I hope you haven't forgotten about me or this story. I know it's been forever and I can't thank you enough for all your patience, your understanding, and the encouraging feedback you sent me. It means a lot to me. Thank you!

Albiona, thank you for taking the time to get this chapter to me despite everything. You are amazing. And just so you know: I still love us and our pretty and well-used brains. ;)

I hope all had/have a good Easter. Love, Jules


I know that's not who you are anymore

It felt like a Throwback Thursday—on a Saturday.

Felicity wished Oliver were here to appreciate her pop culture referencing quip. After all, he had been the one to introduce her to the term when showing her an old photo from the set of Star Trek... Wars... Star Wars. (That was the one with the Jedis and the Force and the guy in the black mask who was Luke's father. Felicity was really good with remembering things, so she needed to remember to tell that Star-stuff apart to avoid getting that look from Oliver.)

Standing in the third changing cubicle of the day, trying on the twentieth (but who was counting) pair of skinny jeans, Felicity couldn't shake the feeling of being transported back in time. Before boarding the family's private yacht, she had gone shopping with her mother regularly. They had spent hours wandering from store to store, modeling clothes for each other, and coming home with way too many bags.

This whole trip came with a sense of déja-vu: the behavior of her mother was so familiar, the situation so well-practiced, the environment perfectly interchangeable, making Felicity feel like the odd woman out. It showed her how much she had changed, how much it wasn't five years ago, because as she shimmied into another pair of tight pants (black this time, she had insisted on some black in her wardrobe) she vowed that this one was the last store. She didn't have the stamina for a whole day filled with shopping anymore. It felt too much like a waste of time.

The last button closed, Felicity pushed the curtain back with a loud 'swoosh', revealing herself to her mother. Donna Smoak-Lance sat comfortably on a plush red chair in the otherwise empty changing area—the private one, reserved for the costumers coming with big money and the prospect of a huge commission.

Felicity was trying on skinny jeans tagged around $300 in a private changing room and it just felt uncomfortably decadent.

"Turn," Donna directed with a twirl of her hand.

Felicity did as she was told, but couldn't help but say, "We've already bought five pairs. I honestly think that's enough."

"Not if that sixth pair makes your butt look like that."

Craning her neck, Felicity looked down her backside. Donna huffed. "There's a mirror, sweetie." Seeing the slightly caught look crossing her daughter's face, she added an encouraging smile. "Felicity, I know that after years of nothing it must seem weird to you, I can feel how awkward all this is for you. But having money and spending it is nothing to be ashamed about. We work hard for that money."

"You work hard for that money," Felicity corrected.

"I do. And I like to spend it on you and buy you clothes." She smirked and added, as if it were an afterthought (which it clearly wasn't), "I'm also more than willing to pay for classes if you want to get your MBA and start earning part of our money."

Now it was Felicity huffing. "Yeah, 'cause that worked perfectly the last four times."

Absolute seriousness shone from her mother's face. "You're not the same person you were back then. I told you before: stop trying to pretend like you are."

A wave of affection crashed through Felicity. Lacking words to adequately express it, she simply nodded, combining agreement, acknowledgement, and thankfulness in one gesture.

Donna answered with a nod and smile of her own. Breaking the both heavy and light moment, Donna Smoak-Lance gestured to her daughter's legs. "And we're getting those pants."

"Fine. But this is the last store. Seriously, I'm done shopping."

"I had a feeling you'd say that." Donna got up from her seat just as a shop assistant pushed a clothes rack in as if she had been waiting for the signal.

"This is a sampling of dresses from our next collection," the assistant motioned toward the rack, the bracelets around her wrist chiming with the movement. "I stuck to your specifics, Mrs. Smoak-Lance: short but high-collared." She reached for a red dress, first presenting its front, then turning it around. "This one does have a cut-out in the back, that's a big feature next season." With a polite smile she faced Felicity. "It'll help you regain your position as a trendsetter."

Right. Because that mattered to Felicity. She ignored the woman and instead fixed her mother with a look. "I have enough dresses."

"You can never have enough dresses," Donna dismissed, contemplating the red dress. "You look good in red, but I'm unsure about the cut-out. Would you feel comfortable with that?" She glanced at her daughter, probably trying to recall if the cut-out was positioned to reveal the burn mark on her lower back.

