A/N: I don't own Arrow or its characters.

xxx

In the morning Oliver finds Felicity sitting at his kitchen counter, dressed in the same outfit as last night. Her eyes are rimmed with red and she looks like she didn't sleep at all. Her arms are folded on the counter and her head is lying on them with the sweatshirt hood pulled over her hair.

"Morning," he says quietly, remembering the way
she jumped when he touched her before. "Want some breakfast?"

She doesn't say anything but she lifts her head up a little to watch him open the fridge, assessing the contents.

"Do you want water?" he tries again. "Juice? Coffee?"

She perks up a little at the word coffee.

"I'm going to make a pot, would you like some?"

Felicity's hands knot together as she lifts her head. "Yes, please," she whispers.

"She speaks! Coffee coming right up."

Oliver pulls a bag of ground beans out of the fridge and scoops some into the coffeemaker, filling it with water and turning the machine on. It gurgles reassuringly and Oliver turned back to the fridge.

"What do you like to eat?" he asks Felicity. "Bacon? Pancakes? Oatmeal?"

She shakes her head, staring down at her fingernails.

"Okay," Oliver says cheerfully, like they're having a two-way conversation. "I'm going to make eggs then. I'm really good at making eggs. My housekeeper Raisa taught me. You know what the trick is?"

He turns back to Felicity and to his surprise she's staring at him with laser-like focus, looking as if she's hanging on his every word.

"Butter," Oliver says seriously. "Lots of butter."

The coffeemaker beeps and Oliver pours two mugs, sliding one down the counter to her. "Cream? Sugar?"

Felicity nods so he gets out both and places them next her mug. She dumps a disgusting amount of creamer in and then four sugar packets, making him gag.

He returns his focus to the eggs, melting butter in the pan and whisking the eggs in a bowl before pouring them in. He cooks them on low heat, scraping the spatula around the pan while Felicity quietly drinks her heart attack in a mug.

When the eggs are finished he piles them on a plate and grabs two forks, just in case, and crosses the kitchen to where Felicity sits, lowering himself onto the stool next to her.

Like he expected she doesn't respond. Oliver sighs and begins to eat, mulling over the situation as he chews.

Okay. What does he know?

Felicity is a friend of Sara's.

She's in some kind of trouble.

She may be mute or otherwise mentally impaired.

She doesn't seem to have the human instinct to eat or sleep or engage in friendly conversation.

And then, to his absolute surprise, he feels cool fingertips on his forehead smoothing out the wrinkles he's making from all that thinking. He turns in shock and Felicity drops her hand down to her lap.

"What?" he asks. "What's wrong?"

She shakes her head quickly, as if to say, never mind.

"Felicity," he says gently. "This would be a lot easier if you'd talk to me."

She blinks at him, her blue eyes glassy. "Sorry," she whispers.

He reaches out to pat her hand but stops when she freezes, like she's bracing herself for an attack.

"It's okay," he tells her. "You'll talk when you're ready, yeah?"

No response.

"You sure you're not hungry?"

Felicity shakes her head emphatically.

"Okay," he says, putting his plate in the sink. "So what do you want to do?"

Felicity shrugs. He checks his watch. Eleven am. Great. He's made it through half an hour.

Babysitting is going to be so much harder than he thought.

xxx

By two pm he's going crazy. After breakfast Felicity made her way to the couch with a tablet in her hand. She hasn't looked up from it since she sat down. The tv is on, but it's the middle of the afternoon so there's nothing good to watch.

The fifth of whiskey on the side table is calling his name, but Oliver valiantly ignores it. He has a feeling Sara will kill him if he gets drunk on the job.

Felicity gets up and wanders out of the room, ostensibly to go to the bathroom, so Oliver pulls out his phone and dials Sara.

"What," she says in lieu of a greeting. "Everything going okay?"

"I don't think this is working."

"It hasn't even been one day, come on."

"She doesn't talk."

"She talks."

"Not to me. I've met two year olds with bigger vocabularies than her."

"You're being a jerk, Ollie."

"She won't eat anything."

"She'll eat when she's hungry."

"I think she's on a hunger strike."

"I don't have time for this," Sara snaps. "It sounds like she's fine."

"I don't agree with your definition of fine."

"God Ollie, just deal with it. I'll talk to you later."

Sara hangs up on him.

Oliver stares at his phone in disbelief. There's a sound in the doorway, and he looks up to see Felicity hovering at the edge of the room holding a glass of water.

"Hey," he says uncomfortably, unsure of how much she overheard.

"One-sixty," Felicity says, sitting back on the couch and picking up her tablet.

"Excuse me?"

"My IQ. It's one-sixty."

