Felicity drew in a sharp breath as Oliver landed on top of her, their bodies pressing together in all sorts of interesting ways. "We've got to stop meeting on the ground like this," she panted, as Oliver propped himself up on his forearms. "And you're still really sweaty," she added, her hand trailing down his back of its own accord.

"At least there aren't any landmines this time," he said, smiling at her futile attempts to puff away a strand of hair that had become stuck to her face. She stilled as he lifted a few fingers to gently brush it away for her.

"Thanks," Felicity murmured, biting her lip as Oliver cleared his throat and pushed himself up from her and the training mat they had accidentally crashed into. "I think my crime fighting ponytail needs work," she said with a quick laugh, leaping to her feet before Oliver had the chance to offer out his hand to help. "Although Sara still manages to kick ass and look like she's in a really intense shampoo commercial, so maybe a wig's the way to go."

"I prefer barrettes myself," Oliver deadpanned, taking a long draught of water from his sports bottle. "My hair just gets so unruly sometimes."

Felicity flicked him across the leg with her towel. "You make fun of me now, but you'll be sorry when I'm blinded by my Cousin Itt hair in the middle of a showdown and accidentally punch you in the face."

"Well it's a good thing it won't have to come to that," he replied.

She gazed at him with a quirked eyebrow. "The punching part or me actually helping out the team from behind the computer desk again?" Felicity rummaged around her bag for her own water bottle. "Because I hate to break it to you, Oliver, but I'm not just doing this training thing for the cute gym outfits."

"Felicity…" he exhaled, searching around for the right words. "We don't expect you to have to leap into the fray. It takes months, years even, to build up the skills set your body needs to be able to fight properly."

"Hmm, I can just picture that conversation next time I'm face-to-face with someone." Felicity held up her hands in mock protest. "Woah there buddy, this is a low-violence zone. I haven't reached my black belt for the salmon ladder yet." She affected a deep voice. "Oh my mistake, madam, let me release you from this death grip. Fabulous crime fighting hair by the way!" Taking a defiant drink of water, Felicity silently counted the tics in Oliver's jawline. One, two, three… "Go on, you know you're dying to say something."

"… I'm just wondering why the bad guy sounds like Alan Rickman," he shrugged.

"Don't deflect," she said, pointing at him accusingly just as Diggle and Roy returned from their sprint intervals outside. Felicity turned with a smile to greet the boys. "How goes the workout?"

Roy sat down on the training mat while Diggle perched on the edge of Felicity's desk. "Well I didn't have to high five any bowls of liquid for hours on end, so I'm going to chalk it up as a win," said Roy, giving Oliver a sarcastic smile.

Rolling his eyes, Oliver picked up the end of the mat to haul it back to the wall, dumping Roy onto the ground in the process. "Whoops," he smirked as the teen cursed under his breath. "Guess you should have stuck it out with me a bit longer – stealth and agility was going to be my next lesson."

"Yeah, I'll tell you where you can stick…"

"So! Who's hungry?" Felicity interrupted, clapping her hands together. "Oliver rode me pretty hard so I could probably eat about ten slices of pizza right now, and yes," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose, "I realize where that sentence started and I continue to regret the verbal choices I make on a daily basis." Grabbing her glasses from their case she put them on and sat down on her swivel chair to look up the online menu. "I think I'm in a pepperoni kind of mood."

"Sounds good," said Oliver, watching Roy join her at the computers. "Hey Digg, can I have a word with you about that… work thing from yesterday?"

Folding his arms, Diggle sauntered over to the staircase where Oliver was storing the mat underneath. "Work thing, huh?" he smiled. "I can see your lying prowess is just getting better with age."

Mirroring his friend's stance, Oliver cast a quick glance towards their blonde colleague before looking back at Diggle in concern. "I'm worried about Felicity," he murmured.

"What happened?" Diggle replied, his amusement fading. "Is she OK?"

"I didn't realize how serious she was about learning how to fight," Oliver admitted with a frown. "She keeps talking like she's ready to run into battle with the rest of us. And I know she's strong-willed and determined," he conceded, "but that's nowhere near the same as having military training, or Mirakuru…"

"Or having an island kick your ass six ways till Sunday," Diggle agreed. "If you think about it though, Oliver, the last major person we all dealt with was…"

"William Tockman," Oliver finished, the realization dawning on him. He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "I'm an idiot," he sighed. "She was just so proud of that damn scar that I didn't..." He shook his head. "Why couldn't Felicity just say something to me about it? To us?"

