(A/N: Is it totally arrogant to say this may be my second-most-favoritest thing I've written for Arrow? Because it SO is my almost-favorite. The only thing that tops it in my mind is "Spelling," the auto-correct fail.)
Interference (Twinkie)
Filling out the profile had been a whim. A slightly drunken whim after some prodding from Tommy. Oliver and Laurel had broken up for the hundredth time, and Tommy convinced him that he needed to widen the dating pool. It was probably a good idea, since he kept running into girls he'd already had a thing with. He couldn't always remember their names, which made for some very awkward conversations.
Then the Queen's Gambit went down, and Oliver spent five years thinking about everything but his stupid online dating profile. He'd been back for a while, and after the disaster that was his brief relationship with Helena, Thea approached him one day with her hands behind her back and a smirk on her face.
"I have a surprise for you," she said, wiggling her eyebrows.
"Speedy, that is the scariest thing you've ever said to me." Oliver closed the book that contained the list and casually slid it into the top desk drawer. He stood up. "What's the surprise?"
"Well, it involves you having an open mind and no plans for Friday night. Here." She handed him her phone.
He looked down. The display showed a picture. A picture of a girl. She had on glasses and wore her blonde hair pulled back. The photo looked as if it was taken in an office. He could see gray cubicle walls in the background.
"Cute," said Oliver, giving back the phone. "So?"
"So she's your date Friday night."
"Excuse me?" Oliver stepped out from behind the desk. "Since when did my seventeen-year-old sister take charge of my dating life?"
"Oh, take your pick," said Thea, smoothing down her school uniform skirt. It was shorter than Oliver remembered. "Since you screwed it up royally by dating sisters. Since you disappeared for five years and came back all different and totally uninterested in being happy with someone. Since you used your birthday as the password for your online dating profile."
"I don't have an online dat—"
The conversation with Tommy came back to him. The way his heart hurt a little, even though he'd been the one to break it off with Laurel this time. The taste of whisky on his breath. Sloppily filling out the questionnaire, hardly paying attention to his answers. He'd only done it to keep Tommy from doing it for him.
"Damn," he muttered. "Show me," he said to Thea. "I don't remember what I wrote."
"Oh, forget what you wrote," she replied. "You gave one-word answers and tried to be cute, but it just came off kind of smarmy. What I wrote is much better."
Oliver grabbed for the phone, but she backed away. "Thea. Give it here."
"No, I don't trust you with it," she said, and dropped the phone down the front of her shirt. It stopped about halfway down, an absurd rectangle protruding from the school-issued button-down. "You'd just change it, or try to cancel the date or something."
"I won't go out with someone I've never even met."
She threw back her head and laughed. "Oh my God! Do you hear yourself? How many times have you banged chicks whose names you didn't even know?"
He winced. Ollie was like that. He wasn't Ollie anymore, hadn't been for a long time, and yet . . . he still carried the weight of all the dumb things Ollie had done.
"Okay, that was a little harsh," said Thea.
"But true," Oliver pointed out. "I was an ass."
"Totally, but I loved you anyway. Still do."
She wrapped her arms around him in an impromptu hug. He could feel the phone pressing into his chest, but there was no way he could get it from her until she was ready to let it go.
"Can I at least see what you wrote?" he asked. "I promise I won't make a grab for it."
"Fine." Thea let go of him and plucked the phone out of her shirt. She tapped and swiped at the screen, then held the phone toward him, keeping a firm grip on it.
"Well, the picture is okay. I think I remember you taking that a couple weeks ago."
They'd been in the kitchen one morning, chatting with Raisa while she cooked breakfast. Thea had held up her phone and told him to smile. Then they'd had an argument about whether or not smiling meant one's teeth had to be visible. He scrolled past the photo and skimmed the profile information.
The first thing people notice about me: My chiseled jaw and winning smile.
The one thing I am passionate about: Starting my own business, independent from my family.
The three things I am most thankful for: my mother, my sister, and hot showers.
"Thea!" he scolded.
"What? I did a lot of research before I filled this out," she said, casually moving the phone out of his reach again. "A touch of wit and humor makes your profile stand out from the rest. I had to guess on a few of the answers, but you are my brother. I know you pretty well."
