I know I repeat myself over and over again, but I really mean it: You guys are amazing. All the support, the people following and hearting this story leave me speechless. And I cannot thank the people enough who took the time to write a review. I cherish every single on of them, they makes my day and me want to write faster.

Vickstik: I must admit that I don't know the movie you mention, but – yeah – that's the basic idea. I know, it's been done to death, but I hope to give it an Arrow-twist. ;-) I thank you so much for your nice words.

Sarah: You're so right: There's nothing worse than stories rushing to the happy ending. And it wouldn't be Olicity, if it was easy. (I'm as excited as I am worried for season 3. I really hope that all the spoilers I couldn't avoid aren't really a bad omen... If that makes any sense.) I just hope I'll do the Olicity moments justice. I really try. Thank you, hon!

Nrdhrd3: Thanks!

Hopelessromantic1599: I actually find you super awesome!

And a big thank you to the "Guest" that took the time to leave a message.

Okay, I babbled more than enough. On to the story.

4 C'est beau la bourgeoisie (Discobitch)

Being engaged to Oliver Queen was pretty mediocre. At least it was in Felicity's experience.

Okay, there were some upsides. Like the look on Meadow Martinez' face when she had entered the elevator yesterday only to see her and Oliver already in there. That had been awesome! It was payback at long last for back when Meadow had slept with Peter Truitt, the cutest guy in the IT-department – and not just cute by nerdy standards, but really cute. Meadow had slept with him even though she had known that Felicity was seriously into Peter and that she had been on a date with him that had been great despite the fact that Felicity had managed to make a quip about vegans in her very first rant of the evening only for Peter to, of course, be a vegan. Yes, that had happened and the date had still been great. At least for Felicity it had been.

Felicity had believed to have found a friend in Meadow when she had first started working at QC, but this stunt of hers had proven how badly Felicity had let herself be fooled. Felicity was better off without Meadow and her ridiculously long lashes she fluttered at guys that should be off limits. She had given up on making friends at QC after that. Well, apart from Oliver, who... Well, yeah, he was a friend. That was an easy label she could live with putting on that whole complicated... thing... that was going on with them.

Another good thing about being acting fiancée of Oliver Queen was his sister. Thea had dropped by the office to take Felicity to lunch two days after that dreadful dinner. Felicity had been hesitant, because she had been sure that Thea just wanted to ask her a bunch of questions Felicity had no real answer to. And that had actually happened – which proved that Felicity wasn't as bad with judging people's characters as the debacle with Meadow Martinez might suggest.

But somehow the girls had started talking after Thea had fired off the most pressing questions. They had shared a good conversation not just about her engagement, but about... stuff. Just regular things you talked about with people when you started to get to know them and that had been nice. It had made Felicity realize how much her social life was lacking in the last years. It had made Felicity realize that she needed to change that.

Thea had also taken Felicity shopping. That had been an experience, to say the least. Felicity now knew that you had to take a picture before you bought an outfit to make sure it photographed well. Not that Felicity wanted possible paparazzi encounters to rule the shopping decisions... Not that Felicity wanted any paparazzi encounters! But standing in the changing area of the store, taking pictures of each other in beautiful gowns – which were ridiculously priced, by the way – had been a surprisingly fun and very girly thing to do. It had been senseless and entirely out of character for Felicity, but she had enjoyed the hell out of it. Thea had bought a dress for the gala and tried to get Felicity to do the same. There had been one gown that Felicity had really loved. It was a dark green – a fact that had been a special source of amusement for Felicity – with a tight and ridiculously low cleavaged top while the soft cloth spilled flowingly from the waist down. But it was far too out there for her to wear outside of a changing cubicle, and it was far too expensive. Thea had offered to buy it for her, but Felicity had declined. There was no way she would let a Queen buy her clothes. She could pay for her own stuff. … Even though, she technically paid with money the Queens had given her, but that was different; she had earned that money.

