A/N: The original prompt said "detect" instead of "hear," but who talks like that? I don't even talk like that. Anyway, when I looked at this prompt last night, I started hearing all the dialogue in my head. I could hardly write fast enough to get it all down. Kind of a missing scene from 2x14 right after Felicity gets stitched up. It's my shortest one yet, but it might be my favorite yet. I mean, who doesn't love painkillers!Felicity?

Are Those Wedding Bells I Hear?

Sara had gone upstairs to her new job tending Verdant's bar. Oliver was changing out of his hood and leather. That left Diggle with a very loopy Felicity, still humming and rubbing her cheek against the collar of her borrowed shirt. She swayed on the table, and he was afraid she'd fall off.

"Why don't you hop down and sit in your chair for a minute?" Dig suggested.

She rolled her head to one side, looking up at him. "Because I don't really want to do a faceplant on a concrete floor."

He helped her down from the table and guided her to the chair at her workstation. Felicity plopped down and spun to face the bank of charred monitors.

"You poor things," she mumbled, petting the screen in front of her. "I'm a terrible mother. I'm going to replace you with new children." Then she turned to pat the one unscathed CPU. "But not you, S.B. You're irreplaceable."

"S.B.?" Diggle asked.

"Sexy Beast," Felicity informed him, trailing a wavering finger along the casing.

"Are those wedding bells I hear? Or do you and S.B. just need a moment alone?"

Felicity turned around to face him. "We've already had our moment today. S.B. helped me find Tockman." She pushed against the floor with her heels, and the chair spun lazily. "Do you ship it, Dig?" she asked. "Me and computers?"

"Do I what?" He tossed the leftover scraps of gauze in the trash and came over to stand in front of her.

"Do you ship it? Are you emotionally invested in my relationship with the Sexy Beast?"

"I am not emotionally invested in your relationship with your creepily named computer," Diggle replied.

"Then what do you ship?" she asked, spinning slower.

She'd gone pale, and he wondered if she had any idea that she was making her "hack face." He drew the trash can closer.

"Everyone ships something," Felicity went on. "Me and peppermint mochas? I ship it. Me and expensive red wine? I ship it. Me and Ben & Jerry's, I ship them hard. It, I mean, not them. Not Ben and Jerry." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Although . . ."

Dig took her good arm and pulled her to her feet. "I think it's time for you to go home and get some rest," he said.

She tottered on her heels, leaning heavily on him. "Me and sleep, I ship that. I ship that like I ship . . . Oliver and the salmon ladder. Oliver and green leather."

He chuckled as he guided her up the stairs, listening to her continue to ramble.

"Oliver and that thing he does with his hand, you know, when he's anxious." Felicity demonstrated, flexing her fingers. Then her face brightened. "Oliver and shirtlessness, Dig. Don't you ship Oliver and shirtlessness?"

"I ship me and shirtlessness," Dig said. "Have you seen my arms?"

She laughed, then laid her head against his shoulder as he entered the code to unlock the door.

"No one ships me," Felicity said, her tone more melancholy now but still very medicated. "There's nobody to ship me with. Sexy Beast doesn't count—he has no arms."

The door clicked, and Dig pushed it open. The muffled thump of dance music filtered in from the club. He managed to get Felicity to the car without running into anyone they knew. He settled her in the front seat, where he could keep an eye on her, and buckled her in. When he got behind the wheel and started the engine, he glanced over at her. Some color had returned to her cheeks, and she was looking pretty drowsy now. She'd gone back to rubbing her nose against her good shoulder. She was smelling the shirt. Oliver's shirt. He placed his hand over hers for a moment.

"I ship you and happiness, Felicity," he said.

She looked at him over the top of her glasses. "Awwww. I ship you and awesome, Dig. It's my O . . . T . . . P . . ." Each letter was punctuated by a massive, jaw-popping yawn. She was asleep before he turned onto the highway.