Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing And no beta – all mistakes are mine.
Chapter 6
Oliver awoke as he always did; suddenly, and with full awareness of where he was. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, surprised that he'd actually slept. Sleep had been a difficult thing to come by since his return from the island.
When he glanced at his watch, he was even more surprised to find that it was almost 7:00 which meant he'd slept for a good five hours. He'd lain awake for a while thinking – thinking about Laurel, but also thinking about Felicity and how beautiful she'd looked in blue. Eventually he shut down his brain and relaxed, expecting to manage only the three or so hours that had become his norm. He wondered why he should sleep better on Felicity's sofa than in the comfort of his own room at the mansion. But then, Felicity's apartment wasn't home to the ghosts of all his failures, so maybe it made sense in a strange way.
He got up and folded the blankets, placing them on the nearby chair and arranging the throw pillows along the sofa back before sitting again. If he were being honest, he felt oddly comfortable in Felicity's space. It was open and bright with a lot of color everywhere, and it suited her personality. He'd always found apartments to be rather soulless with their plain walls of white, cream or beige, but it appeared that Felicity had gotten around that. Probably by paying a re-decorating deposit, he thought as his eyes wandered about the room.
The living room was large and shared space with a dining area off the kitchen. The wood floors held a soft, warm glow mirrored by the deep red of an accent wall by the small dining room table. Two walls were painted a soft, buttercream shade that seemed to absorb the sunlight streaming through the windows while the third, largely taken up by a built-in bookcase, was lavender with sage green shelving.
What looked to be original artwork graced the walls, and he was struck by one painting of a small, blonde girl walking along a dirt road lined by tall, dark tree trunks. A canopy of twisting branches and fall leaves blocked the sky, and the road stretched on seemingly without end. It was the kind of painting that could make one feel both hopeful and hopeless at the same time, and it seemed an odd choice for someone like Felicity. The other paintings were lighter in both subject and color, but many of them appeared to have been done by the same artist.
The living room furniture had been arranged around a large, red area rug with a patterned design featuring many of the other colors in the room. Muted lavender grey drapes and cream colored blinds covered the two large windows that overlooked a neighborhood park, and two armchairs had been positioned in front of the windows. One chair was a solid sage color that matched both the bookcase and a diamond pattern in the area rug, and the other chair was pale lavender with large, slate grey polka dots on the seat and back cushions.
A low, wooden coffee table in a similar slate shade separated the chairs and the sofa. A few candles and magazines littered the top – he saw Mental Floss, Wired, and Edge mixed in with Entertainment Weekly, Nylon, and In Style. He wasn't certain why the fashion magazines surprised him, but they did, and it added yet another layer to the Felicity he was getting to know.
The sofa had a pinstripe pattern in lavender, purple and grey, and brighter purple and red throw pillows added a pop of color. A matching slate end table held a red table lamp that looked like four glass bubbles fused together, and the bubble pattern was repeated in a ceiling light fixture. The pale red, purple and grey glass bubbles appeared to cascade from the ceiling, and they diffused the bright light of the bulbs without darkening the room. He hadn't turned on the overhead lights in this part of the room the previous night, but he decided it probably created a very relaxing effect when she was home in the evenings.
Oliver stood and wandered over to the bookcase that was crammed with books on a variety of subjects. There were plenty of books on computer programming, but he also saw many classics: Shakespeare, Austen, and a few books on Victorian and twentieth century poetry. She seemed to have an interest in both young adult and mystery novels, and he saw several nonfiction books as well. He raised his brows at a few of the titles, such as 'The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth Century Literary Imagination' and 'Sex with Kings: 500 Years of Adultery, Power, Rivalry, and Revenge.' There was also something called 'Play Between Worlds: Exploring Online Game Culture' – he made a mental note to ask her about that one.
He didn't see any CDs though he knew Felicity liked music; she often had her ear buds in while working at the foundry. He suspected she had long ago made the switch to digital files like Thea had. Since his return, he'd noticed that CDs seemed to be a dying concept with the prevalence of mp3 players. He switched his attention to her DVD collection. She had a lot of movies, some he'd heard of and some he hadn't. She had an even larger number of boxed sets from TV shows, which gave him pause. Did she even have a TV?
He glanced around the room, eyes settling on a large, dark wood cabinet against the wall in the corner. It moved easily due to wheels on the bottom, and when he opened the doors, he found a flat screen TV, a satellite receiver, and a DVD player. He was surprised that she hadn't mounted it to the wall like most people, but it would likely spoil the effect of the living space she'd created if she did. And despite the fact that none of the colors or patterns was anything that he'd have chosen, before or after the island, he liked the way she'd woven them together to create a quirky but interesting room. Quirky and interesting – kind of like her.
