincerity in his voice nearly knocked all air out of Felicity and she knew she was in trouble, in big, big trouble—after just two non-dates and a date-date. But despite her better judgment she found that her next words were entirely true, "Works for me."