FS: Oliver…

OQ: I'm fine.

He wasn't fine. Felicity had come down the stairs of the Arrow cave just in time to see him wincing, slowly easing a dress shirt over a freshly bruised shoulder. She sat, full of purpose, atop her desk crossing her ankles and giving him her sternest stare which got a little sterner as his scraped knuckles and palms fixed the buttons. He turned toward the row of salvaged lockers that were acting as his closet near his flimsy excuse for a bed and then turned back toward her with an Armani tie draped over each hand.

It was a concentrated effort that kept her from rolling her eyes. Instead she wrinkled her nose and shook her head. She watched as he tossed the ties aside, turned down his collar, and unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt with all his usual dexterity. Felicity would be lying if she said she wasn't fascinated by those fingers. His entire hands actually. She always thought it would be his hands that gave away his identity. He didn't wear gloves twenty-four/seven after all. And they weren't the hands of some lay about billionaire playboy. Large and rough. Always calloused. Often scraped and bruised. She couldn't see them typing or playing piano with any sort of skill. But they did do far more delicate work, things she had seen and things she had only imagined.

She swallowed hard to dissolve the lump in her throat and pretended to look at something on one of her monitors when she saw him reach for his jacket. The sight of him painfully drawing it over his shoulders would tug on her female sensibilities, as Digg might say. The sight of him pretending it didn't hurt at all would down right infuriate her.

He had lightly cleared his throat and she looked up to see him smiling, ready to go. The smiling had been an increasing habit of late. Why things were suddenly so much more amusing than before was a mystery to her. A tiny hop brought her heels to the floor. And she walked past him, her hands skimming over the back of her thighs, smoothing her skirt. Up the stairs, in the car, and across town with hardly a word. They were getting good at that – the silences and the wordless conversations. But now, as they waited for their lunch appointment, she needed something to keep her from the word vomit that led so many meetings into personal calamity. And she couldn't very well ask him out loud in the restaurant. Typing was her go to.

FS: Fine? You don't actually know what that word means, do you?

She could practically hear his jaw tick beside her. She didn't need to hear his voice to comprehend his tone.

OQ: Felicity. It's nothing.

And she delighted that he couldn't use that voice against her now. This was her domain.

FS: And did this nothing happen despite Roy or because of Roy?

His responses were decidedly less rapid than hers. Those fingers seemed downright clumsy now.

OQ: What's the difference?

FS: Who gets yelled at.

That had Oliver stifling a chuckle beside her. She wanted to laugh too. She wanted to join this Oliver. He was quicker to smile or laugh. Reservations that kept him shielded in the past were seemingly forgotten. He filled spaces differently now. There were no board meetings or financier parties where his name alone made rooms sway but there was a sort of shine that radiated off of him. Felicity had caught glimpses of it before and was sure it was simply her own silly infatuation. But it was undeniable now, in meetings with lawyers, grabbing lunch at BBB, just walking down the street. Truly, she couldn't bring herself to enjoy it. Not with her head still so full of other images.

Barely two months had passed. The whirlwind of those two or three days was vividly etched into her mind. How broken and lost Oliver looked after his mother was killed and he was ready to give up. The pain that flashed across his face was the first thing she had seen upon opening her eyes and finding herself in his arms after their van flipped. But it was nothing compared to the guilt that covered his features first in the clock tower, then QC, and finally the mansion. And far before any of that, images of him bleeding under her hands, the sickening feel of it, the sound of bones breaking over the comms, at some point being able to distinguish a punch from a kick and what body part was hit – all the way back to the first time his heart stopped her very first night in the Foundry. How different her life could have been.

She didn't think Oliver had forgotten any of this either, but as well as things seemed now she couldn't pretend that every terrible thing they had witnessed together had been the product of Slade Wilson. Even if it sometime felt that way. There were plenty of other ways for Oliver to get hurt and he undoubtedly would. And she wouldn't allow herself to grow accustom to that.

OQ: Hey . . .

Her phone vibrated lightly against her palm. She had paused in her own thoughts and he had seen who knows what dark shadows sweep behind her eyes.

OQ: Hey. Don't do that. Don't disappear on me. Roy and I got carried away. It was stupid. And it was my fault. And I will be fine.

Had it been that bad? Had she disappeared? Did he and Roy have to be stupid boys all the time?

OQ: Please yell at me.

Felicity didn't particularly feel like indulging him at this point.

FS: I know it seems like things are different now because we're not running for our lives every second but I need – You still need to be careful.

OQ: Do you know that guy or something?

"Don't change the subject Oliver." She abandoned the texting scheme, surprised to find she was already angled toward Oliver. And he, her. Their knees were practically touching.

"I'm serious. That guy. You haven't noticed?" To a casual observer it appeared as though Oliver was looking at her but his eyes didn't meet hers. She'd seen him do it many times. He was looking past her toward a corner booth perhaps. And, for her, there was no missing the fingers of his right hand beginning his tell-tale gesture.

