A Month Later
Ray Mister Fucking Perfect Palmer. That was the way Oliver referred to Felicity's boss in his head most of the time. Rationally, he knew that Ray was not a terrible person. To the contrary, he believed the man to be a nice person. Too nice. Ray was a grown up, self-made, billionaire Boy Scout nerd and his goodness and "gee whiz" earnestness just about drove Oliver out of his mind.
Of course, he would have had zero problem with Palmer if he hadn't swooped in on his magic helicopter or rocket ship or whatever and usurped Queen Consolidate just before stealing Oliver's girl. The latter felt worse, somehow. Yes, Felicity and Oliver were "best friends" now, but that didn't stop him from being in love with her and she would always be his girl. Always. Still, knowing that she was working beside Palmer every day and occasional late nights and some weekends made him wish that he could still put arrows in people with less discretion. He had seen them kiss that one time and it had set him on edge for days. He didn't like how that felt.
Robert Queen's son wasn't a jealous man. Usually he was on the receiving end of somebody else's envy, typically in a form of a jealous boyfriend. But in this case, he hated that Palmer could be kissing Felicity right now. He could. Now, Oliver didn't know for sure if Felicity and Palmer were actually a thing. He never asked, afraid to betray their friend status. He didn't really want to know if some crazy smart, passably good looking rich guy with uncallused hands and a scarless physique was touching her delicate fingers or nuzzling the soft skin behind her earlobe. He really didn't.
Oliver reminded himself that it was probably safer if she was with Palmer. For now. Since he returned from training on the island he had been focused on the challenge at hand (dealing with Ra's) and most of his relationships were rather strained or non-existent. Still, he didn't want to lose connection with Felicity. If nearly being dead taught him anything, it was that she was someone he needed to have in his life and if she wasn't standing next to him, she would turn up in his dreams. So what was the point of cutting himself off?
Felicity noticed that Oliver never came to visit her office. When they met for lunch he would loiter in the downstairs lobby, but never deign to ride the elevator up. That made her a bit sad because she was proud of her space – the bump to VP had bolstered her confidence and she had decorated the much-too-large room with some personal touches that included a photo of her crazy mother, her diploma from MIT and a fern that Oliver had given to her (much like the one she had gifted him for the Arrow Cave, only much larger and with frilly fronds). She wanted him to see that she put it somewhere prominent. Still, she understood how painful it was for him to enter Palmer Technologies. The place was a physical reminder that he had lost his family's legacy, even though he had moved on and was completely focused on being the Arrow and now consumed with thoughts of Ra's Al Ghul.
Oliver's arrival at the building for lunch to discuss the financial challenges of running a hero team on a shoestring budget was impending. They initially planned to hit a new Asian place Oliver had heard about, but an underlying fear of covert peanuts ended up negotiating the meal down to a less ominous Italian restaurant a few blocks away.
Felicity's stomach had been growling for 45 minutes and all she wanted to do was face plant into a dish of gnocchi. And a salad. And bruschetta. There was going to be a feeding frenzy and it wasn't going to be pretty.
When Felicity had viewed her ensemble in the mirror that morning - a new light blue camisole and jacket with a charcoal skirt and black heels - she had to remind herself that she was just meeting Oliver and he was now in the friend zone. While she had approved of the outfit then, now she wanted to chow down and she wished she had worn something roomier instead. Ms. Smoak was just about to Google stylish caftans when Ray entered, looking pensive.
"What's wrong now?" Felicity asked. Ray waited for a beat and then his faced relaxed and he sighed. His energy and mood changed.
"Oh, nothing, really. Just trying to figure out how to turn carbon monoxide into energy. Just a thing that's been rattling around in my head this week."
"Is that all?" Felicity cocked her head and smirked. Ray didn't have small ideas. Only massive, expensive, brain-busting ones. She had never seen anyone who fired on all cylinders all the time like that. It was exciting. And kind of exhausting. She had spent the morning in a requirements review meeting for a new battery design after several days of testing the quantum chip for Ray's suit and nights looking after Team Arrow. Another new idea to consider might just send her blonde head spinning off her shoulders.
"Yeah, well. It's important, don't you think? Imagine what a game changer that would be." He was earnest. His eyes sparkled when he was earnest, she had noticed.
"Most definitely."
"How about we order in sushi and hash out some concepts?" On that, Felicity's phone lit up with the name "Oliver Queen." Ray looked down and swallowed. He knew Oliver Queen was still an important figure in Felicity's life, but he wasn't sure he liked it. Oliver seemed like a decent guy, but he didn't have the best reputation around town. He had, after all, lost his company through mismanagement. Ray had also heard that Queen was a player. Ray's feelings for his coworker were growing and he thought it might be leading to something. But they weren't dating exclusively, so her personal life wasn't his business.
"Sorry. I have plans," she grimaced. "You know, I have to take this," Felicity continued with an apologetic tone as she rose from her chair, phone in hand. She turned away to answer it privately.
