A Little Too Much Togetherness—#3
"I have to pee," Felicity declared.
Quentin sighed, rolling his eyes skyward.
"So how is this going to work?"
"Well, I'll have to go in there with you," said Quentin, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'll avert my eyes, and then we'll never speak of it again."
"Right. Sounds like a good plan."
Felicity headed for the ladies' room, trailing Quentin in her wake by the handcuffs linking them together. Thank God Queen Consolidated was deserted at this hour. He didn't want anyone to see him handcuffed to a girl the same age as his daughter, no matter how innocent the explanation.
It was a tight fit for them both to squeeze into the bathroom stall. Quentin stood facing the door, so close to it that his nose almost touched the surface. His left arm stretched behind him, muscles straining in protest.
Felicity cleared her throat and began to speak, though there was no covering up the sound in such close quarters.
"So what made you think this was a good idea?" she asked.
"You had to pee."
"No, not this, which we will never speak of again," said Felicity. "I mean the handcuffs."
"I had to stop you somehow, and it seemed inappropriate to throw you over my shoulder," Quentin explained.
"And handcuffing yourself to me seemed like the appropriate choice?"
"Believe me, I'm already regretting it," said Quentin. "When I promised the Arrow I wouldn't let you out of my sight, this is not what I had in mind."
"I see where you're coming from," Felicity conceded. "I was heading for the door, and you had to do something. I get it. Right up to the point when you threw the key down the elevator shaft."
"I think we can both agree that it wasn't one of my finer moments."
The toilet flushed. It was high-powered, flushing with a river-rapid roar that was almost deafening in the small space.
"Damn," he muttered.
"I know—it sounds like a hurricane in here," Felicity said. "Over the top, just like everything else on the executive floor. Have you seen the coffeemaker? You need a degree in engineering to be able to operate that thing."
Quentin exited the stall first, then stayed close to the sink, his cuffed arm moving in little jerks as Felicity washed her hands.
"There's something I've been wondering," he began, but she'd just put her hands under the automatic dryer, which was also high-powered. The resulting windstorm was more than enough to cut him off.
"Sorry, what?" she said once the noise died down.
"I've been wondering about something," he repeated, "and now I have a captive audience." He held open the door for her, and they left the restroom.
"Oh God," Felicity breathed. "Hacking is such an ugly term. It's information-gathering. And if the way I go about it sometimes is on the darker side of shady, it's all in service of justice."
"I don't wonder about what you do for the Arrow, Miss Smoak," Quentin said. "I'm more curious about your relationship with him."
"My what?" She pushed her glasses up on her nose. She was right-handed, so every gesture she made (and she made lots of them) pulled his left hand along for the ride. "No, no, no. There is no relationship. None whatsoever. We're just on the same team. Partners . . . and friends. Trust me, we are so platonic, it's not even funny."
"Now I don't believe that for a minute," Quentin said. "I've seen the guy in action, and I've seen the change that comes over him when you're in danger. He's saved my life before, and he's saved Laurel so many times that I lost count, but he is completely different with you. IT's this scary combination of rage and tenderness. It freaks me the hell out, and it makes me worry about you a little bit."
"You worry about me?" Felicity asked.
"Well, yeah," said Quentin. "Someone has to. Someone besides the guy who spends his nights in a mask and hood, chasing across rooftops with a bow and arrows. Didn't you have a dad standing at the door with a shotgun to turn away guys like that?"
"I didn't need one," she replied, "not for that. Believe me, that was not the kind of guy I attracted growing up."
"Then how did you catch the Arrow's attention?"
Felicity shrugged, jerking Quentin's arm down. Their height difference—he was at least a foot taller than her—made the situation about ten times more ridiculous.
"I don't know. I've never asked," said Felicity. "I guess he found out I'm good at what I do." She sank onto a nearby chair. "And I couldn't resist the opportunity to show off how good I am at what I do."
"How does Queen feel about that arrangement?"
Felicity tilted her head, searching for an answer. It was a little mean of Quentin, since he knew perfectly well that Oliver Queen was the Arrow, but he couldn't resist.
"You know."
She said it so quietly that it took a moment for Quentin to look at her and realize she'd spoken.
"I've known for a while that you figured it out," she continued. "But you didn't say anything, so I thought you must have a good reason for not saying anything, so I didn't say anything either." She sighed. "You know. And I know you know, so asking me how Oliver feels about me and the Arrow—I mean, me working with the Arrow—is just—"
"It was petty. I'm sorry," Quentin admitted. "That kid brings out the worst in me."
"Maybe because that's how you still see him," said Felicity. "In spite of everything, you still see Oliver as the spoiled rich kid who took your daughter from you."
Quentin stared at her. "But you always see the best in him. How do you do it?"
She shrugged again, and his arm jerked. "I didn't know him before. Everyone who did had all these expectations of what he'd be like when he returned, but he had a clean slate with me. I've only known the terrible liar who walked up to my cubicle one day with a shot-up laptop."
"Terrible liar? Really?" Quentin asked. "I was always a little impressed with that. I saw him beat a polygraph. Convincingly."
"I guess it's just me, then, because his excuses were ridiculous," Felicity said. "I'm not sure anyone is dumb enough to believe that a spilled latte could just spontaneously create bullet holes. And it just went downhill from there. He doesn't even try lying anymore. Now if he has something to hide, he tries to avoid me."
"Trying would imply not succeeding," Quentin pointed out.
Felicity smirked. "I am very, very good at what I do."