It was. "No," Felicity answered. "I wouldn't."

The shop assistant seemed disappointed (the little piece of red cloth was probably really expensive), hanging the dress back. Donna dismissed the woman with a polite but meaningful smile, reached for a purple dress, and showed it to Felicity, "How about this one?"

"Mom," Felicity tried and failed to keep the annoyance out of her voice. "I don't need another dress."

"Yes, you do. You need an outfit for the Smoak-Lance Fundraising Gala next Saturday."

"The… what?"

"We host a gala every year to raise money and awareness for projects benefitting the Glades."

"Oh. I didn't know."

"That's why I'm telling you. Quentin started out in the Glades, his first precinct was there. He told me a lot about the things he experienced. It's been bad in that part of Starling for years—and Malcolm Merlyn detonating bombs across the district didn't exactly improve things." Donna shook her head. "That man has always been a lunatic, but leveling a whole city block to avenge his deceased wife was a lot, even for him." She tried to sound flippant, but it was a bad act, evaporating quickly. Seriousness wrapped around Donna again. "The Glades and the people who live there need our help. They need to be offered opportunities—and our fundraiser supports tutoring projects for kids, scholarships, little league. Stuff like that. And I expect you to show your support."

"Of course," Felicity hurried to say, because she recognized her mother's no-nonsense voice and because she was very much in support of that cause. "I'll be there."

Donna's face softened. "Good. I expect you to show up with your plus one."

That, on the other hand, didn't have Felicity's full support. "What?"

"Your plus one," Donna repeated. "And it can't be Sara, because Quentin already told her she has to be there. I heard his end of the talk on the phone and it involved the threat of dragging her down to the gala in handcuffs if she didn't show up voluntarily. I don't even think he was joking." A frown showed on her face. "Should we get a dress for Sara, too?"

"Sara doesn't wear dresses." Her own words registered within her and she shook her head. Bringing the conversation back to the main point, Felicity asked "And why do I have to bring a plus one?"

"Why not?" Her mother raised a challenging eyebrow. "You have a plus one, don't you?"

"Mom," Felicity sighed the word in annoyance and was shocked how much she sounded like a huffy teenager. She cleared her throat before continuing. "I asked you to let me do this in my own speed."

"That was two weeks ago."

"I didn't know there was a time limit."

"There wasn't—but then I realized you weren't getting anywhere." Donna sighed. With an audible click she hung the purple dress back on the rack. "Felicity, please, just answer one question: do you care about Oliver?"

"Yes." The word was past her lips before she could even contemplate not answering.

"Then I don't see a problem." Donna hesitated. "Unless… it's true what people say and you're ashamed of him."

"What?! I'm not ash—" Felicity gasped. "Who says that?"

"The gossip circles at Smoak International. People say you either hit him and quit him—or you're hiding him. Because you haven't been seen together lately."

Anger collected within Felicity and, unable to mask it, vibrated in her voice, "Okay. That's offensive. On many levels. Why would I be ashamed of a super smart and super nice man? Super good-looking, too. I don't understand how people can't see past the glasses and nerdy shirts—which he rocks, by the way. So why would I quit him? People! Seriously!" Reconsidering her heated rant, the anger dissolved a little, leaving behind the need to clarify, "Not that I hit him—we haven't…." She bit down on her lower lip to keep herself from telling her mother things that were none of her mother's business and that really shouldn't be discussed in a changing room—or in general.

Seeing the smirk on her mother's face, Felicity decided to change directions. "Oliver said things were fine at SI. He enjoys working at the new department, said people were cool and excited about the project he suggested to improve cyber security."

"Oh, I'm sure things are good with the other nerds," Donna dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Harold, the department head, is smitten with Oliver and his skills. Those are his people. It's the rest of SI who are running their mouths. He might not even know what they're saying."

"But you know?"

"Of course! I need to know what's going on at my company. Luckily, Gerry's very much into gossip. He keeps me informed."

