Notes: Thanks for the lovely reviews. Sorry for any confusion. I've changed the name of the story. The old one didn't flow very well. I've also updated the first chapter to make it flow a bit better, too.
So this is set just about in August 2006. Just after Felicity's turned seventeen. Ollie's turned 21 a few months earlier.
"Got it," the goth Ollie's got his eyes on exclaims, snapping her laptop shut before securing it back in her shoulder-bag.
"Do you have a plan?" Ollie asks. "A way I can help?"
Goth-girl's tilting her head.
"I was checking you out." Then she chuckles. "And by checking you out, I meant your identity. You really are Oliver Jonas Queen, born May 16, 1985."
Tommy's eyebrows rise and he stands up, glass in hand, rejoining the not-couple at their table.
"And just how did you find that out?" He asks coldly, because Ollie's certainly not going to challenge her.
"There's this miraculous new thing called the Internet," the girl says dryly, rolling her eyes, brushing him off to focus back on Ollie.
"I also checked your trust fund. You really are a billionaire. But, just a quick heads-up, you won't be one for very much longer if you don't diversify at least a little bit."
Tommy blinks, mouth open, but gathers himself quickly.
"You accessed his portfolio? Did you get his bank records too?" He's asking sarcastically, but the girl just smirks at him like the cat who got the canary (and ate it, too).
"Of course. And yours. Had to make sure you both were on the up-and-up."
"That's rich, coming from you," he rebuts, ignoring Ollie's restraining hand on his arm. "And just how did you get access to his bank records?"
"I have magic fingers," she wriggles her fingers demonstratively and against his will, Tommy can feel his eyebrows rise in surprise at the innuendo.
She winces.
"With the computer, I mean," she corrects quickly, avoiding their eyes.
"I believe it's called hacking," Tommy says coldly, trying not to let the way she seems so soft and genuine get to him.
"Hacking is such an ugly word," the girl disputes but when he just looks at her, she subsides, shrugging slightly. "But, hypothetically, if someone did what I described doing, then, yes, it could hypothetically be called hacking."
"You sure you don't want to throw another 'hypothetical' in there? Just to be safe?"
"Hypothetically," the goth-girl drawls out slowly, not once letting her eyes drop off from his. Unwillingly, he can feel his own lips twitch.
"Besides, may I remind you, you're the ones who approached me," she reminds him, eyebrow raised.
"Yes, and maybe that was a mistake," he rebuts easily.
"No, ignore him," Ollie jumps in, clearly panicked, a hand on his chest and using it to push Tommy out of his seat – and the booth. "He was just leaving. It was definitely not a mistake. You could never be a mistake."
Tommy stares at Ollie, shaking his head.
"Look, you're my buddy, my best friend," he starts, ignoring the goth for the moment, "but you've been really weird for the last – I don't know. Since whenever she walked in."
"Thirty-four minutes ago," Ollie interjects automatically, before blinking in surprise at his own words, scrambling to recover quickly. "I mean, I would guess."
"You'd guess it was thirty-four minutes ago, exactly?"
Yeah, even goth-girl is not buying what his best friend's selling. And for good reason.
Even if it is only getting weirder.
"Look, we've been together most of the day, but did you drink or eat anything while I wasn't looking? Or before? Did you take anything?"
Goth-girl is frowning now, concern visible on her face as she looks between the two.
"I suppose it is a large departure from the lothario-playboy covered in the news and magazines," she acknowledges, taking a closer look at Ollie. "Drugs would make sense."
Ollie is sighing, rolling his eyes at both of them (or possibly just Tommy, given how averse he is generally to just giving the impression of anything but total and complete acceptance of the goth-girl).
"They would," Tommy agrees with her for the second time that night, eyes still on his best friend. Pupils are not dilated – not unless you count the moments when his eyes drift to goth-girl's cleavage or lips, that is. But they're not blown with drugs. No nervous flinches, hallucinations, irrational responses (other than the marriage proposal, that is).
"No," Ollie finally responds, "I did not take anything. I did not drink or eat anything that you weren't also eating or drinking."
"Then explain this to me – you've been with Laurel for what? Two years or thereabouts? Can you remember the day you first met her? The day you first had sex? The day you got together? Hell, can you even remember the last time you broke up?" Tommy only gives his friend the barest of moments to realise he doesn't know the answer to, well, any of the questions. "Yet you were able to tell me down to the minute when you first saw goth-girl."
