Felicity bounced her toes to the rhythm of the song and lobbed another piece of caramel popcorn into the air. The small treat came down in an arc and landed perfectly in her mouth. She wasn't sure if she should feel proud, or ashamed, of that fact.

She decided on proud.

Chewing - and swallowing - upside down was a strange sensation, and more than a little difficult. Her throat was beginning to feel scratchy from the exertion of eating at an odd angle, but Felicity ignored the urge to sit up and get a drink. She wasn't done examining the patterns on her ceiling yet. She'd already found a (somewhat crude) dolphin and the Pisces constellation in the rough texturing above her, and it'd be a shame to give up looking now.

Though she was bad at many things - like phrasing simple sentences in non-embarrassing ways - Felicity was very good with money. Part of that was just an innate ability, and part of it had come directly from her mother. One couldn't spend an extended period of time with a Vegas cocktail waitress and not learn a thing or two about handling money. Felicity Smoak was a woman of humble origins, and doubted that she'd ever be truly rich, but over the years she had learned to live comfortably with what she had. Which was why, only one year earlier, when her idiot boss had jetted off to an unpopulated island and left her with the cool sum of a million dollars, Felicity had been pissed.

She'd known that Oliver had given her and Diggle the money because of his overdeveloped sense of guilt, and because he had wanted them to be able to rebuild. That had only made a tiny dent in her anger, however, because who just gave away a million dollars? Even if it was to friends, after a natural disaster that he felt responsible for. Felicity had been upset by the monetary gift at first, thinking that it betrayed just how little Oliver really knew her - did he really think that his money mattered to her? Only after much deliberation, and a few conversations with Digg, had Felicity come to realize that the money wasn't a reflection on her, but on Oliver.

In one of their conversations, John Diggle, ever the wise man, had posited a question: "What can Oliver do that money can't?"

Felicity had understood, then, and stopped being angry. And immediately set to work on rebuilding and refurnishing the lair with state of the art everything, using the money Oliver had left her. Diggle had warned her not to expect much if - when - they got Oliver to return, but Felicity had forged ahead with her tireless optimism. Oliver would come back, and they'd be a team again - criminals beware.

Before the money was gone, however, the money manager side of her had reared its economical head. She had debated mightily with herself for a few weeks before finally giving in and using a chunk of that money for something that had nothing to do with Oliver or the vigilante; something that was entirely for herself.

Felicity had paid off her townhouse.

Now, with her feet in the air as she hung upside down over her couch cushions and caught popcorn from the air, she was immensely glad that she had made that decision. Not having a mortgage payment - and not having to worry about keeping a roof over her head - was a great relief now that Felicity found herself without a job. She had enough stockpiled in her savings to be okay for a bit, but she had to be careful until she could find new employment.

Which was why she was entertaining herself by catching thrown popcorn at two o'clock on a Friday.

Felicity ate a few more pieces before finally giving in to the sand paper scratchiness of her throat and pulling herself up into a seated position. She could barely remember what it was like to not have a job - she'd even worked her way through a demanding college curriculum - and found that she wasn't overly fond of the empty hours.

Two weeks had passed since Hurricane Slade had come and gone. Two weeks that felt like two months to Felicity. The MIT grad had turned in nearly a dozen resumes to the IT departments of Starling City's top companies, most of which were Fortune 500 members. So far, she hadn't received even a single call back.

Oliver - who was also jobless, and in more dire straits than Felicity - had told her that it was probably due in no small part to the part of her resume that listed Queen Consolidated as a previous employer. She hadn't said anything in answer, but thought that he was probably right. And that just pissed her off.

An unexpected knock on her door made her jump. She stared at the wooden expanse for a split second and then hopped to her feet to peer through the peephole.

Oliver was on the other side.

"Hey," Felicity greeted as soon as she'd pulled the door open. "What's up?"

Oliver shrugged a shoulder to draw attention to the black duffel bag that hung there. "I was hoping I could steal a few minutes with your shower."

Felicity grinned and shook her head simultaneously, then stepped out of the doorway in silent invitation.

"I don't understand why you insist on sleeping in that basement," she said as she closed the door.

"Because the bank owns the manor," Oliver retorted dryly. This was not the first time they'd had this particular argument.

"It barely even has a proper bathroom, Oliver."

"Which is why I'm here."

Felicity sighed and swept her arm in the direction of the bathroom. "You know where it is. Have you had lunch yet? Why do I bother asking, of course you haven't."

She'd already turned and headed for the kitchen, so she didn't see the answering smirk on Oliver's lips. He could hear her rummaging through cupboards and drawers as he closed the bathroom door.

Oliver had been here before. This was not the first time he'd trespassed on the hospitality of friends to enjoy the simple pleasure of a shower. Still, there was a strange tightness not unlike nervousness in his chest as he disrobed and turned on the shower. Though he'd been invited, it still felt a little like an invasion of Felicity's privacy to be naked and surrounded by her things.

Which he was probably better off not thinking about.