"Yeah. Lucky you…." Felicity tipped her head to the side, studying her mother. Suspicion tugged at her, founded in a question she couldn't answer: why did her mother care if Oliver was being gossiped about? It didn't add up exactly. Straightening up, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Neither Oliver nor I knew about those rumors. So why do you care?"

Donna opened her mouth and closed it again. Her posture, her face, her eyes softened. "Because that's not who you are anymore." The tenderness in her mother's voice made Felicity's hands fall to her sides again, her heartbeat speeding up the barest bit as she met her mother's glistening eyes. Donna took a step toward her daughter. "The partying, the carelessness, the hitting and quitting, the using boys—you grew past that and I hate that people don't see it, see how much you've matured. I know that you have a lot of demons, Felicity. I can see them. But despite them, you have turned into a person who cares. And that's something I love seeing."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Felicity tried to think of something to say.

Her mother spared her, continuing, fondly, "That's why I want you to invite Oliver. To shut those people up, to end those rumors. I know it's stupid. Quentin called it 'gobbeldy-goop' or something like that. I know he's right. I know I shouldn't care, but I can't help it."

Felicity looked at her mother, seeing the seriousness mixing with slight embarrassment on Donna's face. Warmth spread within Felicity. It was a strange compliment, being told that you were once awful but turned better—and it meant a lot to Felicity. She could acknowledge the truth of it: she had been awful. She disliked her old self and her selfish, careless quest for fun. She didn't want to be that person anymore, she didn't feel like Fe Smoak anymore, and it felt so good to hear her mother confirm that change. She smiled. "Okay," she said, finding her voice coated with emotion. She swallowed again. "I'll ask Oliver to be my plus one."

A wide smile took over Donna's face. "Wonderful!" She gestured to the rack with a twinkle in her eyes. "And look: there's a black dress here, too."

Felicity sighed with an air of amusement. "Okay. I'll try it on."


Spending the evening in a drafty industrial cellar had turned into Oliver's idea of a perfect Saturday—or any other day of the week, really.

Spending time in the Factory meant feeling useful, facing challenges, being part of a team, being part of something bigger and better than himself. It meant a sense of accomplishment, a purpose that made him feel fulfilled in a way he had never experienced before.

Not long ago his life had consisted of fixing server problems and being bored at work, heading home to his laptop and his PS4. He hadn't noticed the loneliness in that—but he had been lonely despite Diggle and Myron and their weekly gaming-sessions, despite the people he chatted with online about coding, gaming, and all the reasons why the US government shouldn't build a Death Star (mainly due to some major design/security flaws), and despite his 500 Facebook friends.

Now his days consisted of challenges he and his SI colleagues created for themselves and his evenings were filled with helping bringing down bad guys. His life had purpose, and he was surrounded by people.

He was around Felicity.

She made a drafty industrial cellar feel like the perfect place to be. The smile she welcomed him with as he headed down the stairs to the Factory's basement made his heart swell. "Hey," he greeted as he headed toward her.

Bow in hand and quiver on her back, she stepped away from the basket filled with tennis balls. "Hey," she answered and met him by his desk. Placing her hand on his arm, she looked up at him, tilting her head back slightly.

Bowing down, he kissed her, sweetly, gently. Greeting her with a kiss had turned into a ritual he didn't second guess anymore—but it hadn't turned ordinary for him. Kissing her, feeling her soft lips against his, was an extraordinary pleasure leaving him tingly and happy.

Ever since their not-really-a-date-date with cold pizza, barriers had fallen. That evening had signaled the go-ahead for more kissing, touching, a connection, a togetherness they both knew was there. Neither ever labeled it, there wasn't any need for it, they just knew. Oliver could feel it, more and more with each kiss, each touch.

Slowly they parted. Keeping his face close to hers, he smiled. He had to, it was the only way to deal with the positivity inside him. It grew when he saw the way Felicity returned his smile. Her eyes shining made something in his chest flutter. It was sappy and corny, but he didn't care, because it felt too good. They gave each other a few long seconds to gaze at each other before Oliver straightened up and motioned toward the basket filled with yellow balls. "What's this?"

"Target practice. Wanna help?"

"Sure," he said and followed her toward it. "Where's Sara?"

"I don't know. I thought she'd be here." She motioned toward the basket. "Bounce a ball."

