The positive response the last chapter received was really overwhelming. It was truly amazing, and I thank everybody who started following or added this story as a favorite. You guys are amazing. The – and I am quoting Horsebot3000 here, because I really like that expression – "review love" was even better. I really felt the love. I can't tell you how much it means to me. Thank you to Horsebot3000, sakura-blossom62, SammyShu, nrdhrd3, Vickstik, hoplessromantic1599, misspsycho24 (times three), PoisonAngelMuse, XMisfitLeaderX and the guest who asked so kindly for an UPDATE! ;-)

I dedicate this chapter to nrdhrd3 and Vickstik, because they are my most faithful readers, and to Gin2a, my wonderful beta, who is so patient with me and deals with me making the same mistakes over and over again. That you so much!

Okay, enough said. It's time to get this show on the road and to move the plot along.

8. Wrecking Ball (Miley Cyrus)

Felicity Smoak wasn't a virgin. She had been touched before and had done various kinds of touching herself. Her sexual experience spread from the unskilled humping Craig Riddlemeyer had done – which had seriously made Felicity consider why there was so much fuss about that – to the very experienced hands of Andrew Weaver, who she probably should consider a drunken mistake during her first months in Starling City... But, really, he was one of the men that proved to women that the fuss was more than justified. In short, Felicity knew what sex could and could not be, and she wasn't a girl who let her whole world be rocked by one kiss that fit every standard of being appropriate for all audiences.

Still – she was taking an inappropriate amount of time to dwell on one very chaste kiss.

Just because it had been so unexpected and so uncharacteristic. It had been a sweet kiss. Now, Felicity would use a big variety of adjectives to describe Oliver Queen, but "sweet" really, really wasn't one of them. Neither was cute. Nor any of these sugar coated teenager words. That just wasn't him at all.

That still didn't change the fact that it had been a sweet kiss.

And right in that moment it had been a statement. A statement that Felicity had appreciated. Because Oliver had come and kissed her temple when Laurel had been standing there being all judgmental and in her face and... Felicity really hated agreeing with her mother, but Laurel had been a bitch. All of this combined had made Felicity's heart do an unexpected jump when Oliver's lips had sweetly touched her skin. She had needed to fight really hard to keep from grinning stupidly. Oliver on the other hand had acted completely unfazed, like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to do this.

Felicity had spent an embarrassing amount of time to think about that and had come to realize that Oliver probably acted this unfazed, because to him it wasn't a big deal. And it shouldn't be. It was a harmless kiss on a harmless spot and it could count as a friendly gesture.

If friendly gestures like this were part of the friendship she shared with Oliver.

Which they were not!

They had very clear rules for touching, and they basically came down to two ground rules: one, in life-or-death-situations anything goes; two, if life is not threatened, touching should be avoided or kept to neutral spots like arms or shoulders.

These rules had been blurred a lot lately. With the fake engagement and everything people obviously expected more physical contact. That had been limited to holding hands and the occasional hand on the back as Oliver directed her toward a dance floor or a chair or into a room.

And now there was this kiss on the temple.

Which was for show.

Felicity knew.

It still drove her crazy.

Because it had been nice. It had been nice when he had come back from the Vertigo-alert, which had turned out to be a fake Vertigo-alert, and they had tackled this engagement party together. A party that just proved that there was too much faking in her life. Like a fake engagement that was met by fake politeness that had turned from passive aggressive –which was the well-mannered version of speaking your mind – to openly hostile within 30 minutes. The open hostility had mainly been her mother's fault, but she had never been well-mannered to begin with.

In theory that should have been awful. In practice it had been nice to do this with Oliver, because it had felt like they had teamed up against the crazy that had been happening around them. They had been a unit with a silent understanding that had come from Felicity knowing things the other people around didn't – and that had been strangely amazing. Normally, it was nerve-wrecking to cover for Oliver and the stuff he secretly did, but it had been different when they had sat there at this table surrounded by clueless people. That had been nice.

Felicity had never dared to imagine what it would be like to really be with Oliver. But Friday evening she had experienced it – and she wanted it to be like that again.