Diggle chuckled, earning a reproachful look from his friend. "Yeah, because we're all so forthcoming with our feelings down here," he said, giving Oliver a pointed look. "Knowing Felicity, she wouldn't have wanted to worry anyone. But maybe you should use your new living situation to your advantage and get her to open up without the rest of us around?"

"Good idea," Oliver nodded.

"How's all that going anyway?" Diggle asked, looking over to where Felicity and Roy were arguing loudly over the pros and cons of anchovies. "Is she as scary as she claims to be before her morning coffee?"

Huffing out a small laugh, Oliver smiled. "It's been pretty civilized. She's always up and dressed and ready to go before I've even blinked. If I didn't know any better I'd say she sleeps in her work clothes."

"Maybe she's just playing the polite houseguest card," Diggle suggested, elaborating off Oliver's puzzled reaction. "I know it's not entirely the same circumstances, but Lyla and I were like that in the beginning. Keeping things nice, not letting our true personalities shine through. Before long, though, I was back in my favorite sweatshirt with the food stains and Lyla wore her old Bon Jovi t-shirt to bed."

"I like Bon Jovi."

Diggle raised his eyebrows in a 'yeah, you would' fashion. "My point is that Felicity might not exactly feel comfortable about making herself comfortable."

"I'll talk to her about that too," Oliver said decisively. "The last thing I want is for her to feel like she can't be herself." The two men turned to head back to the rest of the team. "Seriously though, not even Livin' On A Prayer?"

"Now you're just offending me, man."

"… All I'm saying is there's a pecking order you'd be expected to follow if you were part of that group," said Oliver, waiting for Felicity to step out of the elevator and into the penthouse. "Otherwise there'd be chaos."

Felicity toed off her red pumps, lining them up neatly against the wall. "But that just brings me back to my main point: who set the order in the first place?" She placed her tablet next to Oliver's briefcase on the coffee table. "Was it a matter of just blindly respecting your elders? Was there a vote taken? How does it all work?"

"Let's be honest," said Oliver, as they walked side-by-side to the kitchen, "who would you trust more to lead you? Someone whose name has connotations with a doctor, or some guy who can't even tie his shoelaces?"

Leaning her body across the island bench, Felicity pouted her lips in thought. "Did Dopey even have shoes with laces? Maybe the poor guy would have stood a chance if the Enchanted Forest opened up a Crocs store." She cracked a smile as Oliver quietly chuckled to himself. "What? These are very important things to consider," she teased.

"I'm just wondering how I ended up spending the entire ride home debating leadership issues between the Seven Dwarfs." He opened the refrigerator, taking out two bottles of water and handing one to Felicity.

"Because it was a thousand times more interesting than discussing our work meeting with Martin Kaufman," she reminded him, unscrewing the lid, "aka Mr Grumpy and Sleepy himself."

Oliver dropped his head back, groaning in renewed irritation. "I don't understand how one man can suck so much life out of a room. I know the company needs new investors, but if he's the best we can do then we're in trouble."

"Don't worry I'm already researching other people all hush-hush," said Felicity, taking a sip of her water. "That way we'll get a head start and actually be able to hire someone who doesn't have the personality of a house plant."

"See?" smiled Oliver, loosening his tie and undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. "This is why you're the Doc of the group."

"Guess we'd better buy you a pair of Crocs then, huh?" Felicity said innocently, standing up straight to check her watch. "It's still kind of early. I was thinking about watching a movie in your fancy-pants theater if you wanted to join me?"

Oliver rolled his shoulders, attempting to work through a kink that had been lingering for a few days. "I don't know, I should probably head out at some stage."

"Come on, a couple of hours won't hurt," she replied. "Besides, it'll do your body the world of good to have some rest. I could feel how tense you were when you were on top of me today." She paused, screwing up her nose. "Let's just imagine that came out less suggestively shall we?"

The corners of his mouth twitched as he tried to renege on the offer. "I can't really afford to take a night off."

Felicity flashed him her most beguiling grin. "I'll make popcorn," she sang out. "Or whatever it is you treat yourself with these days," she added as an afterthought. "Protein shakes? A cup of air? Kale chips?"

He watched her make a face like she was offended by the very notion and smiled. "Popcorn's fine," he said, relishing in her surprise that he'd changed his mind. "Do I at least get to choose the film if I stay?"

"Nope. And we're going to need more snacks than just popcorn if we're going to do this thing right." Felicity opened the freezer and looked around before gasping in delight. "Oh my God, I have been craving this all day," she exclaimed, taking out a tub of mint choc-chip ice cream. "Don't tell me you have Skittles hidden around somewhere too?"