Sadly, these few upsides came with a lot more downsides. In the nine days since SGN had wrongly informed everybody who did or did not want to know that she was the secretary bagging the boss, she had been faced with more nasty glances than she had been during her three years of high school. Meadow's one shocked face didn't make up for that.

After the first three days she had also finally taken Thea's advice and stopped googling herself. Because...

The internet was mean.

And Google collected all this meanness and brought it to her computer screen where it ended up giving her fits of insecurity she had never experienced before. Felicity Smoak was many things, but unsure of herself wasn't one of them. She knew pretty well who she was. There was no need for anybody else to tell her.

She had stopped the senseless, hurtful internet researches and had instead returned to her normal computer-routine of data collecting, which involved calculating statistics for Queen Consolidated as well as hacking for the Arrow and finding cute shoes on sale for herself.

In fact, after the three days she had given herself to freak over this, things had just returned to normal – at least, to what normal was for her. She was back at her old routine. Even though, Oliver and she had agreed that they needed to talk about their situation, they never had. At least not yet.

When it would happen? Preferably never!

Felicity had lost any nerve she may have had back in the Foundry when she had brought it up that certain evening. By now she knew that she wouldn't start this conversation, if it could be helped. Because it was easier to just act as if nothing had changed – because, really, nothing had changed between them. The world may think that it had, but the world had it all wrong.

So far, denial was working perfectly for her.

She now glanced up as she heard the bell of the elevator announce its arrival. She knew Oliver would show up any moment now and right then she saw him head toward her desk, the usual latte in hand. He had brought it as a peace offering that first time, but now he bought her one every morning. The gesture meant lot to her, because it was thoughtful. Because every morning when he stopped by the coffee shop, he took time out of his day to do something nice for her. It was small thing, but small things mattered.

And she was saying that even though Oliver had done some pretty big things for her, like, for example, save her life.

"Good morning," she greeted him and took the offered coffee. "Thank you."

A small smile played round the corners of his lips. "Good morning." Like he always did, he turned serious quickly. "Did anything important come up I should know?"

"Nope," she looked up at him from her sitting position, "nothing to report. The only one who called was your mother, at 8 a.m. I might add, to remind me to remind you of the historical gala tonight."

Hearing this, he turned on his heel, "Noted."

"I want to add that I thought about calling in sick today. With a sickness that got progressively worse and would have forced me to stay at home tonight to watch Game of Thrones and treat myself to a bucket of mint choc chip, but my sense of responsibility stopped me."

He was still walking. "I really appreciate that!" He had already entered his office when he walked back to the door and poked his head around the glass wall. "By the way, did you hear that SGN was hacked?"

"No." Felicity met his gaze. "Really?"

"Yeah," Oliver's voice was even, "apparently, if you go to their side right now, all you see is the words, 'the rest is silence'."

"Great quote," Felicity complimented.

Oliver waited for a moment, obviously expecting her to say more. When she didn't, he nodded. "That's Shakespeare, if I was informed correctly. Hamlet."

"Great play."

"So I've heard." He looked at her for another long moment, before he brought his hand down against the glass, slapping it. "Great talk." With that he walked into his office, and Felicity placed her attention back to her computer screens. So, yeah, everything was just as it had always been...

If you planned on going to a gala with paparazzi present, you should have salad for dinner. At least that was what Felicity thought. She wanted to wear her red dress – she hadn't been killed in it when she had gone into that underground casino to get caught counting cards. It had become her lucky dress after that, and she felt like she needed some luck with this outing tonight.

Sadly, said dress was not only lucky but also very tight, which equaled up to no muffin for Felicity. You didn't need to be as good in maths as Felicity to come up with that equation.

She was sitting in the sun in front of the QC-skyscraper, enjoying her lunch break (despite the salad), when her phone rang. She fished it out of her pocket and checked the caller-ID. "Detective."

"Miss Smoak, still planning to marry Oliver Queen?"

"That's the last I heard."

He sighed. "I would appreciate it, if we could meet. We need to talk."