He showered and dressed in the spare bathroom before storing his bag in her home office and heading into the kitchen. He finally found coffee beans in her freezer and pulled them out – a special blend called Jamaica Me Crazy that he couldn't help smiling at. He ground the beans and got the coffee started before opening the blinds on the kitchen window. The red and buttercream color scheme had been extended to the kitchen, and it had an inviting effect.
Oliver could easily imagine Felicity cooking there, maybe listening to music or watching something on her laptop as she moved around the kitchen. A ceramic tile backsplash above the stove and kitchen sink featured a golden wall framed by matching ebony flower vases. The flowers on one side were dark red and on the other side, yellow. A large wine glass took up the center, and wine was being poured from both sides – on the left, a blood red liquid splashed into the glass and on the right, a pale golden one. There was a certain symmetry to it that appealed to him.
Wondering if the noise of the coffee grinder had awakened Felicity, he walked back to her bedroom and knocked softly. "Felicity?" When there was no answer, he opened the door quietly. More color greeted him in her bedroom. Her bed was to the left against a bright turquoise wall, her comforter a similar blue with white sheets and orange, blue and white accent pillows. He was almost disappointed to see white walls until he noticed the wall around the large, bay window was painted dark orange, and the window seat cushion was a lighter orange shade. White, gauzy sheers covered the window, and turquoise drapes with orange trim were pulled away on each side.
To his right, the hardwood floors were covered by a large rug in shades of blue, and the strangest chair he'd ever seen sat atop it. It looked like an armchair that had been extended into a sofa, and it featured a dizzying array of colors in varying stripes, both horizontal and vertical. The dominant colors were turquoise, orange and white with a black and white stripe that repeated in blocks, but the chair featured smaller blocks of other colors as well. It looked more like an abstract painting than furniture, but he somehow wasn't surprised that it had appealed to Felicity. A small table in front of it contained her tablet and a couple of books, and he could see the open door of the master bathroom behind the chair.
Oliver looked toward the bed again, smiling a little when he realized he couldn't see any part of Felicity except for one foot stuck out of the covers and dangling off the end of the bed. From the angle, it appeared she hadn't lied about moving around a lot in her sleep, and it looked as though she was stretched diagonally across it at the moment. He cleared his throat. "Felicity."
His only response was a sleepy grunt. He walked closer to the bed, and his attention was caught by the painting centered above her. It was large and spanned four canvasses of varying sizes, square on the end and more rectangular in the middle, and featured two trees on either end. Twisting brown branches void of leaves climbed the sides and tangled together gracefully top and center against a horizon in varying hues of orange. After a moment, he realized it was an abstract, the branches coalescing into an image of two lovers meeting and writhing in the middle. He was distracted by the tightening in his gut the painting elicited. It definitely wasn't the kind of reaction he wanted to have in Felicity's bedroom.
Looking back at the bed, Oliver focused again on the huddled figure beneath the comforter. He raised his voice. "Felicity, wake up."
She wiggled and sighed. "You usually don't talk so much in my dreams," she muttered, rolling over and appearing above the comforter in a tangled cloud of blonde hair. Pushing it away from her face, she smiled at him sleepily, still only half awake.
Both the sight of her lounging in the bed and the knowledge that he was a regular fixture in her dreams caused another tight feeling – only this time, it wasn't just in his gut. Her toes pointed outward as she stretched, and he noticed that her toenails were painted different colors. Briefly, he wondered if she was ticklish – wondered how she'd react if he were to trace his finger down the delicate arch. Oliver knew he was treading into dangerous territory with thoughts like that and sought to use humor as a distraction. "Really? What am I usually doing?"
The horrified expression on her face almost made him laugh. "I'm awake? I mean, of course I'm awake. That was just a joke."
Nodding, he pretended to accept her answer. "It's after 8:00, so we should get started soon. I made coffee, but I wasn't sure what you usually eat in the morning."
Her face was still red, but she made a valiant attempt to rally. "I'm getting up."
"Okay." Oliver left and went back to the kitchen. He didn't drink a lot of coffee, but he poured himself a cup and stood at the window while he waited for Felicity. She emerged from her room thirty minutes later dressed in jeans, a white button down shirt with a thin green pinstripe, and a lightweight blue blazer. She'd applied lighter makeup than usual, her lips a soft, glossy pink shade. She'd also eschewed her ever-present ponytail for a loose topknot held in place with two green butterfly hair pins, but she was wearing her glasses again.
"How long have you been up?" she asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
Oliver shrugged. "A couple of hours. I hated to wake you, but…"
"But we have things to do – I know." She took a sip of the coffee and sighed with pleasure. "What do you usually eat for breakfast?"
"Whatever the housekeeper prepares at home or protein shakes if I'm in a hurry."
She set her coffee cup down and began pulling things out of the refrigerator. "I'm a reasonably good cook when I have the time. And based on the ingredients I have… omelet or frittata?"