Oliver opened the cupboard above his head and took out a large bag of candy, presenting it to her with an air of smugness.

"You're officially my favorite person," she sighed happily.

"I wasn't before?"

"It was a close race between you and Kit Harrington but we won't let him know you've won the throne."

Oliver sank into the black leather double recliner, listening to Felicity mutter under her breath as she searched through the large shelf of DVDs. "What's wrong?" he asked, taking a handful of popcorn from the bowl on his lap. "You've got your 'how many times do I have to fix the printer for you?' face on."

"First of all, you should know by now not to jam in so much paper," she retorted, trailing her finger along the DVD spines. "And second of all, if we're cataloguing expressions then this is my 'you own far too many Sylvester Stallone movies' face." Felicity folded her arms with a sigh. "I should have brought my hard drive with me."

"You can grab it if you like. I'll wait."

"Yeah you might be waiting quite a while since it's in storage with the rest of my stuff." She smiled ruefully, leaning over to grab some popcorn.

Oliver contemplated her. "We should make a trip there tomorrow," he suggested as she put a few kernels in her mouth. "I know you must be missing having your own belongings around."

"No don't be silly," she replied, waving her hand dismissively. "This is just a short stopover remember? I'll find an apartment soon and be out of your hair in no time."

"Felicity…" He placed the bowl beside him and got up to stand next to her at the shelf. "You don't have to treat this place like a hotel you know."

She smiled up at him. "Except for the fact that it's so swanky that it could be a hotel."

"But it's also a home." He put his hands into his pockets, glancing at the rows of movies. "Or at least I'm trying to make it into one. And I want you to feel comfortable here too."

"Oliver I am comfortable."

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. "You've still got your work outfit on. What happened to the girl who'd glare at me when we had to stay at the foundry late because her 'fluffy robe and cow slippers' were calling her name?"

Felicity's cheeks dimpled as she grinned. "You remember me mentioning my embarrassing cow footwear but not the multitude of times I've hassled you about the printer?"

"It's a honed skill," he teased. "All I'm saying is that I was promised dirty dishes lying around the place and so far I've only seen my own."

"You may live to regret that reminder," she said, giving him a soft poke in the chest. "Although it has been killing me putting things in the dishwasher all efficient-like. I felt like I was back living at my grandmother's place."

"Just what a guy wants to hear," he smirked.

She laughed, ducking her head. "OK, I'll try my best not to be so Stepford Wife and more normal wife." Her eyes widened. "Or, y'know, just normal person in a non-wife-like capacity… Hey, why don't we watch this one?" She grabbed the nearest DVD, opening the case to take out the disc.

Oliver ran a hand across the back of his neck, feeling a slight flush underneath. "I thought you were steering clear of all things Stallone?" he said, looking at the empty Rocky case she'd cast aside on the shelf.

"He has his moments," she quickly replied, fiddling around with the DVD player before settling into her side of the recliner. "Who knows, maybe I'll pick up a new move or two for our next training session."

"About that..." Joining her on the seat, Oliver cast a cautious glance out the corner of his eye. "How are you feeling, Felicity?"

"Right now?" she asked, keeping her gaze on the screen. "Like I probably shouldn't have inhaled half a bag of candy already."

"No I mean…" he gestured toward the general vicinity of her injured shoulder blade, "how are you after everything that happened with Tockman?" Oliver frowned when he noticed her flinch at the name. "We never really got a proper chance to talk about what happened to you."

Felicity turned to her friend with a painted-on smile. "I'm fine," she replied, sighing when Oliver cocked his head to the side in disbelief. "OK, so maybe not fine fine, but on a scale of one to fine I'm definitely at the higher end."

"Getting shot is a pretty big deal. Don't discount that."

"Oh I'm not, trust me." She slid her hand over her back to where Tockman's bullet clipped her. "It was way more traumatic than getting my wisdom teeth out. But I'd do it all again in a heartbeat." She sensed Oliver's body tense up next to her and dropped her arm to rest her hand on his. "I know it's not something you want to hear but I'm serious, Oliver. I'd take a bullet for any one of you because I know you'd all do the same for me."

Oliver nodded silently, giving her hand a squeeze. "It wouldn't even take a heartbeat," he said softly. "And the training's honestly helping?"

"It is. I'm not doing it because I'm afraid; I'm doing it because it makes me feel empowered." His thumb traced a light pattern over her knuckles making her skin tingle. "And I want to keep embracing that motivation."

He looked at her fondly. "You're pretty remarkable, you know that?"