"Hi," she said quietly as she moved toward her coat rack. "Great. I'm coming. With you. Down. I mean, I'm using the elevator to descend to the lobby to meet you. Stop snickering. I can hear you." Ray watched her stammer as she snagged her purse and coat. Felicity disconnected the call.
"Your idea sounds intriguing, Ray. Can we talk about it later? I have some time after 4." With that, Felicity rushed out.
When Felicity emerged from the lobby elevator, Oliver made a conscious effort not to cheer. It was hard. She shimmered in his eyes and he was a little overwhelmed. How could this woman unhinge him like this? God. She gave him a light hug and they proceeded toward Abruzzi on Water Street. He observed her escalating pace and by the time they reached the restaurant Felicity was nearly sprinting in her high heels. He found this display of unabashed hunger comical.
Oliver was grateful that the restaurant was quiet and they were seated at an oval booth that afforded him an opportunity to sit next to Felicity rather than across from her. He noticed her hair smelled of vanilla and coconut today and it was intoxicating. She studied the menu for a whole fifteen seconds before waving at the waiter to approach.
"You know what you want, Oliver?" she asked, eyeing the drink list.
"Yes, Felicity." He was staring at her when he said the words, but her attention was elsewhere.
They ordered, with Oliver requesting a basket of bread to keep his friend from gnawing on the napkins. A basket appeared quickly along with two glasses of red wine. Felicity pounced.
"Aren't you having some?" she asked, buttering a roll with gusto.
"I'm kind of afraid to reach in there."
"Don't worry. I don't bite. Actually, I'm more of a nibbler. That's not really biting, right? I mean, that doesn't leave a lasting mark. Kind of like a hickey, you know." She knew she was digging in deep on this one and stammered to try to escape her own frothing tongue.
Oliver decided to throw her a lifeline. "Please pass the butter, Felicity." She gratefully pushed the dish toward him.
Silence fell over them. Oliver prepared his thoughts. Lately, he had begun spending a little extra time each morning on the Internet reading about technology news so that he could engage her on her own territory. He didn't want Felicity to have to explain her activities and accomplishments in the lair like he was a schoolboy anymore. Learning about tech issues seemed like a fair balance, since she had done so much to understand topics like poisons and weaponry. At first, the tech stories read like gibberish, but once Oliver approached it like learning a new language – similar to Russian or Chinese – he became more comfortable and it was moderately interesting.
"So, Felicity. Do you think there will ever be a hyperloop that connects Starling City and Boston or Las Vegas?" Felicity looked at him quizzically.
"I don't know, Oliver. Maybe. I kind of hope not." He looked at her curiously. Felicity took a breath. "I can't imagine what kind of hell my life would be if my mother was suddenly 30 minutes away." She made him smile.
"I understand. That could make things…complicated."
"You have no idea." She took a slug of her chianti.
"But hyperloops are cool, right. It's a good idea?" he asked, trying to resurrect the tech discussion.
"Oliver, do you mind if we talk about something else? I spend all day talking about artificial intelligence and advanced robotics, front and center on every story from the latest issue of Scientific American. It gets a little tedious. I would rather talk about other things for a while. Does that make sense? Do you mind?" She looked worried to disappoint him and was glad to see him break into a smile. He shook his head.
"Not at all." Oliver noticed how close he was sitting to the object of his affection and he wasn't complaining. If he extended his neck a couple of inches to his left, he had a nice view of Felicity's modest cleavage. He noted to himself that this would probably be the highlight of his day.
"We're supposed to be talking about upgrading the systems in the lair and how we're going to pay for it," he stated matter-of-factly.
"Ugh. Right. But it's not as much about upgrades as it is redundancy. We don't have much in place if the primary systems get knocked down."
"How much, do you think?"
"I could maybe borrow a few things from the office. Maybe divert a little cash from a slushy slush fund of Malcolm Merlyn's I managed to crack recently." This raised Oliver's eyebrow. He smirked with admiration. "What's left, she continued, "will cost about 45 thousand."
Oliver whistled. "When I think about all the money I wasted when I was younger..." Felicity looked at him with sympathy. He wanted to reach out and reassure him at this moment. Touch his arm, perhaps, but she held back.
"That's okay. I'll get it. There are still some minor assets I haven't liquidated yet. Some property on the bay my Dad used to use for fishing. I can probably sell it."
"You could have a big bake sale!" Oliver knew Felicity was trying to lighten the mood, but the comment hung in the air like a ridiculous balloon. He decided to change the subject.
"That's a new outfit, isn't it? Nice."
"Yes, Oliver. It is. Thank you. I didn't expect you to notice things like that." Suddenly, Oliver perked up, excited. He had been waiting for a segue way. He dug reached over to his jacket and pulled a small box from the pocket, wrapped in a bit of newspaper and tied with a little white ribbon. .
"Here. This kind of goes with what you're wearing." He bit his lip nervously and placed the box on the table in front of her. Felicity was completely surprised.