"Detective, it's really nice of you to feel that protective, but that's really not necessary. I-"

He stopped her right there, "I don't want to talk about your dumb-ass engagement! I want to talk about something we shouldn't discuss on the phone."

"Oh."

"I'm in the little corner café near your office, do you know it?"

Feeling sad suddenly, Felicity looked at her salad. "I do. I'll be right there."

It was too cliché, but Felicity couldn't keep that comment from slipping, "We could have met across the street, they have donuts." She sat down in the huge purple seat and placed her purse next to her, while ignoring the counter and the delightful treats presented there.

Detective Quentin Lance, who had a cream cheese bagel in his hands, sent her an unamused look. "Very funny." He took a huge bite, let the rest drop back onto his plate and chewed carefully, while he wiped his hands. Only when most crumbs were swiped away did he reach for the folder that was resting next to him and held it out to Felicity.

It contained papers filled with calculations and chemical diagrams that – it pained Felicity to admit it – didn't seem familiar to her. She frowned; she had no idea what this was supposed to be or what she was supposed to do with this. She brought her eyes back to the Detective.

He had by now swallowed. "Does this mean anything to you?"

Felicity couldn't remember the last time she had to answer this question with a no, and she hated that he had to do so now. "No, what's this?"

"This is the chemical composition of Vertigo." Lance leaned forward in his seat, his forearms resting on his knees. He was talking in a lower volume, the chatter of the café almost drowning him out. "This was stolen out of a safe-deposit box when Central Bank was robbed."

"But the robbers were caught."

"That's what we thought, too. Until the bank asked their customers to check the contents of their boxes and compare the things missing to the secured pickings of the robbers. The formula is the only thing that's missing. We got a copy from the chemist who had it in his box."

"He just had this?"

"Believe me, he is questioned as we speak." Lance looked honestly pissed. It was his normal look, now that Felicity thought about it. It really wasn't all that becoming on him. Could that man even smile? "The real question is, who stole it?"

"The Count is dead." Felicity knew, she had been there – and all that had happened that night was really hard to forget. Sometimes she relived it in her dreams.

"I know. But that doesn't answer my question. Who stole it?" He leaned in even closer. "Were you working with our mutual friend the night of the robbery?" She had been, but she hadn't been a real help. She dimly nodded, and Lance already had the next question, "Is it possible that there was another person, a sixth man, who might have been able to steel the formula?"

Felicity felt her pulse quicken. Yes, it was possible. In fact, Oliver had been sure that he had seen somebody on the roof next to bank. Felicity had tried to confirm this, but there had been no helpful footage from traffic or security cameras. The ones which had been active were not pointing in the right direction, and the ones that were had been offline. It had seemed like a strange coincidence to all of them, but – as Diggle had very rightfully said – it did fit in with the robbers taking down surveillance technology.

Basically, they had nothing to go on other than Oliver's instinct, which admittedly was mostly deadly on point.

This dead-end combined with the dead-end her search for whoever had made Burton detonate those bombs had run into had been a serious bummer. Not that "bummer" fit the reaction Oliver had to all of this adequately. But no word could, really. So she would just call it a bummer, it took the heaviness out of a heavy situation.

Not that she felt like sharing any of this with Detective Lance. She decided to keep her answer vague, "There might have been. But we have nothing concrete."

"Miss Smoak, I don't think I have to tell you what damage Vertigo may cause." No, he really didn't. She had witnessed it twi-... okay, one and a half times. Lance was talking hauntingly now, "We need to keep that stuff off the streets. I need you and our friend to support me with this."

There was no doubt about it. "He will. He will be all over that." She slightly raised the folder. "Can I keep this?" Just because she couldn't made any sense of these diagrams didn't mean that nobody else could.

But Lance snapped the folder from her. "Sorry, my staff saw me leave with this. I cannot just let this get into the wrong hands." Great, another hack into the SCPD-system then. Lance looked sternly at her. "And just so you know, Kelton updated our system."