"So you keep remarking," she said, smiling back at him. The volume increased on the TV as the start menu appeared and Felicity sheepishly untangled her hand, reaching for the popcorn bowl instead. "Want some?" she offered.

"I'd better," he replied. "Someone nearly ate all my Skittles."

The next morning Oliver entered the kitchen after his workout to find Felicity sitting on the kitchen bench with her cup of coffee, eating the last spoonfuls of her cereal. He grinned as he took her in from head (messy bun, mismatched pajamas) to toe (cow-slippered feet swinging in the air) and gave her a satisfied nod of approval.

Smirking, Felicity hopped off the bench and left her dishes near the sink, gracing him with an exaggerated curtsey before heading off for a shower.

"Hey there," greeted Sara, pulling out the chair on the other side of Felicity's desk. "You almost ready?"

Felicity glanced up from her tablet. "Hey!" Her expression clouded in confusion. "Wait, ready for what?"

"Apartment hunting on your break?" Sara raised an eyebrow. "You asked me yesterday at Verdant if I wanted to come with you? Told me I could bring out some Canary persuasion if need be?"

"Oh my God I totally forgot," Felicity groaned, smacking her hand to her forehead.

"Don't tell me I came all the way into QC for nothing," she teased. "You're taking me away from a very important day of cleaning glassware at the bar."

"No, no, we're still going." Felicity fixed up the papers on her desk and switched off her tablet. "I was just up half the night with Oliver and it completely slipped my mind. Not in that kind of way," she stammered, holding out a finger to quieten Sara's peal of laughter. "We were watching some movies."

"That's nice," smiled Sara, waiting for the other blonde to shrug on her coat. "I'm glad he's taking a moment to relax. I mean it's not like I'm the poster child for being Zen or anything, but I've been worried about how hard he's been pushing himself lately."

Slinging her purse over her shoulder, Felicity breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, then it's just not me overreacting then." They headed for the elevator. "He's been getting way too many injuries lately, even for his line of work."

"I've tried to talk to him about it but he just gives me that look," frowned Sara. "You know the one?"

Felicity leant back against the steel bar, nodding. "Yeah, the 'my name is Oliver 'Manpain' Queen and I'd prefer to be trapped in a glass case of emotion than share' look."

"That's the one." Sara scuffed her leather boot against the floor. "He might actually listen to you if you really prod him, though." She smiled as Felicity snorted at her. "Seriously, I've seen the subtle changes in him when you're around. It's like you're the horse whisperer for world-weary vigilantes."

Felicity felt the heat rise in her cheeks as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor. "I think you're talking crazy talk… but I guess it can't hurt to give it a go." They exited the building and stepped out onto the busy sidewalk, Felicity holding the side of her stomach with a grimace.

"Are you OK?" said Sara, grabbing her friend's arm in concern.

"Yeah, I've just been eating way too much junk lately and I think my body is retaliating," she replied, breathing out slowly. "I'll be fine. I'll just guzzle a bottle of Pepto-Bismol for lunch."

"We don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to?"

Felicity shook her head. "No, I'd rather be out of the office anyway. Oliver's in a meeting with Isabel and she's making me uncomfortable."

"How? Do I need to go all Canary on her instead?"

She smiled as they pushed their way through the crowds. "Not at the moment. But she actually acknowledged me with a smile earlier and I thought she was having a stroke." Felicity broke into a bigger grin when she heard Sara chuckle. "I'm serious, I didn't know she could emote. I had my hand poised to dial 911."

"You'd better watch out," Sara warned her with a sparkle in her eye. "She might want to have a whole conversation with you next time."

Felicity shuddered. "Then someone else better get ready to call an ambulance because I'll knock myself out first."

Thumbing through unwanted rental applications, Felicity thanked the doorman as she made her way into Oliver's building later that evening. Her apartment hunting hadn't been much of a success as she found flaws in nearly every place. Sara had thought she was being too picky but Felicity knew what she was after and it wasn't anything she'd traipsed through today. Hearing the elevator ding, Felicity was about to step inside when she nearly got run over by a cart.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there, miss."

Felicity looked up from her papers to see Benny the chef glancing back at her with an apologetic expression. "Oh, hi there! My God, don't even worry about it I wasn't paying attention to where I was going anyway." She mimed lifting up her tablet. "No blunt weaponry will be aimed your way in retaliation, I assure you." They smiled at one another as she waited for him to wheel his cart aside. "Were you just upstairs?"

"Yes miss," said Benny. "Mr Queen contacted us about extra supplies so I was re-stocking the kitchen."

"That'd probably be my fault too," she winced. "Hopefully you brought some more ice-cream with you though."