"You bought me a present?"
"No. I kind of…made it."
"Oliver, you didn't have to do this." She stared at the box with great curiosity.
"I know. But I wanted to. Friends can do presents from time to time, right?"
"Well, sure. Yes. Friends can do presents. Absolutely." She picked up the box and examined it. "Is there an occasion?"
Oliver's blue eyes flashed into hers.
"Not officially." His tone lowered. The effect, which assured the nearby waiter could not eavesdrop, made Felicity's face warm. She started to untie the ribbon.
"I was thinking about…how brave you are. Most people wouldn't know that about you. It's not like you can talk about the things we do…at night…with the rest of the world."
Felicity peeled off the paper. Inside was a plain white box. She lifted the lid. Something glittered inside. She picked up a simple gold chain, long and thin. As she raised it, she glimpsed a flat, oblong piece of golden metal dangling on it. Felicity smiled as she admired it closely in her hand.
"You made this? It's so pretty."
"Yes." He leaned in to gauge her reaction. Felicity looked at him and cocked her head, an unasked question on her lips. He grinned a moment and then got serious again.
"I don't think you knew how much it meant to Sara when you took that bullet for her." Felicity's face changed, remembering Sara. Oliver was immediately worried that this happy moment was turning dark. Oliver reached up to touch her shoulder.
"It meant a lot to her that you would risk yourself for her. Being with the League all that time, everything she had been through…she wasn't used to having other people look out for her."
"I miss her."
"I know. Me too." They stared into each other's eyes for a moment until Felicity broke away and turned her gaze to the necklace again.
"So…"
"So…that's the bullet," he said with a grin. Felicity's mouth opened.
"No way! The actual bullet?"
"Well, yeah." He took it from her fingers and proceeded to undo the clasp. She shifted, flipped her hair to the opposite side and offered her lovely neck. He was grateful she couldn't see the look on his face. She felt his warm breath close to her and goosebumps were rising on her arms.
"It was a through and through, but I retrieved it. Didn't want any trace found at the scene. I cleaned off the blood, of course." He leaned forward and placed the necklace in front of her, then secured the clasp. He carefully let it drop to the back of her neck and touched the spot, assuring it was closed. "I got to thinking that you can't show everybody your scar, your badge of honor. So, I made this to remind you of what you did. What it meant. How brave I think you are. When you wear it, it will be like our secret. A friend secret."
Felicity pulled the necklace taut and admired it. Her face beamed. She pivoted around in the booth and enveloped Oliver in an awkward, but welcome hug.
"Thank you," she whispered in his ear. The thrill of being close to her again, having her face so close and warmth of her words, made his head spin a little.
Felicity worried momentarily that the hug lasted a scooch too long for a friendly embrace. But being back in his arms was a challenging sensory experience to end. Still, she finally pulled away, averting her eyes from his as nonchalantly as possible.
"It's really pretty," She admired it, as it hung there. Oliver noted that he had estimated the length of the chain just right. The heart dangled low, just above the shadow of her cleavage. He swallowed and smiled.
"I'm glad you like it."
"So, add jewelry designer to your long list of hyphenates?"
He responded with a proud smile. There was a lull again and he stared at her.
"Did it the wound heal alright?" he asked quietly.
"I think so." Suddenly, Felicity was peeling off her jacket and displaying her shoulder blade, covered only by the tiny strap of her silky camisole. There was a faint impression on her white skin. He took the opportunity that was offered to him and reverentially touched the area with his finger. It was just a small dip in the skin now.
"Yes. It looks fine. Nobody would know it was there…except us," he had to control his voice a little now. Even though they were in a public place, touching her like this felt intimate. God, he wanted to kiss that spot. More than anything at that moment, he wanted to flatten his tongue against it and learn the feel and taste of it. He wanted to push the strap of her camisole away and have a full canvas of her lovely white skin to adore with his mouth. She was just inches away.
Then, suddenly, their entrees arrived. Felicity quickly repositioned her jacket and resumed her place next to him while Oliver shifted the wrapping and box out of the way.
Felicity smiled warmly as she devoured her plate of pasta.
"I should have ordered the gnocchi," Oliver announced, staring covetously at her plate.
"Sorry, pal. When it comes to soft pillowy pasta smothered in creamy gorgonzola sauce, I don't share."
"I'll trade you a ravioli," he said, while thinking of other pillows he would prefer.
"So not happening."
"Damn, you're tough."
"I know. I have a scar to prove it. And a necklace." She smiled at him warmly. Oliver basked in it.
The two friends feasted in relative silence, except for when Oliver attempted to steal off her plate. He paid dearly.
"Now you have to get me a cannoli for dessert," she declared.
Oliver laughed and shook his head. "Where do you put all this food? You are a small woman."
Then a presence arrived, looming over their table.
"Hey, there you are!" Oliver didn't have to look up from his plate. He recognized the voice and closed his eyes.
Ray Mister Fucking Perfect Palmer.