She read Oliver a few more of the responses she had written. She had some surprising insight into the kind of man he was now, his secrets aside. Even the way she worded things sounded like him, back when he was still hopeful, untouched by the worst life has to offer.
"You put this on the internet for the world to see?" he asked. "Isn't it going to make headlines? 'Oliver Queen Strikes Out, Turns to Internet in His Search for Love.'"
"First names only," Thea said. "And it's not the whole world—just subscribers of ."
Oliver groaned.
"If it gets bad press, I'll take it down," she promised. "After the date."
"It doesn't matter, then, because Tommy and I have plans Friday night," Oliver said, crossing his arms.
"Not anymore. I called Tommy as soon as I set up the date. I'm sure he'll show up any minute to give you crap about it."
Right on cue, the door flung wide open and Tommy stepped into the room.
"That's right," he said. "I come with crap to give."
"Tommy!" Oliver rushed over and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "My best friend Tommy." He squeezed his shoulder, shook him a little. "You can talk Thea out of this online dating nonsense."
"Is it nonsense?" Tommy asked, winking at Thea. "I was leaning toward 'fol-de-rol' myself, but then I realized, a) I have no idea what the hell that means, and b) it's actually a stroke of brilliance."
"Thank you," said Thea, giving him a little curtsey.
Tommy and Oliver began to argue, and then Mom summoned Thea. When she left the room, Oliver glared at Tommy, who was suddenly interested in his phone.
"Did you put her up to this?" he asked his friend.
Tommy laughed. "You're giving me way too much credit. I don't have the attention span for a long con like this. Your sister's the diabolical genius." He held up his phone. "She sent me the link to the girl's profile. She's cute, in, like, a sexy librarian way. And I'm pretty sure you haven't dated a Felicity before—I think I'd remember a name like that. So you won't have the awkward possibility of having a blind date with a girl you already slept with."
Oliver reached for the phone, but Tommy turned to the side and curled his arm around the phone.
"Awww, she's kind of adorable," he said. "Listen to this: 'My friends describe me as talkative, funny, and loyal. The one thing I wish more people would notice about me—that I'm more than a cute little blonde, and I'm more than just an IT girl.' Ooo, maybe she could help you take down your profile. Girl's got skills."
Oliver made a half-hearted grab for the phone. "What else does it say?"
"'The one thing I'm passionate about—knowledge. I always have to know more. I hate mysteries. They need to be solved,'" Tommy read. He then fell silent.
"What does it say?" Oliver asked. "Are you reading it to yourself?"
Tommy looked up. "Oliver, you cannot stand this girl up. Look at her," he said, holding up his phone with her picture on the screen. She wore a pink shirt, and her smile seemed a little sardonic. Oliver kind of liked that.
"It would crush her soul," Tommy went on. "And then she'd sue your family for breach of contract or something."
"I hadn't thought of that," Oliver admitted.
"I'll bet. Look, man, all you need to do is go on one little date. She'll talk your ear off, she'll probably make you laugh one way or another, you'll walk her to her door, and then you never have to see her again."
"You make it sound so simple," Oliver said, looking at her photo.
"It is simple," Tommy insisted. "It's like when your mom tells you to take out so-and-so because her father is such-and-such, the state senator, or judge, or obscure royalty. You're the one who's making it more complicated than it has to be."
"It would be rude to stand her up," Oliver conceded. "That would leave a bad taste in her mouth about the Queens, and even if she didn't sue, she could still go to the media."
"Wine, dine, and ditch, man. That's all you have to do," said Tommy. "And hey, you never know, she could turn out to be, like, The One, or something."
Oliver rolled his eyes.
Felicity had filled out the profile on a whim after a couple glasses of wine. was the dating web site, according to Cynthia a few cubicles down. Cynthia never seemed to work. Instead, she flitted from office to office, dispensing advice, sharing gossip, and flaunting her tight runners' calves enhanced by the four-inch stilettos she habitually wore. Felicity didn't know what the hell she was doing in IT.
Nothing was ever supposed to come of it. Felicity had hacked the site and found the algorithm they used to generate matches. It was b.s. The algorithm looked like something a paste-eating kid would come up with, and it produced such a wide range of "matches" that Felicity didn't see how anybody ever found anyone they could stand for a few minutes, let alone date or even marry.