"So...?"

"So my vocabulary is much more expansive than a toddler's."

He stares at her in amazement (she speaks again! In an actual sentence!), but Felicity is already back to ignoring him.

Screw it. He gets up and pours himself a whiskey.

xxx

If Felicity disapproves of the two drinks he has in the middle of the afternoon Oliver doesn't know, because she's still not talking to him.

He's restless, switching between baseball and hockey on tv. His fingers twitch and rub together, a tic he's picked up since the island.

Like he still has an arrow in his hand.

When his phone rings and he sees Thea's face flash on the screen Oliver's actually relieved, just so he can talk to someone who will talk back.

"Hey Thea."

"Where are you?"

"..."

"Ollie, where the fuck are you?"

"At home," 'he says slowly.

"It's six o'clock!"

"So?"

"It's Sunday!"

"Shit!" he exclaims, running to his bedroom and putting Thea on speakerphone.

"You forget?"

"I'm having a weird day, okay? I got distracted." Oliver shucks his sweats and pulls on nice slacks and a grey cashmere crew neck.

"Well Mom's freaking out."

"Tell her twenty minutes."

"There's no way you'll get here in twenty minutes, you're all the way across town."

"Goddammit Thea, just tell her I'm on my way!"

He hangs up in annoyance and goes back to the living room. Felicity is sitting with her legs crossed under her, her tablet clutched to her chest.

"Hey," he says, coming around the couch to crouch in front of her. "I need you to come with me somewhere."

"Where," she whispers, staring at the floor.

"My mother's."

Felicity flinches. "I don't want to do that."

Oliver frowns slightly. "Why not?"

Felicity presses her lips together tightly.

"Hey," Oliver says softly. "Talk to me, what's going on? Why don't you want to go?"

Felicity deliberately looks down, tracing the edges of her tablet with a fingertip. "I don't think I'm very good company right now."

"Look, all you have to do is sit in a chair and eat. I'll tell them you speak Finnish or something, you won't even have to talk."

"I don't know," she hedges quietly. "Why can't we stay here?"

"Because it's Sunday. Every Sunday night I go to my mom's and have dinner with her and my sister. Today's Sunday so I have to go, and Sara said I can't leave you here alone, so you have to come too."

Felicity bites her lip. "Okay."

He looks her up and down, wincing at her leggings. "Do you have any other clothes?"

Felicity nods silently and hops off the couch. Oliver follows her to the guest room and watches as she picks up her duffle and dumps the contents out on the bed.

She sits expectantly on the bed and looks at him. "I don't know how a billionaire dresses for dinner."

The things in her bag look like they were packed haphazardly, like things were grabbed at random. Nothing matches. There's a pile of thongs, a few pairs of sweatpants, a handful of simple v-neck tee shirts in different colors.

He digs through a few plain camisoles and a soft ivory knit sweater and finds a pair of dark rinse skinny jeans. Oliver plucks at a scrap of white lace next to them that turns out to be a sleeveless blouse.

"What about this?" he asks, handing her the top and the pair of jeans.

Felicity nods mutely.

"Okay," he says. "I'll let you get changed."

Felicity shifts her feet, clutching the bundle of clothing. "Are we late?"

"What?"

"You were yelling on the phone."

He smiles wryly. Considering the deaf/mute impression she does sometimes she's actually pretty perceptive. "Don't worry about it. Take your time."

When Felicity comes into the living room fifteen minutes later she looks like a completely different person. Her hair is brushed back in a neat ponytail and the dark circles under her eyes are covered by concealer. Her lips are painted bubble gum pink.

The top is delicate and fits her nicely, highlighting the curve of her waist. Her jeans are snug and show off a toned ass and slim, muscular legs.

Holy shit. Felicity is hot.

She stands in front of him, that lip bite suddenly looking less than innocent.

"Do I look okay," she says quietly, staring down at her black ballet flats with fucking panda bears on them, and just like that she goes back to being the scared little girl Sara dropped off last night.

"You look really nice," he says gently.

She lifts her head and gives him a tremulous look that could be a smile if he squints really, really hard.

"Ready to go?" he asks brightly, picking up his keys from the end table.

Felicity nods hesitantly.

"You okay?"

Felicity toys with the hem of her top. "Are you mad?" she asks quietly.

"What?"

"That you got stuck playing bodyguard."

"Why would I be mad about spending time with a pretty girl?" he says lightly.

Felicity flushes. "But you're putting your entire life on hold for a total stranger."

"Felicity?"

"Yeah?"

Oliver grins. "You're definitely overestimating how much I have on my plate right now.

Xxx

A/N: Next up: Felicity meets the Queens! Please leave a review :)