She didn't turn to look behind. Instead, Felicity held her phone up in front of her face pretending to check her make-up while actually using the camera function. Then she tried to examine the picture. No one stood out. "Where?"

"My ten o'clock. He's been staring at you since we came in. You don't know him?" Oliver's leg had started twitching now. He gripped the water glass in front of him, brought it to his lips and took a long sip setting it back down with a little too much force for her liking.

"Oliver-" she started to reach across the table toward him. He wasn't even pretending to look at her now. His eyes were growing darker, his gaze fixed. Someone was getting the Arrow-stare. This was getting oddly out of hand for lunch time.

"This is getting ridiculous. I'm going over there," Oliver stood up quickly, his hand suddenly out of Felicity's reach.

She jumped up in front of him, her heart pounding, her imagination spitting out disastrous scenes faster than she could belay them. They were in a fairly crowded, well respected restaurant in the middle of the afternoon. She couldn't fathom what Oliver was thinking. Her voice came out in a very harsh whisper. "What guy? And, no you're not!"

Felicity grabbed a fistful of his jacket. If he was determined to stalk across the room, she wouldn't make it easy. With her help, he'd make one hell of a spectacle. She didn't think he'd risk it. She was contemplating playing really dirty and latching onto that wounded shoulder when a tall dark form loomed up on the opposite side of the table. A glint of white, followed by a low rumble – Diggle was laughing at them.

The three of them exchanged looks; Felicity was turning quickly crimson while the red slowly retreated down Oliver's neck. Digg clearly enjoyed his afternoon's entertainment. He gave a nod toward the door. "He's here."

Felicity turned to search the vicinity of the door but couldn't see anything beyond a large Diggle-esque guy in a dark suit and shades. As he got closer, Felicity was able to see around him and happily found a familiar face. She almost stepped in front of Oliver to reach him first, but held herself aloft clasping her hands behind her back, momentarily unable to control the grin that spread across her face.

"Walter." Oliver stepped easily into the older man's embrace.

"Oliver, it's good to see you son." Walter was warm and genuine. He didn't hesitate turning from Oliver to place a kiss on Felicity's cheek.

"Mr. Steele – no! Mr. Mayor!" Felicity's hand flew to her mouth. She laughed at her own guffaw for once. And Walter took both her hands in his.

"It's still Walter to you, my dear." Walter's smile never faded as he made his way around the table to Digg giving him a hearty two handed shake. "Mr. Diggle, I'm very glad you could join us."

Now, Felicity saw the second bodyguard bringing up the rear, another imposing looking lug. She didn't miss both Oliver and John sizing them up with unimpressed glances before Walter gave them a nod and they took up stations some distance away. "Shall we?" he said with a gesture to the table and they followed his lead, taking up their seats again but not before Oliver's eyes scanned the room, pausing darkly on the back table reminding Felicity why they had been standing in the first place. But the booth was empty now.

The restaurant was an old favorite of Walter's. It wasn't new. It wasn't in a very posh part of town. The décor was dark wood, dark leather and stained glass. The main attraction was the scotch and the familiarity. And it was a brief reprieve from his new position – Interim Mayor of Starling City. He was successful, incredibly well respected, and an obvious successor to Moira Queen, his work with her campaign widely known. He'd brought both Queen Consolidated and Starling National Bank back from the brink and it was believed he could do the same for the city. He was more than reluctant to take up the mantle. But Walter Steele had never stopped being in love with Moira even when he couldn't quite forgive her. In the end, Felicity knew it was a conversation with Oliver that made the final decision. Walter couldn't bring himself to do anything that might hurt the only family he had, the children he thought of as his own.

They settled in and ordered before Walter brought up the business at hand. "My apologies, this is a bit unconventional, talking to you all at once, but we are old friends. And my time has become something of a commodity." He couldn't have been more pleasant or more welcome an addition to their day. It hadn't even occurred to Felicity until now that it was odd that Digg was sitting with them when, as far as Walter knew, he didn't technically work for Oliver anymore. Felicity was just so use to him being beside them no matter the circumstances. She hadn't let herself yet think about what they would do now with QC out of their reach for the immediate future leaving them all unemployed. But Walter's call had given her hope that her old boss had something up his finely tailored sleeve. She wasn't disappointed.

"I have something of a proposition for each of you which I hope you will take in the spirit which it's offered," Walter began. "Now that things have settled down a bit, I find I have some liberty with my staffing." He turned first to Digg and Felicity thought he might have been a little surprised by it.

"Mr. Diggle, you can see my advisors won't let me go without a security detail. And I know from personal experience that you could do much better in the private sector, but I would feel far more secure with someone I know and trust in the ranks. Leading the ranks, actually, if you're amenable?"

In fact, Digg was fairly surprised by the offer. It was hard to catch him off guard but he looked back at Walter with slightly widened eyes, an open mouth, and no reply at first. "That's quite the bid, sir."

The whole table seemed to sense Diggle's hesitation which caused puzzlement in Felicity and a growing curiosity in Oliver.