Despite the little voice in his head that told him to, Oliver didn't rush through his shower. Hot water was a commodity that he had not fully appreciated when he'd had a proper place to live. The knowledge that it was mid-afternoon and the water tank would have plenty of time to restock the hot water before Felicity showered again kept him from feeling overly guilty about the indulgence.

By the time he shut off the water and stepped out of the shower the mirror was completely fogged over and he could smell what he was convinced was spaghetti. As he'd done often in the recent past, Oliver silently thanked providence - or his lucky stars - for driving him into Felicity's office that day two years ago. Like Diggle, she was someone that he'd never intended to rely on, and only now could admit that he couldn't do without.

That was especially true on days like today, when she gave him free reign of her shower and made sure he ate. Even if he knew that said kindnesses would come with an argument about his current living arrangements.

But Oliver didn't mind the argument. In fact, he found himself smiling as he exited the bathroom in a swirl of steam vapors.

"Spaghetti?" he inquired as he made his way to the kitchen.

"I made extra," Felicity answered without turning around. "So you'll have plenty to take with you. Ya know, since you don't have a kitchen."

Oliver barely managed to wipe the grin off his face before she threw a pointed glance at him over her shoulder. "Thank you."

He'd lost count of how many meals he'd shared with both Felicity and Digg over the years of long nights spent hunting criminals, but Oliver couldn't deny that it was a different experience when they were eating in a private home. He felt the same way every time he showed up at Digg's and Lyla, who had apparently unofficially moved in, insisted on making him something to eat. At first, it had made him feel a stab of guilt to realize just how little he really knew about his friends outside of their work, until he'd given himself a mental kick and decided to really get to know them. The process was a continual one, and sometimes it still struck him as oddly … intimate to find himself eating mostly home cooked meals in private residences, instead of fast food in the basement of an industrial building.

Intimate and sometimes awkward, but still pleasant. Having dinner together was something normal, non-crime fighting friends did.

Oliver took the bowl full of pasta that Felicity handed him and followed her over to her kitchen table, which she hastily cleared of spare computer parts and miscellaneous papers. He ignored her sheepish expression and mumbled apology about the mess, like he always did; in all the times that he'd been to her home, Felicity's kitchen table had always been half covered in stuff. Oliver didn't mind. He found it quite fascinating, in fact, to see all the things that cluttered the space. His eyes would dance over it all, curious about what the papers said and always getting stuck on the small mechanical pieces and computer chips as he tried to imagine what it would be like to see things the way Felicity did. It was easy for him to forget that she was wicked smart until he saw all the computer pieces that littered her home, or watched her rewire something in the lair; he would never know what it was like to understand something so completely, to be able to disassemble something so intricate without damaging all the tiny parts. Never mind putting it back together.

No, Oliver didn't mind the clutter and repeated clearing of table space. He relished the sight of such a messy space in the midst of Felicity's habitual neatness, and the evidence of her intelligence.

"Are they puzzles?" The words left his mouth without any authorization to do so, and Felicity gave him a confused glance as she dropped into one of the chairs. Oliver motioned to the computer parts with his chin as he followed her example. "Computers. Are they like puzzles to you?"

Felicity glanced up at the ceiling for a second and then shrugged her shoulders. "I guess you could say that. I started taking apart computers because I wanted to know what made them tick. I love seeing the exposed circuits and understanding what they do, seeing the memory cards and knowing that such a tiny thing can hold so much information."

She stopped herself before she hit full nerd speed, but Oliver didn't look bored. He was listening intently and spinning his fork in the middle of his spaghetti, the noodles catching and sliding up toward the handle.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

Felicity narrowed her eyes at him. "You're trying to get me talking about computers so I won't harp on you about living in the lair, aren't you?"

"I didn't hear any harping." Oliver kept his face perfectly smooth.

"Only because you were trying to cut me off at the pass. You know we can stop having this argument as soon as you listen to reason."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Oliver!" Felicity couldn't keep from rolling her eyes at him. Seriously, why did he insist on being so difficult? "You're sleeping on a cot. There's nowhere to shower, or do laundry, or cook a meal. It's an empty industrial building - nothing remotely close to a habitable abode."

One of Oliver's eyebrows arched. "Habitable abode?" he repeated.

"Oh shut up," she retorted, waving her empty fork through the air at him. "You can't keep staying there and you know it. It's just ridiculous. Digg and I both have spare bedrooms. It just makes sense, it's smart."

"I can't pay …"

"Money doesn't matter, Oliver."

You do. She didn't say it, but he heard it anyway.

"The spare bed is already made up and ready," Felicity continued. "You're staying here tonight, and then you can make a choice tomorrow. And don't bother fighting me on this."

"How did you know I'd come over today?" Oliver could feel a smile tugging at his mouth.

"I didn't. I've had the spare room ready since the last time you stopped by. Digg has too. You'd be having the same conversation with him right now if you'd shown up there instead." Felicity grinned smugly at him and popped a forkful of pasta into her mouth.

The smile finally broke over his face and he shook his head as he took a bite of spaghetti. Instead of worrying about all the ways the whole thing could go wrong, Oliver chose to be thankful.

Thankful and hopeful that, wherever she was, Thea had found her own Felicity and Diggle.