So she spent the weekend, sans wine, writing her own algorithm. It was easy to hide it in the system, cocooned in the original. And since it was tied only to her profile, she would get results that were actual matches, not just guys she had a thing or two in common with. There was a line of code written into the programming that would send an alert if a profile received no matches, so she widened the parameters just enough to alleviate suspicion.
Felicity was dinking around on her tablet one day at lunch when she received an e-mail from . "YOU HAVE MATCHES!" it proclaimed like a loud, HTML-based yenta. She glanced around, feeling paranoid, but she was alone as usual in her snug corner of the cafeteria, almost hidden from a view by a tall potted plant. She tapped on the link within the message.
The link took her straight to her MyTrueLove profile, and she tapped on the little icon of an envelope with a heart on it. The heart was full when there were matches waiting to be viewed—a broken heart meant no matches. She'd been staring at a broken heart for four days, and it was silly to realize her spirits lifted a little at the sight of the heart made whole.
The web site listed matches in reverse order of compatibility. Felicity guessed it was to generate more web traffic. If you clicked on the best match for you right away, you wouldn't keep returning to the site. It also built anticipation for the best match, and she had to admire the marketing strategy. Too bad their genius didn't extend to their search algorithms.
Her first so-called match, Fabian, looked about fifteen years older than her father would be. She shuddered and went to the next match. Daniel seemed a little more promising, but he was really outdoorsy (she so was not), and if his profile answers were any indication, he had no sense of humor.
"Screw anticipation," she muttered, tapping on the match at the bottom of her list.
"YOUR BEST MATCH!" the web site's text screamed. "NINETY-ONE PERCENT COMPATIBILITY!"
The profile loaded quickly, and when Felicity saw the picture, she spat out the gulp of Dr. Pepper she'd just taken. She grabbed some napkins and wiped off the tablet screen. Yes, that was definitely Oliver Queen's face staring back at her. She recognized him from the media blitz surrounding his miraculous reappearance after being presumed dead for five years. The photo looked candid rather than posed, though, and she found herself wondering who a guy like that would smile for.
But it couldn't be right. There must have been some kind of glitch in the system, because no way would anyone in their right mind ever match up Felicity Smoak, IT girl from Vegas, with Oliver Queen, slick, charming billionaire. And what would he need a dating web site for, anyway? He could have his pick of supermodels, high-society princesses, and Fortune 500 groupies. Surely he didn't need help finding someone.
Felicity broke into MyTrueLove's system again and went line by line through the code for the matching algorithm she'd used. Felicity Smoak didn't make mistakes, not when it came to code, but there was always a chance someone had found out what she'd done and took steps to change it. The code, however, appeared untouched.
Oliver's profile—she shook her head when she realized they were on a first-name basis—was surprisingly deep and thoughtful for the kind of person that popped up in the press in such a negative light most of the time. There was a touch of humor and self-deprecation that brought a smile to her lips, and his answer to what he was looking for was gold:
I'm looking for someone who will accept my flaws without trying to fix me. She'll have to be strong enough to stand up to me when I'm wrong (because I don't always listen the first time), and confident enough to put up with my imperious (thank you, ) younger sister.
A bright green exclamation point icon popped up on the screen. Felicity tapped on it ("YOU HAVE A PERSONAL MESSAGE!"), and a message opened in a smaller window.
91%! Clearly we have to meet. Paravicini's, 7:00 on Friday? 91% is obviously fate, and who are we to deny fate?
"Ooo, Felicity! Is that you're looking at?"
Oh, God. Cynthia was approaching. Felicity tapped in the emergency sequence that closed all current windows on the screen and switched to an innocuous Google search page. It was a failsafe she'd programmed in herself in case anyone caught her reading saucy Tumblr posts about Benedict Cumberbatch. She was totally over that phase, but the shortcut still came in handy.
"I was considering it," Felicity said coolly as the much better dressed woman pulled out the second chair and sat across from her. "But the odds of finding a decent match don't seem very high."
Cynthia rolled her eyes. "It has proven results. Proven." She shoved her hand under Felicity's nose. A chunky gold ring with a bright blue stone covered two of her fingers.
"That's a costume piece, isn't it?" Felicity asked. "I think I saw it in that boutique I was in the other day, Pyramid? And it's on your right hand."
