(A/N: There didn't seem to be a good way to end this without killing the momentum, so it just kind of . . . ends. Anyway. phynkx on Tumblr gave me this prompt-"If you're still taking prompts, can you write about that lacrosse player that stalked Felicity in her freshman year? A mere mention will do or offhand remark perhaps." This is a little more than a mere mention, and it's a bit spec-fic, as I have it set in or following 2x19, based on the fight scene in the Foundry and the pic released of Sara with a brace on her wrist. Enjoy!)

You're Joking, Right?

Oliver paced. The ER doctor was a hardass who adamantly refused to let him accompany Sara into the examination room. He'd been ready to punch the little man, but then he felt the pressure of a hand on his arm.

"Come with me," Felicity whispered to him.

He'd let her pull him away, leading him to a chair in the waiting area. But immediately after sitting, he popped up and began to pace the floor. They'd all been hurt in the ambush, except for Felicity, but Sara's wrist was an injury they didn't have the capability to deal with in the Foundry. So Diggle sat, and Felicity tapped on her tablet, and Oliver paced, half-listening to their murmured conversation.

"What are you doing?" Diggle asked her. "Playing Candy Crush or Googling the cost of X-ray machines?"

"Neither," she replied. "I'm feasting on the corpses of my enemies."

Oliver stopped in his tracks.

"You're joking, right?" said Dig.

"Do I look like I'm eating?" she snapped. "Of course I'm joking."

Felicity looked up and met Dig's eyes under arched brows. "Sorry," she said. "That was rude."

Dig squeezed her arm. "It's okay. We're all on edge."

"To answer your question, I'm too wound up for Candy Crush, and Oliver already shot down the X-ray machine idea."

"Of course he did," Dig said with a smile.

Oliver changed the course of his pacing to pass closer by them.

"I'm figuratively feasting on the corpses of my enemies," said Felicity. "When I need to be cheered up, I watch cat videos on YouTube. And when that doesn't work, I look up Jeff."

"Who's Jeff?" Dig asked.

Felicity tilted the tablet toward Diggle so he could see the screen.

"Oh. The lacrosse player, right?"

"Turns out our girl had a life before she met us. Imagine that," Dig said with a twinkle in his eye. "Chewed that boy up and spit him right back out."

"Oh, please," Felicity scoffed.

Oliver looked down at her tablet. It showed a Facebook photo of a kid about Roy's age. He was pale and underfed-looking, with a knobby Adam's apple and shaggy brown hair.

"This guy played lacrosse? And you dated him?" Oliver said, incredulous.

"MIT is not renowned for their sports prowess," Felicity replied. "And it was one date. The worst one I've ever had."

"Oh, really," said Dig. "I think we need to hear this story."

"Ugh, it was horrible," she said, waving her hand and dropping her tablet in her lap. "Every bad-date cliché you can think of."

"Uh oh. Did he make you pay?"

"We split the check," said Felicity. "And he had a coupon." She glanced up at Oliver. "I'll explain what that is some other time."

"I know what a coupon is," he muttered.

"But wait, there's more," she said. "Jeff chewed with his mouth open."

"Sorry, Felicity, but every eighteen- or nineteen-year-old boy does that," Dig pointed out.

"On a date, really?" She shook her head. "Anyway, it was one of those deals where you get an appetizer, an entrée, and dessert, so I spent three courses watching him masticate instead of eating my own dinner because I'd totally lost my appetite during the appetizer."

"Why the appetizer?" Oliver asked.

"It was spinach artichoke dip," Felicity said. "So while we waited for the entrées, I got to watch him pick spinach out of his teeth. But that's not even the worst part."

"How could it get worse?" said Diggle.

"Well, I forgot to mention that he didn't hold open any doors for me. It was really making me mad. I mean, I'm a feminist, and women should be equal to men, but there's also such a thing as common courtesy, you know?" Felicity was waving her hands around, alternately looking at Dig and then Oliver. She always told stories like this, animated and inclusive of her audience.

"Anyway, I may have said something to that effect," she continued. "And Jeff said something snide right back, something about not wanting to impinge on my growth as a strong, independent woman, like he would know anything about that. So. No door-opening. But the worst, the absolute worst, was when we walked back to my dorm—"

"You walked?" Oliver asked. "He didn't pick you up?"

"We went to Applebee's. It was just down the street."

Oliver frowned. Applebee's was not a restaurant he was familiar with.

"So we walked back to my dorm," Felicity went on, "and Jeff was all 'I had a nice time,' and I was like, 'Whatever, dude. I'm sure you did, since you ate like a pig and talked about yourself at the same time.' He'd laugh and food flecks would spray all over the table. It was so gross. But anyway, he said he had a nice time, and he leaned in and I was thinking, 'Oh God, he wants to kiss me with that mouth.'"

Dig was laughing now, and Oliver felt a smile rise up unbidden on his own face.

"I was so busy freaking out that I didn't have a chance to back away, just to turn my head, so when he kissed me, his lips landed on my neck. And he slobbered." She shuddered.

"And then he spent the rest of the semester outside your dorm, pining?" Dig asked.

"Not the whole semester, but it did take Jeff a few weeks to realize that when I said I'd never go out with him again, I actually meant it. He decorated my car for our two-week anniversary. First, that's creepy. Two weeks? Second, we weren't even dating!"

"Doesn't sound that bright," Diggle said. "How'd he get into MIT?"

"Daddy's money," Felicity replied. "No offense," she said to Oliver.

He shrugged. "How exactly does reliving your worst date cheer you up?"

"It's not that. It's where he is now. I know it's petty of me, schadenfreude and all that—"

When did she start speaking German?

"But it makes me feel better. Here." Felicity tapped on her tablet, and another photo popped up.

It was the same guy, only older, with a marginally better haircut. Marginally. He still looked as if he wasn't eating much. How could a guy like that get onto a lacrosse team? How could a guy like that consider himself in the same league as Felicity?

"You didn't mean to say that out loud, did you?" she asked. "Or are you going to start referring to all of us in third person now?" Before he could answer, she waved him off, shaking her head. "So Jeff is currently unemployed. So am I, actually, but I have a cool night job. Jeff, on the other hand, got himself fired from a cushy job at Apple because apparently even Daddy's money can't save your neck when you leave the latest iPhone prototype at a skeevy bar."