And that made her miserable, because she knew she couldn't have it. The silent understanding, the kiss on the temple, the support when other girls were bitches to her – that was all just for show, because CEO Oliver Queen needed to be responsible and settle down. And because the Arrow needed his research-girl.

The latter was unfair, Felicity knew. Those were just her hurt feelings and unfulfilled hopes talking. She knew that Oliver liked her. She was just bitter, because he didn't like her like her. And – yes – she knew those were the same words, but they meant something different in her head.

But she knew that could never happen, because she was so not Oliver's type. The historic records had proven that. First, he liked brunettes. There had been McKenna, the detective, who had been so beautiful and so driven. Helena, who – granted – was crazy, but shared Oliver's love for leather and the ability to look stunning in it. The same was true for Sara, who wasn't brunette but gorgeous and able to kick some serious ass. And, of course, there was Laurel, whose brown hair was so shiny and pretty and who was not only unfairly good-looking despite her obvious inability to resist the allure of unflattering business suits with ill-fitting pants, but also a successful career-woman. Even though she was trying to sabotage the latter by bottle service.

Felicity knew those were catty thoughts, but Laurel wasn't around to witness them – and unlike Laurel, Felicity would never say anything mean directly to her face.

She wasn't like Laurel or any of these women, who were women to take charge. Felicity didn't take charge. She much too often let other people call the shots – the fact that she was sitting at her desk posing as an Executive Assistant, which she hated, was proof enough for that. She was a push-over – and Oliver didn't like the damsel in distress, he liked women who could clean up their own messes.

"What's with the long face?"

Startled, Felicity's head snapped up, away from the computer screen she had been looking at without really seeing it and toward Thea, who was standing in front of her desk. Felicity blinked. "I wasn't thinking about how Laurel is much prettier than me." That was an incredibly stupid thing to say. It was an incredibly stupid thing, that once again showed how little she was meant to take charge.

The grin on Thea's face made Felicity feel the need to bury her head in her hands. Thea simply ignored the last sentence spoken and instead said, "Have lunch with me."

"I can't," Felicity stated and let her hands drop again. "I need to finish this." More like start with this chart to be done with the most pressing work at QC to be able to head to the Foundry to start collecting the security footage Oliver needed.

"Felicity, you're the fiancée of the boss of all..." she twirled her index finger around, "this. You can take a lunch break with the girl whose name is written on top of this building."

"Wow." Felicity stared at the other girl. "That was an incredibly brazen thing to say. But you pulled it off really well."

"I know. It's a gift. And on my way up I used it on a redhead who bad-mouthed you in the elevator. I'm pretty sure it was that Ginger you told me about."

"What did she say?" Inwardly Felicity cringed. She shouldn't have asked that, she shouldn't care, a take-charge-women wouldn't care. Yet, sadly, she did.

"Some comment about people interpreting the recording all wrong. She said it was obvious that you weren't talking about a real engagement but about finding a good place for a nookie."

"Nobody calls it nookie anymore. That's so last decade." Why, God, why, was that the first thing she felt like saying to this?

"Exactly. That's why I told ginger she should stop talking bullshit about people who could get her fired." Thea looked deadly serious as she said, "You should get her fired. " Seeing the look on the blonde's face, Thea sighed, "I know, I know... But she'd deserve it, not only for being a bitch, but for being stupid. I mean, she should really check who else is in the elevator with her before she starts gossiping – no matter how many people are cramped in that tiny space."

"In her defense, she couldn't possibly know you were in there. This is only the second time I know of that you are at QC in, like, ever."

"Felicity, why are you defending her?"

Felicity's shoulders sank. "I don't know."

Thea just nodded. "Get up. Have lunch with me."

This was the reason why Thea was so skinny: She had sushi for lunch. It was low-fat, low-calorie, high-protein and incredibly trendy. To Felicity it was nothing but cold fish, which she hated. That left her very little choice at this spot where the food was rolling by on a conveyer and drinks were served in the most unnatural colors. Felicity had believed spots like that to be out of fashion again. Proving how little she knew.