Cynthia huffed. "Yes, but my boyfriend bought it for me. Well, I bought with him in mind. Anyway, that's not the point," she said, waving her hand. Felicity flinched, worried the ring would fly off. "The point is, MyTrueLove works. But if you're too scared to try, well, then, I think I've done all I can for you."
"As a matter of fact, I have a date Friday night," Felicity said. Immediately she wished she could clap a hand over her mouth. What the hell?
"Oh, really? Now that's interesting." Cynthia leaned forward. Felicity would have liked to say that Cynthia's cleavage was wasted on her, but the other woman's phone rang. "Oh, I've got to take this," she said. "It's my boyfriend." She waved her giant ring in Felicity's face once more before getting up from the table and tottering off on her sky-high red heels.
As soon as she was out of sight, Felicity brought up the dating web site on her screen again and typed a reply before she could lose her nerve.
7:00 sounds great! Meet you there? (I prefer to make my own fate.)
Her finger wavered over the Send button, but Cynthia's loud laugh brought her back to herself. She tapped the button and let out the breath she'd been holding. The response was immediate.
I like your style. Looking forward to meeting you, Felicity!
"Oh, no," she muttered. "What have I gotten myself into?"
Two days. Two days to whip herself into a frenzy. Two days to research the restaurant (hacking the Health Department was simultaneously the best and worst decision she'd ever made) and choose what to wear. Two days to waffle about whether or not she should even go.
Thanks to the sick time that she hardly ever used, Felicity got out of work two hours early and went straight home to obsess. After she showered and blow-dried her hair straight, the butterflies in her stomach were so bad that she had to fetch a ginger ale from the kitchen. Sipping at the drink, she stood in front of her closet.
She knew exactly what she was going to wear—she'd been thinking about it all day as she'd run virus scans on the computer of a skeevy guy in Accounting. But Felicity was starting to have second, third, and fourth thoughts.
What if he stood her up? What if it wasn't real? Could someone be playing a prank on her? It wouldn't be the first time. She thought of Cynthia, the person who'd sent her to in the first place, but she wasn't sure the woman had the brains and the technical skills to pull off impersonating a celebrity.
Still in her t-shirt and yoga pants, she plopped down on the floor in front of the closet and pulled her tablet toward her. A few taps of the screen brought up the dating web site, and Felicity breached the system to dig into Oliver's profile.
She discovered that he'd originally created his profile about two months before his family's yacht had gone down in the North China Sea. It had been updated in the last week, but not by him. Felicity used her skills to track down the IP address tied to the update—it seemed Thea Queen had updated her brother's dating profile. The same address had been used to send the message about the date. Was Thea Queen playing a prank on her?
No, that was even more ridiculous than Oliver himself being the culprit. A teen fashionista like Thea Queen wouldn't have anything to do with the daughter of a cocktail waitress, joke or not. So either she was pranking her brother, or she was sincerely trying to get him a date. In the end, the memory of Cynthia's smug face made the decision for Felicity. She would go.
Her determination carried her all the way to the front door of the restaurant, where it faltered. Damn determination. She dithered out on the sidewalk long enough that a busboy poked his head out of the door and said the maitre' d had seen her loitering.
"I-I'm meeting someone," she said. "Just a little nervous. Heh."
The busboy held the door open for her and she had little choice but to go inside. Past the reservation desk, the restaurant was dimly lit. Ambience, she supposed, but it made it hard to find her date.
"This way, miss."
Felicity jumped. A waiter in a bowtie and long black apron had materialized at her side.
"That is, if you are indeed Miss Smoak."
"I am indeed," she replied.
He led her to what had to be the best table in the place. It was a semi-secluded spot next to a koi pond. An actual koi pond with actual koi swimming in it. Well, they could have been koi. Or very big goldfish. The waiter bowed and stepped away, and Felicity found herself standing across from Oliver Queen. He was half out of his chair, but something had stopped him in midair. She glanced over her shoulder, but she saw nothing that could have captured his attention so completely. Unless he had a thing for 70-year-old women in leopard print and dripping with diamonds.
He cleared his throat. "Felicity?"
She could only nod.
"You look amazing."