Standing next to him, she was absolutely relaxed, her posture and muscles at ease. Her arms hung by her side, her right holding her bow loosely while her arrows were stored in her quiver, fletching peeking over her shoulder. There was nothing about her that screamed "battle ready" to Oliver. He quirked an eyebrow. "Don't you want to aim?"

"No."

He bit back a smirk. Her answer sounded very casual, but Oliver saw the gleam in her eyes, fueled by self-assuredness. He liked her confidence. (He wished she'd be more confident when it came to things other than her vigilante-business, but he had yet to find the right way or time to tell her that.) "Fair enough." He picked up the first ball.

It turned into a yellow blur as Oliver threw it at the floor. It bounced high and quickly—and was nailed to the wall in the next moment. The arrow was sliced through its middle perfectly, its head rooted in the concrete. Felicity had drawn her bow and aimed in a heartbeat. Oliver had known before that her confidence was justified, founded in serious skills, but witnessing it still impressed him, filled him with pride on her behalf. This time he didn't hide his smirk and reached for another ball. It was pinned above the other one only seconds later. He picked up two more, bouncing them simultaneously, and asked, "How was the shopping trip with your mom?"

Two arrows cut through the air in rapid succession, hitting their targets perfectly. "I now own black clothes—and pants."

He chuckled. "That sounds like a success."

"It was." She turned to Oliver, placing her attention on him and keeping him from throwing another ball. "How are things at work?"

Oliver frowned. "They're good. Really, really good. Why?" He stiffened. "Did your mother say something? I know my supervisor had a meeting with her, but I thought he was pleased with my work."

"He is," Felicity hurried to say. "Very pleased. You're nerd of month." A heartbeat of silence followed. Her eyes snapped to him. "I mean that fondly, not judge-y. You know that, right?"

The frown still on Oliver's face turned slightly darker as confusion mixed with worry. The emotional combination brought the need to ease her worries. "I do know that." It was the truth; she had never given him any reason to doubt it.

"Good." The tension left her body as quickly as it came. "That's the most important thing. But I need to stop using the word—before somebody else hears it and gets the wrong idea."

Hearing the statement but not understanding its true meaning made his worries grow. "Felicity," Oliver said, stepping into her personal space. "What's going on?"

She met his eyes. "Would you like to go to a charity thing with me next Saturday?"

"What?! Why?"

"Because my mom wants me to come and bring somebody and you're the only one I want to be my plus one."

His first reaction was a smile. It just popped up on his face. Her easy declaration in a matter-of-fact tone came with an implicitness. The simplicity of it, the sincerity, and the sureness made his heart dance. It was one of the reasons why falling for her was natural, a reflex close to breathing. She made things easy for him, put herself and her feelings out there, let him know what she wanted, how she felt about him. He never had to guess with her and that allowed him to do the same, step up with her and dare an amount of honesty that was unheard of from him. He had never experienced that before, that lack of playing games and dancing around your feelings, and he had spent the whole night after their improvised date debating how it was possible that she was like that after everything she had experienced. Maybe, he had contemplated around five in the morning, he had it all wrong and her experiences were the exact reason why she didn't have the patience for playing games, why she was brave enough to just to go for what she wanted, why she wanted a connection. It still boggled his mind that she wanted a connection with him—but he never doubted that she did. That's why he also knew she used the word "nerd" fondly, even if peop—

The instant smile vanished from his face as the basic meaning of 'plus one' finally really registered within him. "You want me to go to a charity thing with you—like accompany you to mingle with the one percent?"

"Yes."

"No."

"No?"

"Yes."

She blinked up at him. "Did you just say 'no' to being my plus one?"

"No."

"Yes, you did. You turned me down."

"No." His eyes were glued to hers, needing her to see how much he meant his next words. "I want to be your plus one—generally speaking, but I don't belong with the one percenters."

"Oh, Oliver. You're such a smart guy, don't be so stupid." She sighed, shaking her head, the high ponytail she always wore during training trailing behind her. She reached for his hand. "It's a lame party with dressed-up people and probably a string quartet—there's always a string quartet. There'll be good food and horrible conversations. Small-talk. Lots of it. Which I will fail at. I, not you. There's nothing about it adequate to make you feel inadequate—because you aren't. I wouldn't force you through it if it wasn't a Smoak-Lance organized fundraiser for the Glades. We're basically doing this for my mom."