Thea's voice ripped her out of her thoughts, "Okay, stop thinking about how Laurel is prettier than you, because that's bullshit."

"I wasn't thinking about that!" Felicity defended and when she saw Thea's disbelieving face she added, "I was thinking about how much I'd prefer a pizza to any of this and that that is part of the reason why I'll never be a size 0 like other people. FYI, the other parts of this reason are called muffin and mint choc chip ice-cream."

"Laurel isn't a size 0 because she avoids pizza, but because she's living off champagne and vodka at the moment, which are both low-fat, but will eventually still make her look bloated."

"Wow." Felicity again couldn't believe her ears.

"It's your fault," Thea defended. "When you're so nice, it makes me be mean for the both of us. And I normally even like Laurel. Even though I was never anything more than Ollie's little sister to her."

A moment of silence followed. Felicity used it to wonder when exactly she had turned into such a punching bag, even worse, into such an insecure punching bag, because this wasn't her. Felicity wasn't insecure, she wasn't unsure about herself, she knew very well who she was and who she wasn't and she had always been confident. Never had she been afraid to speak her mind, never had she apologized for who she was, she had always been fine with herself, her socially awkward, tech-smart self. She needed to get back to that. She wouldn't let anybody or anything take that from her: not her difficult mother, not pretty ex-girlfriends and especially not the fact that she was in love with a man who had basically told her that he was afraid to care too much.

She looked at Thea. "I'm not normally like this, you know."

"I know. I spent a drunken night with you and I know that normally you are much more fun than this." Thea placed her elbows on the counter in front of her while she kept looking at Felicity. "But I noticed that something was off about you after your run-in with Laurel. I know that their history can be intimidating. But that's what it is, history. Oliver is with you now."

No, he wasn't! Not really. And the fact that he lied to Laurel – who Felicity knew was the love of his life, that had kept him going on the island and wherever else he was during those five years – about how it felt right to be with Felicity didn't change that, at all. In fact, it only made it worse. But those were things that Thea didn't know, wasn't allowed to know, because this was a secret she was keeping, one of the many secrets she kept when it came to Oliver Queen and the many characters he incorporated into himself.

Felicity swallowed. "I know," she lied. "It was just a stressful evening."

"You and Oliver are made for each other. Everybody who sat at this table saw that."

Everybody but Oliver.

Felicity tried a small smile. "Thank you." Really, she was thankful. "You really didn't need to come down and try to cheer me up."

"Of course I did! I may have been drunk, but I remember that we promised each other to be besties. I intent to keep that promise." Thea smirked, "not only, because I think you're amazing and very entertaining with all that word-vomit you're rocking," she softened this sentence with a wink, "but also because you make my brother smile. It's such a rare occurrence that I notice every time he does. And he does that a lot around you."

"It's the word-vomit I'm rocking. Being amused by it seems to run in the family – which is really fortunate."

"That might be part of it, yes, but I think there's more to it." Thea turned serious. "Does he talk to you about the island?"

Felicity felt instantly uneasy, she shifted on her high chair. Her voice was careful as she said, "He told me a few things, yes."

"And what few things would that be?" Thea inquired.

"A few things that aren't mine to tell you."

Thea's eyes narrowed at Felicity, before they returned to normal. "Fair enough," she sighed, "damn you! You're so trustworthy and reliable. Makes me want to be your friend even more!"

Felicity knew that it was supposed to be a light joke, but she didn't feel like smiling. She remembered the night when Sara had returned too clearly. She remembered the look on Oliver's face, a mixture of hurt and despair, when he had yelled at Diggle and her that his time away had been five years in which nothing good had happened. It had given Felicity a glimpse at the horror he had lived through and had made her realize that the whole extent of the terror he had locked up inside him most likely topped everything she could ever imagine. She knew a few things, yes, but there was so much more she had no idea about. They were the things that Oliver had survived and that had changed him and made him stronger. He still considered these experiences a weakness – and Felicity would never go and share this alleged weakness with anybody that Oliver obviously wanted to keep from finding out.

Searchingly, Thea looked at Felicity, studying the expressions that crossed her face. "I'm just glad that he has somebody he feels like he can confide in."