She'd thought she looked pretty damn hot when she'd left the house, but not make-Oliver-Queen-speechless hot. And not quite amazing, either. She had chosen a dark green dress with a hem that hit an inch above her knees. It had cap sleeves, with green ribbon criss-crossing the cutout on the top of the bodice. Her heels (three inches—screw you, Cynthia) were gold with a nice bow detail on the straps.
He was taking her in from head to toe, and it felt . . . flattering. There was no creep factor involved, and it didn't seem like he was undressing her with his eyes, either. He shook his head a little and rose from the table. He pulled out her chair for her and scooted it in a little as she sat. He looked pretty amazing himself, in a gray-blue suit that brought out his eyes. No tie, and the first button on his shirt was open.
"I'm Oliver."
"I know who you are," she said, spreading her napkin in her lap. "You're Mr. Queen."
"No, Mr. Queen was my father."
"Yes, but he's dead . . . I mean, he drowned. And you didn't, which is why you're here, listening to me babble. Which will end in 3, 2—" She knocked her fork off the table. She moved to pick it up, and then realized she'd be giving him an excellent view down the front of her dress if she bent over.
Oliver reached out and closed his hand over hers. "The waiter will get it," he said.
The same bowtie, apron-wearing waiter appeared, swept up the fork, and replaced it with a new one, seemingly in one graceful motion.
"That guy is wasted in food service," Felicity muttered. "He should be in the ballet."
Oliver gave her hand a squeeze and then let go. "I don't know if you've been here before, but their tilapia scaloppine is excellent."
She laughed, opening her menu. "I went to MIT on a full scholarship. I most definitely have not been here before."
He was quiet long enough that she risked a glance. He was staring at her. She didn't want to meet his gaze but was drawn there anyway, the heat of a blush creeping up her neck.
"What?" she finally asked when she couldn't take the silence anymore. "Do I have lipstick on my teeth?"
He smiled. It reminded her of the expression on his face in his profile photo, only softer somehow. Precious. Oh God, did she really just think that? Oliver Queen, precious?
"No," he said. "Honestly I'm a little intimidated right now. I never finished school."
"Why not?" Felicity asked. "It couldn't have been money. I've seen your house." Her mouth dropped open. "On TV, I mean. I wasn't stalking you. That would be sincerely creepy, and I'm just going to stop speaking."
He tilted his head, and his smile widened. "I had this little problem where I kept getting kicked out."
The waiter returned to take their orders. Flustered, Felicity ordered the first thing she saw. Thank goodness her eyes had lit on the list of entrees, or she could have been stuck with nothing but garlic bread. She took a long swallow of wine, hoping it would settle her nerves. Why was she so nervous? It was Oliver Queen, true, but it was Oliver Queen. Obviously this wasn't going to go anywhere.
"I have a confession to make," Oliver said, leaning forward after the waiter left.
"Here it is," Felicity mumbled.
"What was that?"
"Oh, nothing, sorry. What were you saying?" She leaned forward too, resting her chin on her hand, giving her full attention to what was sure to be a well-crafted it's-not-going-to-work-out speech.
"I have a confession to make," he said again. "I didn't write that dating profile."
"Oh, I know." As soon as it was out of her mouth, she clapped her hand over her lips. She couldn't even think of a good way to back out of that one. She blamed his eyes. Stupid, entrancing Oliver-eyes.
"You do?" He looked confused. "Did Thea tell you?"
"Um, not exactly."
Oliver's eyebrows rose. He was clearly waiting for an explanation.
"I may have done a little nosing around in MyTrueLove's system," she said.
"You hacked a dating web site?"
Felicity shushed him. "Keep your voice down. It's not exactly legal, but I had to check you out . . . Not 'check you out' check you out. I just meant—"
"I know what you meant," he said. "Go on."
"I dug into your profile," Felicity explained. "I found out your profile had been inactive since you first registered, until about a week ago, when your sister updated it and, I assume, set up this date."
"You found out all of that yourself without asking anyone?"
"Oh, sure. It's pretty simple, really, if you know how to read code. Writing my own match algorithm was a little trickier, but—"
Oliver held up his hand. "Wait. Are you telling me you did your own matching? You hunted me down?"
Her eyes widened. "No, no, nothing like that, I promise," she said. "I just tweaked their system so that I'd get actual matches instead of a huge pool of candidates. I don't know how your sister found me if she had anything like the regular results to wade through."