"Felicity, you don't have to cook breakfast," Oliver said. "We can stop and eat on the way to the foundry if you like."
"Or we can just eat here. I usually try to cook on Sundays when I'm home, so I have smoked ham, asparagus, parmesan, eggs, a loaf of French bread, and fruit. Personally, I vote frittata."
"Okay then. Frittata sounds good."
Oliver felt strangely domestic as he peeled and separated tangerines into sections and cut up a couple of green apples. He sliced the French bread, placing it on her dining room table along with the fruit and jam. Felicity emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later holding the pan with the frittata, which she placed on a woven mat designed to protect surfaces from hot dishes. She sliced into the frittata and placed a portion on first his plate and then her own.
"This is good," he commented, his second bite more enthusiastic than the first one.
"You sound surprised. Did you think I was about to poison you?"
"No, but you don't seem like the type who would enjoy cooking."
"Why? Because I like computers? I have other interests, you know."
"I can see that – like art," he replied, gesturing to the painting of the little girl on the wall. "I like that one."
Felicity smiled. "My mom painted that one."
He couldn't hide his surprise. "Your mother is an artist?"
She nodded, spearing a piece of apple with her fork. "Third generation, although I've brought that tradition to a screeching halt. I have an eye for color, but my brain is more suited to ones and zeroes than it is to painting or drawing. I tried when I was young, but I don't have it. I'm more like my dad, I guess. He does computer programming on a freelance basis from home, and my mom has a small art gallery upstate where she teaches art lessons and features up-and-coming artists."
"Your mom is talented," Oliver observed, looking at the painting again.
"She went to Paris on a scholarship when she was twenty, but she came home and married my dad the following year. They like living in a small town. I didn't, so I ended up in Starling City. It's only a two hour drive to go home. I usually make it up there about once a month."
"The painting above your bed – did your mother do that one as well?" He had that image of the lovers' embrace seared into his memory, and he had a feeling he'd be thinking about Felicity sleeping under the sensual painting for weeks to come.
Felicity blushed slightly at the reminder that he'd been in her bedroom earlier. "Oh. Yeah, that's hers. She helped me decorate after I moved in, and she was adamant that it belonged in the bedroom because it's for…" she paused, and he could see she was uncomfortable.
"It's a painting for lovers." The word seemed to hang in the air between them, electrically charged, and Oliver realized his mistake immediately. Dangerous thoughts, he reminded himself. "You're an only child?"
"Yes. I think that's why I'm okay with being alone most of the time. I learned to entertain myself because I never really made close friends at school. I skipped fourth grade and then skipped sixth; based on my test scores I could have gone straight to high school, but my parents were afraid it would alienate me from my classmates. They already thought I was a little strange since I spent so much time playing with computers."
Oliver remembered how cruel teenagers could be and thought her parents probably had the right idea. "You didn't have any friends in school?"
"A couple – one girl who lived down the street and my lab partner in chemistry. It's not like I was bullied though. I think I was generally well liked because I was helpful with homework and group assignments, but I was younger than the other students. They never asked me to go to parties or hang out at the mall, but they didn't make my life hell either."
But she had been lonely. He could read that on her face as plainly as if she'd spoken the words. She suddenly stood and began gathering their plates, and he could see that she was done sharing for the moment. He helped her clear the table and clean up before they left. They headed to the foundry in separate cars since Oliver knew he'd need to check in at home later.
At the foundry, Felicity booted up the computers and got to work. Oliver did some work upstairs in the club, going over the books and the orders for the following week. Tommy came in briefly, ignoring Oliver as was his habit these days. He sometimes wondered if he and Tommy would ever get past their current estrangement. The longer it went on, the more unlikely it seemed. He lived with that regret daily, but it was one of many.
When Diggle arrived, he and Oliver went downstairs to train. His routine varied, but he worked his body for long hours when possible, pushing past muscle strain and exhaustion; pushing himself as far as he could physically because it reminded him of what it took to survive. And despite his return to the life of luxury he'd formerly led, he needed that reminder – partly because of his work as the vigilante, but mostly because he knew he hadn't really left the island behind him.
Long after Diggle stopped, Oliver kept going. He trained with his hand-to-hand weapons as well as with his bow. He climbed the pegs he'd put up on the sides of the walls, and he traversed the metal beams on the ceiling. He meditated, but the physical exertion wasn't bringing him any clarity today because his thoughts were still too tied up in the blonde woman who'd been doing her best not to look at him since their arrival hours earlier. He usually felt her eyes on him as he trained, could almost sense the feminine appreciation behind her furtive glances. Yet all afternoon, she'd kept her gaze firmly trained on her computer unless someone spoke directly to her.
Oliver gave up on meditating and walked over to join Felicity at her desk. "What have you found?"