Felicity nodded, because that much was true; even if she wasn't Oliver's girlfriend, would never be his real fiancée, she was still his confidant. That was a very special someone to be in the life of Oliver Queen. She would just have to accept that that was all she'd ever be and start feeling like it was enough, because it had to be.

Computers were the perfect distraction. The last time Felicity had looked at a clock had been three hours ago. She hadn't even noticed time passing as she had first gotten the security footage Oliver had asked her to gather. She had checked the various recordings only to find nothing but the guy, Thomas Elliot, who Oliver had caught last night on the scene, placing the canister in the middle of the plaza. This had caused Felicity to once again hack into SCPD's servers – Kelton would never learn – to get information on Elliot and the findings concerning the orange gas that had been sprayed.

The guys would never appreciate how much time and effort it took to gather all the facts she always offered them, but she was used to that by now. Now, three hours later, as Oliver and Diggle walked down the stairs she was ready to update them.

Oliver must sense this by the way she was watching them walk toward her. "You found something." It was a statement, not a question.

Still, Felicity answered it, "I did." Both men looked at her expectantly and Felicity just continued talking. "The security videos, whose quality is awful by the way; even my phone can record in HD, so it makes absolutely no sense that these recordings are always black and white and blurry." Oliver raised his eyebrows, Diggle smirked, Felicity took the hints and got back to the point, "So, the footage was a fail. The only suspicious person on that was the guy who was arrested, Thomas Elliot. Oh, and there was a hodded guy with a bow recklessly jumping down a four-story building. Wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley."

"You said you found something."

"Yes, I did." She turned back to her screens and felt the men move to stand left and right to her to get a good look themselves. "Thomas Elliot gave SCPD a statement which I'm pretty sure would have made them transfer him to Starling's asylum, if it hadn't burnt down recently. He claimed that he was chosen for this mission by the big Scarecrow, the master and bringer of fear. Sounds pretty much like a hillbilly-cult to me."

"He was acting on somebody else's orders?" Oliver asked from her left.

Diggle nodded from her right, "makes sense. Elliot is more a follower than a leader." He pointed at the screen and a file Felicity had pulled up there. "Look here, he managed to get into Stanford, but there he got arrested for stalking some poor girl. And he himself filed a complaint against some guy who he claimed robbed him, before he ultimately dropped out."

"I know," Felicity agreed, "not the super-villain type. But look at this. Elliot studied psychology at Stanford, and he went to a class where the teacher fired a gun. That teacher was later fired for doing that and that teacher was..."

"Dr. Jonathan Crane," Oliver guessed correctly.

"Okay," Diggle straightened up. "I was skeptical before, but consider me converted. Crane is somehow the key to all of this."

"Yeah," Felicity nodded. "He seems like the super-villain type. And look at the class Crane taught, 'The Foundation of Fear – Phobia 101'." She glanced at Diggle, "and I thought 'Theory of Computation' was bad."

"So what?" Diggle looked at the two others. "This guy is into fear?"

"It would make sense. He sure scared everybody with that gas canister. And the video that Burton got with his wife and son was pretty hard to watch." Felicity shuddered at the memory, before she looked at the men. "A psychiatrist going crazy – that's hardly unique."

"And it doesn't give us the slightest clue where to find him." Oliver's voice was hard.

"Okay, before you go all grrr on us again, I have more." Felicity pulled up more documents that probably meant nothing to Oliver. "The orange stuff that was sprayed last night was nothing but colored dry ice."

"That guy sure likes to make a show," Diggle huffed.

"Yes. But he also left a trace with this one. Because dry ice was reported stolen from Starling City's community college – seriously there's nothing this city doesn't have. The Chemistry Department was apparently robbed of all the dry ice needed for their big show on science day. So I checked the college's files. I know you don't care about how I did this, but it was really hard to get this information and it involved two federal offenses until I found student Elliot Thomas..." She pulled up a student ID which showed the picture of a man that didn't look much better than the mug shot that was taken Friday night. "You have to give it up for the man with the most obvious alias ever."