"You hacked the system to make it work better?" he asked.
"Just for me," Felicity said. "It seemed intrusive to set the same algorithm for everyone. Maybe they like a lot of choices."
He laughed, and she wanted nothing more than to hear it again. It was better than his smile . . . Well, maybe not that good, but almost.
"You are remarkable," he said.
"Thank you for remarking on it," she replied, smiling.
The awkwardness seemed to have dissipated by then. Conversation flowed easier now that they had cleared the air about their less-than-conventional meeting. By the time dessert arrived, Oliver had moved his chair around the table so he could sit closer to her, and she felt brave enough to feed him a bite of her panna cotta. A drop of raspberry glace dripped down his chin, and Felicity laughed, wiping it away with her thumb. She was just finishing off her coffee when he sat back in his chair.
"As much as I've enjoyed the evening, I'm afraid I have to be going," he said. "I have an early-morning appointment with my contractor."
She braced herself for the inevitable brush-off.
"But I'd really like to see you again, if that's all right with you."
"Yeah, yeah . . . wait, what?"
He was standing now with his hand outstretched. She took it and he drew her to her feet.
"I'm asking for a second date," Oliver clarified.
"Um, okay. Wow, that's . . . that's unexpected." She looked around for cameras because this was surreal enough to make her wonder if she was unsuspectingly on some reality show.
"Is—is that a yes?" He seemed unsure of himself. Oliver Queen, unsure of himself. Because of her.
"Oh, it's a hell yes," she assured him.
Oliver led her out of the restaurant, where they lingered on the sidewalk. His hand still rested at the small of her back.
"So . . ." she began as he finally dropped his hand and turned to face her.
"So. I'm pretty sure this is where I ask for your number," he said. "Since my sister knows my password."
"Well, yeah, you used your birthday. Classic amateur move."
Oliver raised an eyebrow.
"What? I hacked a private company's web site and changed their trademarked code to work in my favor, and you're getting twitchy because I know your password?" she asked.
That smile again. The butterflies in her stomach were back.
They traded phone numbers, though Felicity determined she would absolutely not call him first. This was Oliver Queen, and she'd be damned if she was going to make the first move.
Somehow in all the maneuvering to get phones out of pockets and purses, her hand ended up in his. She stared down at their intertwined fingers, not sure how it had happened. With his free hand, he tilted up her chin to meet his gaze.
"I had a great time, Felicity," he said. "I'm really looking forward to seeing you again."
"Me too," she breathed. "I mean I'm looking forward to seeing you again, not looking forward to see myself, because I'll be doing that at home as soon as I look in the mirror, and that's just—"
His lips on hers drove every word she'd ever known out of her mind. The kiss was that good. It was sweet, not too deep for a first-date kiss, but there was just something different about it, some kind of electric charge that fizzed from her lips down to her toes and back out her fingertips.
He pulled away just as she ran out of breath. If they were in an anime, he'd totally be making heart-eyes at her right then. What the hell? It was Oliver Queen!
"You have to stop that," he said.
"Stop what?"
"I can tell you're enjoying the moment, and then all of a sudden your face falls like you've convinced yourself Oliver Queen would never be interested in you."
"Well, can you blame me?" Felicity asked.
"Of course not, but you are so very wrong, Felicity Smoak." He was cupping her face with both hands, and it was very hard for her to concentrate on what he was saying. "I wouldn't ask you out again for the hell of it."
She thought Oliver might kiss her again. He leaned in a little, but something in her face seemed to change his mind. Possibly her expression was a little deer-in-the-headlights. Instead he pressed his forehead to hers for a brief moment, squeezed her hand, and whispered goodnight.
Felicity stared after him for a moment as he walked away, then started humming to herself as she headed toward her car. Sneaking a glance back, she saw that he was watching her over his shoulder, smiling that soft smile again that made her legs all jibbly. It was good to be wrong.
Playlist
"If We Ever Meet Again"—Timbaland and Katy Perry
"Hello"—Lionel Richie
"All of Me"—Billie Holiday
"Return to Me"—Dean Martin
"She's Got a Way"—Billy Joel
"Songbird"—Eva Cassidy
"Whisper in Her Ear"—The Milk Carton Kids
"More than Words"—Extreme