"Not much about last night yet," she replied. "Only two of the reports have been completed by the investigating detectives, so we probably won't see the others before tomorrow. But I ran the names of all the mugging victims in the park for the last six months against burglaries, robberies, and sexual assaults."
"And?" Oliver prompted, grabbing his towel to wipe the back of his neck before taking a drink of water.
"And Detective Lance was right. There's a connection," Felicity replied, clearly not happy with the information. "There have been more than two hundred reported assaults, muggings and purse snatchings in the park in the last six months. More than thirty of those victims have also reported break-ins at their homes in the weeks afterward, and five more women were assaulted as well as robbed."
"What about assaults or break-ins at neighbors' homes?" Oliver asked. "If some of those victims had security systems, their houses might not have been targeted."
"I'm running those numbers now," she said. "And I'm compiling a list of stolen items to check against the records of some of the seedier pawn shops I've hacked into."
"You think the pawn shops keep computer records of stolen items?" Diggle asked.
Felicity looked at him with a raised brow. "You'd be surprised what people keep on their computers, Digg. They think if they have a password then they're protected from prying eyes like mine, but that is a very bad assumption to make – especially if you're a petty criminal."
Oliver stood over her, watching her type quickly and flip between screens as she checked the progress of the various programs she was running. She studiously ignored him for several minutes before turning to look at him. "Do you need something or are you just hoping that your manly presence will speed things along? Because this is going to take a while, and I work better when no one's hovering and watching over my shoulder."
When he didn't move, she continued, "Just so we're clear, you're hovering, and I don't like it. That's your space over there and this is mine. I don't hover over you when you're meditating or climbing the walls, so…" she made a dismissive gesture with her hand.
Oliver crossed his arms, amused. "Is that your way of kicking me out? Because if it is, I should remind you that this is all my space."
"Uh-uh." She shook her head. "When you're ready to go back to your vintage setup and hack your own files with the archaic method you had going a few months ago, it will be your space again. Until then? Mine, mine and mine." She pointed to each monitor for emphasis.
"Fine," he relented. "I'll check in at home and get lunch while I'm out."
"Pizza," she said, turning back to the monitors. "With extra pepperoni and peppers, no mushrooms. And the cheesy breadsticks."
"Your diet is not very healthy when you're working," he said as he pulled his T-shirt over his head.
"I'm young enough to get away with it though."
"True. You're only twenty-two." And she'd been barely that when he'd first met her, a fact that had surprised him given how much the IT department at Queen Consolidated relied on her.
Her head whipped around. "How do you know that?"
"Because you work for my company, and I checked your personnel file before I approached you to help me. You'll be twenty-three in October, and you went to work for Queen Consolidated right after graduating from university – undergrad at Starling University and Master's degree from the distance learning branch of UCLA located here in the city. Impressive," he commented.
Based on her file and Walter's recommendation, he'd had a gut feeling about approaching Felicity to help him, and he'd certainly been proven correct. More and more lately, he wondered how he would feel after they found Walter and she went back to her previous life – the one that didn't include either Starling City's vigilante or Oliver Queen. He should want that for her; a return to the simpler and much safer life she'd abandoned the day he crawled, bleeding, into the backseat of her car. But the truth was he couldn't really imagine the team without her anymore.
Felicity wrinkled her nose, watching as he put away the weapons he'd been using earlier. "You know, I've shown remarkable restraint since I've known you. I could've hacked all your records the minute you started coming to me with your lame cover stories, and I didn't." At Oliver's raised brow, she rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine – I Googled you. And while your former life of debauchery made for some interesting bedtime reading, I didn't go looking for the really personal stuff. But if you're reading my personnel file…" she left the statement dangling.
"You could track down all the dirt on me in cyber space," Oliver agreed. "Or you could just ask."
She looked intrigued by that idea. "If I asked, would you answer?"
"Depends on the question," he said. "But I've been asking you a lot of questions lately. I suppose I owe you some answers to a few of your own." He grabbed his jacket and headed up the stairs.
"I'm holding you to that!"
Oliver was smiling again as he left the foundry. It was something he did more often when Felicity was around.
A/N: Ok, this is the only part I've had time to edit, but I'll try to finish editing the second part of this chapter and get it up by the weekend. In the first part, I was trying to nail down Felicity's character in my head because we don't know much about her. She's kind of a contradiction on the show, and I like that about her. She seems like she'd have varied interests. Also, a big thank you to all my reviewers. I think I replied to everyone at least once – I made a list, so if I missed you, please know it wasn't intentional. I appreciate the feedback more than I can say.
Up Next: More Olicity domesticity, Team Arrow rounds up the thieves, Felicity has a bad date and gets toasted on the Verdant house special, and we finally meet Tyler (next chapter, I swear!) I'll try to edit the rest and get it up this weekend. Thanks for reading!