Oliver looked at her. "And this is helpful, how?"

"Because I never found an address of Thomas Elliot, but Elliot Thomas has a small apartment in the Glades. Maybe, you'll find something there. When he was arrested Elliot didn't have a phone with him. And I don't care, if you're into some Hillbilly-cult believing in the big Scarecrow, today a cell is a basic necessity."

"He must have been in contact with Crane some way," Diggle supported. "And if he's a student, he has a laptop."

Oliver was already moving, "I'll check his apartment and gather whatever I can find that might help us track him down."

Felicity followed him with her eyes as he walked toward his Arrow-clothes, and for the first time in quite a few days she felt a sense of accomplishment. She felt like herself again. Because this here, this was Felicity Smoak. This was Felicity Smoak kicking serious ass. And she seriously needed to remember that, because everything else was just make-believe and colored smoke-screens.

Felicity should have known her high wouldn't last. She should have known that something would rain on her parade of feeling awesome. And that something came in the form of an unexpected call from Moira, who was trying Felicity's cell in search for Oliver.

Since she could hardly tell Moira Queen that her son was busy breaking and entering, she instead invented a conference call with Shanghai. That just seemed a more appropriate way for a CEO to spend his Monday evening. Sadly, this exact CEO was expected to spend his Monday evening with his mother and about 150 of her closest friends to celebrate her decision to run for mayor. And – Moira was convinced that Oliver had surely told Felicity – she was also expected to be there to show support for her future family.

Of course, Oliver had not told her anything; neither that Moira thought about becoming mayor, nor that she was expected to support this decision – which she didn't. Technically, this woman should be in jail for mass-murder. But what did Felicity Smoak know about politics? Maybe that qualified Moira even more for a political job.

Not even the mention of her own mother and the evening they had planned to spend together – which was the only true thing Felicity had said during this whole conversation with Moira – could spare Felicity. She was expected to make an appearance, even if it only was for one hour, and she was expected to tell Oliver to hurry with his conference call.

Felicity was not in the mood to fight. She felt exhausted and she felt like she had been robbed of the fun aspects of a relationship that normally should make up for the crappy duties with the in-laws, which seemed to be disproportionately many when it came to the Queens and their social standing. But there was no use in fighting the inevitable. It was just a waste of time. To make it quick, Felicity simply informed Oliver where she was going and where he was supposed to be ASAP, ignored Diggle's knowing glance, went to her beloved Mini Cooper and drove to a house that was a mansion and honestly intimidated her.

As she handed the maid her red coat she realized that she had never been here on her own before. Slightly unsure, she walked toward the living room which had been cleared of all furniture and instead been equipped with a bar and a band. Tentatively, she put one foot in front of the other as she entered the room and glanced around. She felt interested eyes on her, but was glad when she saw Thea and Roy standing in a corner. She had taken two steps toward them, when Moira popped up in front of her. "Felicity, I'm glad you could make it."

"Of course," Felicity answered and returned Moira's fake kisses, feeling incredibly stupid.

"I need to introduce you to Beth Weinstein, she's the chairwoman of the Starling City Women's Charity Association."

Felicity frowned, "What about the Starling City Women's Federation?"

Moira looked at Felicity like she had grown a second head. "They kicked me out and denied Thea membership. We'll take our name, our money and our connections elsewhere."

Hearing this, Felicity automatically straightened up, "Got'cha."

Moira linked her arm with Felicity's and led her across the room to an elderly woman in a teal colored outfit. "Beth," Moira said when they reached her, "let me introduce you to my future daughter-in law." Hearing this caused a sinking feeling in Felicity's stomach. It was so strange to hear it, it sounded so wrong. Probably because it just was. However Felicity tried to keep a smile on her face. She needed to get better with that polite smile thing all the other Queens had perfected. Not that she was a Queen, but... She just had to get better at faking it. Moira was still at it, "This is Felicity, Oliver's fiancée."

"It's very nice to meet you, ma'am."

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine," Beth Weinstein answered. "I heard so much about you. You made quite the impression at the historians' gala."

"Thank you..." Felicity glanced at Moira, who gave her nothing, "I guess..."