Yeah, right.

Oliver Queen did not approve this high. And by the looks of it as he stood stiffly in the brightly lit square of the Foundry, neither did John Diggle.

Both men had experienced first hand what Vertigo could do, and from second hand experience Felicity knew that it hadn't looked good. Not that Oliver hadn't looked good when he had stood in front of her that day at QC. Because he had. Even after nearly dying of a crazy addictive drug he had been able to make her stutter and say inappropriate things. In her defense, even people who were not as handsome as Oliver Queen could do that to her.

But that was all besides the point. The point was that both men didn't take the news why Lance had asked her to meet with him well.

"The Vertigo recipe is out there?"

"I don't know, if it's the same as attempting to bake my grandmother's famous blueberry pancake, but..." She frowned, "Even though, I never managed to get them to taste like nana's did..." Seeing the looks on the men's faces, she stopped herself. They were not in the mood for this. "Basically, yeah. Somebody stole the Vertigo formula."

"This is proof, Oliver," Diggle crossed his arms over his chest as he sat down on Felicity's desk. "You were right. Somebody else was there."

"Being right doesn't help me one bit," Oliver's voice was hard. Felicity knew that situations like these were hard on him. Situations, when he felt like he had to do something, but didn't know what to do. Those were the moments when he let his frustrations out on the wrong people. Just like he was doing right now. "We have no idea who was there. Or where he went. I should have trusted my instincts and gone after him."

"Oliver, the police was on their way," Diggle never seemed utterly fazed by Oliver's moodiness. "You did the right thing when you got out of there. We will get a lead on whoever has the formula."

"When, Diggle?" Oliver wanted to know. "When the first person dies? Is that the lead we will have to wait for? I am tired of waiting!" He reached for the nearest table, which was the heart of their improvised medical-area, and flipped it over.

Felicity flinched. She had not expected such a strong reaction. She knew that his fuse had been burning with the lack of answers to the many questions that his Arrow-stints had brought up lately. She had known that and she had seen Oliver explode quite a few times in the past – at her, at Diggle, at the wall –, but back then his fuse had always seemed longer. The eruptions had been the result of intense weeks; they had built up over time when the pressure was high and danger was imminent. Or when his family had been in danger. In those situations his fuse was practically non-existent.

Sally Fergusen, Felicity's second roommate at MIT, who had studied psychology, had told her that it was a good thing to let your anger out. She always had made Felicity punch a pillow – with an, as she knew now, absolutely awful technique. Felicity had hit that thing quite hard when Scott Becker, her boyfriend of two years, had broken up with her. That had also been the night Felicity had learned that a girls' night with Tequila was more her thing to let off some steam.

But for Oliver the violent approached worked. Felicity had taken some time to contemplate, what Sally would say to this, if that was really what she had been talking about. But, ultimately, Felicity had decided that it was Oliver's way to keep from going crazy. He had experienced enough horrible things to drive everybody over the edge, and the fact that he was still sane – as sane as you could be with a secret identity that involved dressing up in leather – was a miracle.

In theory, Felicity was all for him venting his anger, but this was unexpected and sudden.

Diggle got up from the desk again and was about to confront Oliver in that reasonable, insightful and in the current situation absolutely fearless way he had, when the other man, who still had his back to them, bent down and placed the tipped over table – which had luckily been empty – upright again.

"I'm sorry," Oliver said quietly without looking at them. "It was a bad week." Was it? Really? Why? Felicity felt like asking all of these questions, but Oliver talked before she could, "I'll head out. Patrolling."

"No, you won't." Felicity's words stopped him after the first step. "The only suit you'll be wearing tonight is a tux. We're going to a gala."

"Seriously?" Diggle looked at her. "You want to go to a gala with him when he's like this?!"