"If your mother—who's my boss—knew you'd bring me, she wouldn't have asked you to come with a plus one."

"She knows I'll bring you. It's the only reason she insisted."

He gawked at Felicity. He waited for that statement to make sense. It didn't. "What?"

"Mom wants you to improve my reputation."

Seriously! "What?"

"There are rumors at SI about you either being my one-night stand or my guilty pleasure secret—which are both equally offensive and I apologize. My mother wants people to know that I grew up and matured into a person capable of having more than just sex with a man."

"I never heard those rumors. How does your mother, CEO of the whole thing, know about them?"

"Gerry. Plus you're in that computer department bubble."

"Advanced Computer Science Department bubble."

"Yes," she smirked. "That." Her hand tightened around his. "Will you be my plus one, boost my reputation, and save me from failing at small-talk?"

"Yes."

The smirk grew. "That's the answer I was hoping for two minutes ago."

"Well, you said the food's good, so…" he teased. Seeing an understanding spark in her eyes, he leaned in for another kiss. His eyes closed as her hand settled on his face, cupping his cheek. His hands moved to her hips and slid to her back, bringing her closer as he deepened the kiss and her hand wandered to the back of his head. He got lost in feeling her warmth, in tasting her as his tongue danced around hers, in hearing a soft sigh escape her. Their kissing was slow and sensual and Oliver felt strangely out of breath when they parted.

Gazing into her eyes, he saw his own desires swim in hers. She was on her tip-toes, leaning up to him, and he could feel her muscles move as she strained to bridge the small gap between their faces to kiss him again, but a metallic rattling stopped her. Both turned their heads to the stairs. Sara marched toward them, a grim determination on her face.

Oliver's hands instantly flew from Felicity's back, but Felicity didn't seem caught or uneasy in the slightest. Instead, she brought her right to his cheek once more (it must be scratchy, he realized, he hadn't shaved today, because it was Saturday and he took the weekend off from the chore of shaving), sent him a small smile that held a promise, and only then did she place her full attention on Sara and stepped away from him. "I tried to call you."

Sara stopped behind Oliver's desk. "I know. I was tailing the Mayor. I found his new city hall."

Felicity's body tightened, her muscles flexed, her shoulder squared, her chin rose the barest bit. Oliver noticed the shift, saw all the lightness, teasing, and softness vanish from her. He knew that Felicity and the Arrow were the same person, but there was a certain distinction between both women. And the woman walking around the desk was the vigilante, getting ready to confront a guy who had gunned down a blood drive in the Glades two days ago. (And Oliver was sure that the five people with fatal bullet wounds plus the ten wounded were more prominently on Felicity's mind than the fact that the guy had tried to blow her up before that.)

"Where is it?"

"Corner of Adams and O'Neil."

Felicity nodded and moved toward the glass case. "I'll suit up."

"I'll back you up," Sara stated and walked to the drawer that stored her guns and ammunition.

Detective Lance had been at the blood drive and the possibility of her father being hurt, or worse, shook Sara. They had been at the Factory when the news of the shooting had reached them. Oliver remembered how she had fumbled to put on her black leather jacket in her hurry to get to the scene. Detective Lance hadn't been injured, but the Mayor had endangered the wrong girl's father (and the wrong girl's stepfather).

Felicity's steps faltered only for a second. Stopping next to the case, she watched Sara, whose attention was on her weaponry. Mentally Oliver prepared himself for a fight. The chances were fifty-fifty that Felicity told Sara she couldn't come with her—which led to a one hundred percent chance of Sara blowing up at Felicity. Luckily, Felicity only inhaled audibly and reached for her suit.

Seeing that snapped Oliver into action. He rounded the desk to get to his keyboard. "I'll check if there are blueprints of the building. Maybe we can get an idea of what you're walking into." He was already facing the screens, accessing the back door he'd installed last week in the department of building regulations. His plus one and her best friend were going out to confront an arms dealer with a loose trigger finger. He'd do his part to keep both of them safe.