"Let me have a look at your ring, dear!"

"I-"

"Oliver gave her his grandmother's ring, but it's too small. It needs to be widened." Of course! Moira would come up with a lie that would end up with Felicity having fat fingers.

"Oh, that's lovely," Beth gushed now. "A family heirloom," she glanced around the room. "Where is Oliver?"

"Still working," Moira answered the question directed at Felicity, "you know how it is with successful men."

"Oh, yes! I do. My Gregory worked long, long hours. I rarely had him home on weekends."

"I try to be around more." Out of the blue, Oliver appeared next to Felicity. He sent the women a small smile. Part of Felicity dreaded another kiss, part of her longed for it. She was aghast and happy at the same time, when his lips really brushed her right cheek. It was another harmless gesture that made her knees weak. Was he turning this into a habit? Because she could get used to it. Even though, she shouldn't. She really, really shouldn't.

Beth Weinstein was busy complimenting Moira on her handsome son, before telling Felicity she had made quite a catch. Felicity didn't know what to say to that and decided to just practice her fake smiling.

"I think I'm the one who's lucky," Oliver said in that moment.

That was a really corny statement. A statement that had the potential to make Felicity swoon. But it didn't. There was no love-struck smile appearing on her face. Instead, she had to fight to keep the fake one in place. Because the words might have been nice and swoon-worthy, but Oliver had said them in CEO-voice. That was the voice he used when he thanked journalists for including QC in a story, when he hated nothing more than giving interviews. That was the voice he used when he talked to Dent Bradfort, who he despised with all he had. That was the voice he used to negotiate business contracts. That was the voice he used to surround himself with an air of polite aloofness, of impersonal professionalism. It was all fake. As fake as the smile on Felicity's face that was slipping more and more.

She suffered through another 20 minutes of polite small-talk with various members of Starling City's one percent, before she found a good moment to excuse herself and flee the mansion. Oliver being all in character instantly offered to escort her to her car.

The front door closed behind them, and Felicity enjoyed the fresh night air hitting her face. It had been suffocating in there, both literally with a serious lack of oxygen in the air and figuratively with Oliver's closeness limiting her ability to breathe freely.

She glanced quickly at Oliver, avoiding eye-contact she said, "My mom's waiting. Good night."

She was about to head down the stairs and to her car, when Oliver's hand reached for her arm and stopped her. "Felicity, what is going on with you? And don't say..."

"Nothing."

"...nothing!" He sighed. "The truth, please!"

He wanted the truth?! Okay, he could have that! She twirled around to face him, her voice harsh, and said, "We had rules, Oliver!"

He frowned. "Rules about what?"

"About us." His face fell, she could see it. She could see emotions he usually buried deep show themselves – and they weren't happy ones. But she couldn't stop. She had started talking and it somehow reminded Felicity that she was a talker, and she felt like saying some things right now, "We had rules about what we are and what we aren't. And about what we do and don't do! We don't just go around and kiss each other – and I know that to you those may have been non-kisses, but for me they were something. For me they crossed a line. And I know we never talked about it, but I know we both know that line was there. And when it was, it was good for me. I could work with that. I could accept that you basically told me you preferred easy one night-stands to real caring – even though, you later went and started caring about Sara for some time. But I knew where I stood, Oliver. I was here and you were there and that line was between us. But now everything's blurry, and I don't know where I'm at. I'm all over the place." She felt her eyes water, but fought to not let the tears fall. It was bad enough that she unloaded all her frustrations of these last weeks on him in one giant rant, revealing things she had never wanted to reveal. "I cannot keep that up, Oliver. Pretending to be something that I'm not no matter how much I wished..." She swallowed, she would not admit that. Instead she said, "We need to end this, we need to fake a break-up. You have to get a new secretary. I'm sorry. I really am. I'll help you with your other stuff, but I need some space. I need some space from you."

Realizing that she couldn't hold the tears back much longer, she turned around and started walking.

She heard him mumble "it's Executive Assistant," under his breath, but not even that could stop her from hurrying to her car. She had to get away from here. Away from him.