"We haven't catered for any ice-cream. Mr Queen must have purchased that himself." He gave her another bright smile. "Well I best be off, miss. I need to finish a few more deliveries."

"Right, of course!" Felicity jumped into the waiting elevator and gave him a wave. "It was good to see you again… and not scream in horror at you."

Benny waited for the doors to close before the pleasantness disappeared from his face. He took out his phone and tapped out a message (Six more planted. Nearly got sprung. When exactly am I off the hook?) before scurrying away with his cart.

The penthouse was encased in darkness by the time Oliver arrived home from his patrolling of The Glades. He sucked in a harsh breath as he bent down to take off his shoes, his shoulder still giving him grief after aggravating it further. He was about to tiptoe upstairs when he noticed a person-shaped lump lying on the sofa. Moving in closer he saw Felicity fast asleep, tablet and laptop strewn on the floor, with one of his suit jackets wrapped around her to keep warm.

"Felicity," he whispered, giving her arm a gentle shake. "Felicity wake up." She made a few indecipherable sounds so he bent down to caress her shoulder. "I broke the printer again," he said a bit louder, smirking when she startled awake.

Blinking to readjust to the dim light, Felicity took a hand out from under the jacket to rub at her eyes. "That's an extremely mean way to wake an IT girl up," she mumbled. "What time is it anyway?"

"Nearly two-thirty in the morning. You should probably head upstairs where it's warmer."

She nodded blearily, sitting up and letting the jacket fall to the side. "Sorry about crinkling your clothes but your place severely lacks comfy sofa blankets."

"I'll look into it," he smiled, moving back so they could both stand up.

"You should. I used to have an awesome one back in my apartment." Felicity yawned, stretching out her back. "I'll clean all of that junk up in the morning," she promised, waving a hand at her computers. "I was looking up more investors."

Oliver shone his phone ahead of them for some light as they made their way to the bedrooms. "Anyone good?"

"John Pearson and Ingrid Butler," she replied, stifling another yawn. "But I'll let you take a peek in the morning." They padded through the long hallway. "I looked at some apartments today too."

"Oh yeah?" he replied, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Did you find anything?"

She shook her head. "Nothing really felt right to me. I might look at some more on the weekend if I have time."

"I can come with you again if you like." He paused outside of her bedroom. "I've been working on my British accent," he added solemnly.

Felicity laughed as she opened her door. "I'm kind of partial to the French guy myself." She leant against the frame with a soft smile. "Goodnight, Jean-Luc."

"Bonsoir," he smirked.

"Show-off."

Felicity hummed to herself as she made coffee in the kitchen the next morning, turning on her phone after leaving it on the bench last night. She brought the mug to her lips, nearly choking on the hot liquid when she saw what was sitting in her email account. Eyes widening, she clicked on the different alerts she'd set up connected to Oliver's name, all of them leading to various gossip blogs. Assistant pregnant with Oliver Queen's lovechild! one headline screamed. Oliver Queen's baby-mama doesn't look so Smoak-en hot! said another. Felicity groaned as a photo of her and Sara appeared – she was leaving a drug store, one hand on her stomach and the other clutching a paper bag of her concealed Pepto-Bismol.

"What the hell are they playing at now?" she muttered, racing out of the kitchen and into the living room. Too engrossed in her phone, she tripped over her laptop where she'd left it near the sofa, toppling over the side table in her hasty decline to the ground. "Oh man I'm going to have more scars than I know what to do with," she moaned, sitting up and rubbing her knee.

She reached for her tablet and clicked it on to get a better look at the articles, her expression ranging from annoyed to concerned when she realised the text mentioned how she'd been having pregnancy cravings for Skittles and Lucky Charms. "OK that's either some freaky coincidence or…" he heart dropped when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye near a broken vase from the table.

"Felicity are you alright?" Oliver's voice rang out as he hastily thundered down the stairs. "I thought I heard a crash and…" he paused briefly at her sprawled on the floor, before racing over. "What happened?" he asked, holding onto her shoulder. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine but the baby might not be," she bit out.

"… Excuse me?"

She turned her iPad around to show him the blog pages. "Congratulations, Oliver, it's a Gossip Girl."

Opening and shutting his mouth a few times, Oliver eventually sat down on the sofa. "I'm so sorry this is happening again, Felicity."

"Trust me, the articles are the least of our worries," she replied. "It's the scarily accurate details of conversations we've had in this very penthouse that are disturbing me right now."

"Wait, what?" he said in alarm. "How did they…"

Felicity held up her hand and uncurled her fist where she'd been cradling a small black device. "We've been bugged."