No. She didn't want to, but, "I promised his mother we'd be there on time. And since we had a very rocky start that might have involved me accidentally laughing about her time in prison I feel like I should do this to get on her good side." She now looked at Oliver, who still stood there looking like he was ready to leave, "She called me three times today... Honestly, I find that a little offensive, I got the message after our first talk – at eight this morning. Around four in the afternoon I was fearing she'd send me a sung telegram." She contemplated that for a second. "Which would have been awesome, but sadly that's not Moira's style." She looked at John Diggle, who was looking at her with amusement shining in his eyes. "I call her Moira now."

"First name basis with the fake in-laws," Diggle smirked. "Well done."

"Stop," Oliver's word was harsh, but thankfully his tone wasn't. He looked seriously unhappy. "Okay, we'll go to this damn gala."

Felicity reached for her purse. "Thank God, I prepared in case I wouldn't have time to go home. I need to get to my car and get my lucky dress."

"No, you don't." Oliver's unexpected objection caused her to stop mid-movement. She turned to look at him and saw him walk toward the table where he always prepared his arrows. A box was lying there, Felicity had registered it before, but not wasted a second thought on it as she had hurried to share the news about Vertigo once they had been in a environment where it was safe to talk about such things. The box in his hands, Oliver now crossed the distance that had separated them all this time. He handed it to her, saying, "For you. For tonight."

Surprised, Felicity placed the box on her own desk and opened it. She swallowed heavily as she saw what was resting inside: the dark-green designer dress she had loved so much at the store. Strangely hesitant, she reached for it, but stopped herself. She looked at Oliver, "You didn't need to..."

"I know. But I wanted to." He motioned toward the back. "You should change, we have to go, if we're to keep the promise you made my mother."

All of this left Felicity unusually uncomfortable. She tried to catch his eyes, but he turned around in that moment. So she said to his back, "Thank you."

He send her a quick glance and a nod. It was time to go change.

When exactly her life had turned into a cheesy chick-flick, Felicity couldn't say, but that didn't change the fact that it had obviously happened. There was no other explanation for what was going on right now, for why she was standing on perfectly shined black marble with a glass of the most expensive champagne in hand, wearing a gorgeous dress with a plunging cleavage that was really daring for her, accompanied by her friend, who she more or less secretly wished would be more than a friend and who people around her believed to be her fiancé, trying to say as little as possible to not embarrass herself or him while he introduced her to the high society.

That last sentence was as ridiculous and confusing as the whole situation was.

She wished she was at home, watching Game of Thrones and eating ice-cream. She wished she would have made Oliver take her home instead of fixing her hair and make-up in the tiny bathroom in the Foundry. There was only so much you could do with bad lighting. If she had been at home, maybe she wouldn't have dropped one of her contact lenses into the sink. She had cussed so loudly that Oliver had come looking what was up and when she had ranted about the light and the tiny mirror, he had simply held out her glasses and told her to "wear those."

Which probably meant that the "ugly duckling turning into a beautiful swan by taking off her glasses"-part of her chick-flick was still in the making.

Not that she was a beautiful swan. Or an ugly duckling for that matter. But the internet had really hated on her glasses. At least her glasses guaranteed that she could see the canapes clearly and avoid the fishy ones. She reached for another one . The salad she had eaten around noon was nothing but a distant memory by now. She had heard something about dinner; when would that be happening? The elderly woman who stood next to the man Oliver was talking to now addressed her, "Dear, did Moira talk to you about joining our Starling City Women's Foundation?"

Felicity had just taken another sip of champagne and swallowed quickly. Keep your answer short, she chanted to herself. "No, she didn't."

"You should join us," the white-haired woman with the perfectly placed curls said now. "We are always happy to welcome young and promising members."

The question what exactly the Starling City Women's Foundation did danced on the tip of Felicity's tongue, because it really sounded like a place for the privileged to meet and share their worries for the less fortunate before turning to cocktails and cake and tattling about whose husband had been living it up with the secreta- She stopped the thought right there and, instead, repeated her mantra. Keep it short. "That sounds lovely." Apparently, when she kept it short she turned into an english woman.