Walter was the one to speak, however. "But you're not inclined to accept?"

Digg chuckled at himself before he spoke. "My inclination doesn't always win, sir." Walter laughed at that too leaving Felicity and Oliver out of their joke. The sly grin on Oliver's face a second later told Felicity he had caught on. Something about the women in their lives, Felicity realized with a huff. John had never come back to the subject of him and Lyla. The possibilities ran circles in her brain daily.

"I perfectly understand you, Mr. Diggle." She barely heard Walter's agreement. Lunch had arrived. "Perhaps you could make an answer by the end of the week? I hope you won't play so hard to get Ms. Smoak."

Of course, Walter shifted to her just as she shoveled too much lettuce in her mouth and her startled reaction left balsamic vinegar running down the wrong pipe with a sting. She coughed ungracefully and before the fit continued, Oliver's hand was resting softly on her back and was just as quickly gone when she seemed alright. She barely missed a beat though in her reply. "I don't think I'd make much of a bag man, sir."

Water nearly sprayed from Digg's lips at that, he and Walter making quite the laughing pair. She didn't hear Oliver join in and cast her eyes over her shoulder at him. He was staring back. His blue eyes narrowed just noticeably and one corner of his mouth threatened to break open in a cockeyed smile. She didn't want to look away and she saw rather than heard him sigh. Disbelief. But of what?

She was brought to by Walter addressing her once again. "No. Nor do I, my dear. But there is a great deal of computer work to be done. Apparently, the city system was terribly compromised last year. Full of holes. I can think of no one better to patch them up. It wouldn't be a permanent position I'm afraid-"

"No Walter, that's perfect. I'm your girl. For IT. Your IT girl," now she shoved a fork full in her mouth as a sort of mute.

When they were almost finished eating, she excused herself to visit the ladies' room. She was staring aimlessly into the mirror when her phone buzzed through the side pocket of her bag.

OQ: Walter's wrong. You are very intimidating.

The blonde reflection stared back at her smiling, unwilling to break contact. Stop it! She admonished herself but it only made her smile more defiant. So she ended up walking back to table with half a goofy grin still in place. Her gaze fell on the reason but his face was locked back into its usual serious resolve.

"Walter, I don't even have the qualifications. And I doubt Oliver Queen, Deputy Mayor would instill confidence in the city. No. I need to make my own way this time."

"Very well. Not deputy then. Something else. You said yourself, QC is likely untouchable for months," Walter wasn't giving up easily and Felicity wondered as she took her seat, if this argument had been going since she left.

Oliver only shook his head. It had been one meeting after another of dead ends. "The lawyers can't even figure out who legally owns it. Half the board's fled. And the building's condemned. Isabel left one hell of a mess." It was certainly an understatement. "We'll get it back."

He said it like it was pure fact. Diggle was staring at her across the table and she knew she must be blushing. But it was with pride. This was the Oliver they had been missing, the almost too confident Oliver, the one that charmed the pants off people, the one that made her forget to breath, the one that filled her stomach with nauseating butterflies and made her head foggy.

"About the other matter-" Walter was addressing only Oliver now.

Diggle was making a quiet exit. She was thinking maybe she should do the same. But then, he was the Oliver with his hand on her bare knee, inviting her to stay. His posture became a little tense again.

Walter was taking an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "The deed to Verdant," he said handing it across the table. "In Thea's name."

"Thank you, Walter." Oliver reached to take the paper and Felicity couldn't help her hand from resting over his under the table. "You haven't heard from her?"

"I'm sorry, Oliver."

Oliver waved off the unneeded apology. Felicity watched a sad look pass between the two men and they were quiet for a moment. Oliver turned his palm up to meet hers and he was standing, pulling her up with him. "Thank you, Walter."

He'd come around the table to stand beside them. "I wish you would let me do more Oliver." Walter bent to kiss her cheek again and then shake Oliver's hand. They all started for the door together, Walter's guards falling in line with them.

FS: corporate experience, 3+ languages, self-motivated, civic minded, loyal, determined, great smile . . .

"What's this?" Oliver whispered as they snaked their way to the exit looking down at an expansive list.

"Qualifications." Felicity could see Digg waiting to open the door for them, a gust a wind blowing her hair across her face and neck when he did.

Oliver stopped. Walter came to a halt next to him. Digg let the restaurant door close and she could see Oliver and Walter in an exchange through the glass, each looking first serious but then smiling, though she couldn't hear what they said. She thought there was a faint pink creeping into Oliver's cheeks. When she blinked it was gone.

"Walter?" God this is going to sound stupid, Oliver thought looking down at the polished floor. But he couldn't get it out of his head. "When you were – did you hear music? When my mother walked into a room or the light hit her just right?"

When he looked up, Walter was smiling, his eye fixed on something in the distance – memory – before he looked back at Oliver. "Ella Fitzgerald." He paused a moment and smiled again. "What do you hear Oliver?"

"Billy Joel."