"We would love to have you, dear." The other woman said now. She had been introduced, but for the life of her Felicity couldn't remember her name. "As the wife of a Queen you'll have some responsibility for this city. Moira had to leave our Foundation after what happened last year, of course. But we'll be happy to have another Queen woman."

"What about Thea?" It had left Felicity's lips before she could stop herself. At least it fit to her resolution to keep it short.

The woman's nose twisted as if she had smelled something foul. "Thea is not the right fit for us."

"Sweetheart," the husband of the older woman cut in suddenly. "I saw Harold. We have to go and congratulate him on this wonderful event."

"Yes, of course," his sweetheart agreed. She turned to Felicity again. "It was very nice to meet you. Think about the Foundation. You are always welcome."

"Yes," Felicity forced a smile and chanted once again. "It was very nice to meet you, too."

Oliver shook hands with the other man and added another CEO-smile. Felicity could see the next people, who wanted to talk to Oliver and get a close look at her, approaching. She strongly suspected that there was some kind of routine to it, people were circling the room pretty perfectly. Maybe that was why it was called making the rounds. Huh... Yeah, probably. Everybody was making sure to talk to everybody who was anybody – which sadly meant that everybody wanted to talk to Oliver Queen.

"Dance with me." Oliver's voice cut through her thoughts, and she saw him hold his hand out to her. In a very unladylike move, she took a huge swing of her champagne. She placed the empty glass onto the tray of a passing waiter and placed her hand into Oliver's. He led her to the dance floor, and she was thankful for the break in smalltalk – until she realized how close Oliver's body was to hers. Never had he held her so close when it hadn't been a life-or-death-situation. Okay, there had been a few hugs, but this here felt different, less platonic and more... Just different. Nice, but still different. It somehow felt too close, she thought.

"You're very quiet tonight," Oliver said now as they moved to the slow music. "It's not like you to be so monosyllabic."

"I'm not myself tonight. I'm your fiancée and about to become a member of the Starling City Women's Foundation." That had come out snappier than she had intended. She felt him stiffen and was sorry instantly. She hurried to add, "I'm just trying not to embarrass you, which is why today I came with a mantra. Before I say anything I tell myself to keep it short. It's really working. I should incorporate this in my everyday life. Might be a success."

He chuckled. "I doubt it."

She didn't react to that, because she didn't always have to comment on everything, even though he seemed to believe that. Even though she would have had a great comeback.

They spent the rest of the song in silence – well, not complete silence since the music was playing, but neither of them said anything as they continued dancing. It was a comfortable silence. It didn't feel like a gap in conversation. They could be perfectly quiet with each other. It was nice. Felicity couldn't help but think that it even was more than nice. She could really get used to that. Which was why she was glad and disappointed at the same time when the song ended and Oliver let go of her, indicating that their time dancing was up.

They had just walked off the dance floor, when the next person was heading toward them already. As Oliver engaged the man in conversation, Felicity locked eyes with Thea whose face showed an expression of suffering that most likely caused her to be unfit for the Starling City Woman's Foundation. Felicity was inwardly laughing at that, when suddenly Oliver's conversational partner addressed her. "Miss Smoak, how do you enjoy this gala so far?"

Keep it short. "Very much, thank you." Okay, was there a point when short turned into impolite? Because if there was one, she had reached it now. With that thought her mantra, which had helped her through five conversations, had run its cause. "I didn't know Starling City had a historical society, let alone that historians knew how to party. But I guess if somebody can party like there's no tomorrow, it's a historian..."

The man looked at her strangely. She felt uneasiness rise inside her and was about to go into a long apologetic rant, when the old man with the round glasses and the tweet suit threw his head back and laughed out loud. His eyes were shining when he placed them on Felicity again. "Young lady, you are a hoot."

She glanced at Oliver and found the dim smile on his face she had come to know so well. He actually winked at her, "I told you the mantra wasn't working long term."