"Hey," goth-girl objects. "I have a name."
"Which you haven't given us," Tommy reminds her and she blushes for the first time – just the palest pink shadow tinting her cheeks and he watches Ollie's eyes practically sparkle as he takes the sight in.
"Oh. Right. Sorry about that – I wanted to make sure you were- well, who you said you were. Now that I know – my name's Felicity. Felicity Smoak."
"Felicity," Ollie breathes out with a reverence Tommy's only ever heard twice in his life; the first time he held Thea in his arms as a tiny newborn, and the second time when toddler-Thea said her first word: Ollie's name.
"Your name is happiness."
His eyes are wide but slowly give way to an ever-brightening smile as he stares at the goth. He can see goth-girl – Felicity – is preparing to defend against some sort of caustic remark about her goth-nature and her name being happiness. But she clearly hasn't taken note of the lovestruck face his friend is making.
"Your name – it's so perfectly you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" She bites back, focusing on his friend and defensiveness slowly falling away when she sees the way he looks at her.
"You're just- You're sunshine. You're light and good and everything that inspires joy. You're happiness personified. You're Felicity."
Her blush deepens, darkens and spreads as she stares, wide-eyed, at his best friend. Not that she's the only one. Ollie's never been one for poetry – not since primary school, anyway. And this isn't even smutty or anything, it's just the absolutely besotted words of a lovestruck fool.
Who fell in love in the space of – well, not even 34 minutes, but rather the instant that he saw Felicity.
It makes no fucking sense.
If only Tommy could get Ollie to see that, too.
"I- Thank you," she says softly and, yeah, okay, even Tommy can acknowledge that the girl's adorable, blushing and soft-spoken rather than rebellious goth, but still. Doesn't mean he wants to marry her.
"Anytime," Ollie responds, voice equally soft and dear god, he's earnest about it, eyes completely on the black-haired girl opposite him.
"Okay, buddy," Tommy interjects before their sweet sugary-ness becomes catching, "I think we'll get you drug-tested and put you to bed. I'm sure you can talk to goth- to Felicity tomorrow."
"No," Ollie objects immediately. "Look, I'll do whatever testing you want, but I'm not leaving Felicity. I want to help her."
"I thought you wanted to marry me," goth-girl responds, teasingly, but the stress is back and the diversion from her worries about her imprisoned boyfriend was clearly temporary.
"I do." His best friend nods, all sober and serious as he holds and keeps eye-contact with her. "I would love to marry you, Felicity. Anytime. Anywhere."
Ollie says her name like it's the best thing he's ever heard. Like it's a prayer and benediction, like it's happiness in a word (which, well, actually it kind of is, in the literal way - but not like this).
"Yeah," she says, frowning. "I seriously don't get that. I looked you up, like I said. Playboy, cheating on his girlfriend, dropped out of two colleges – colleges which received suspiciously large donations at the time – and about to get kicked out of a third. Not one for commitment, all in all. And yet, here you are, proposing. I checked. No other marriage certificates, no annulments, no divorces, nothing on record. So, why then becomes the real question. And don't give me that marriage to get out being married nonsense. That makes about as much sense as that saying about dog-eat-dog-world. Dogs are cute and adorable and cuddly and they would never-" Felicity blinks, brows furrowing. "Sorry. Where was I?"
Yeah, that babbling thing's pretty adorable, too, he'll give them both that much. But he also agrees with goth-girl – Felicity – that this sudden 180 in his best friend makes absolutely no sense.
Leaving his best friend for a moment to Felicity's not-so-tender mercies, he makes a call. It's not the first time they've had to get their bodies tested to figure out just what was mixed into their drinks or food – or even what they took – so he saved it a long time ago to his phone for situations just like this… or well, situations nothing like this, but still.
"Mr. Merlyn," the voice of a female lab tech greets him without pause, cool and unsurprised. "What are the symptoms?"
"Love-sickness."
For the first time in their acquaintance the clattering noises in the background come to a grinding halt.
"I'm sorry, I believe I misheard you. Could you please repeat that?" The woman calls out after a moment's pause, sounding bemused.
Yeah, at least someone else can join his train. Confusion's about all he's been capable of for the last half hour. Thankfully he's barely had more than one beer and a sip of scotch – still clear-headed enough to keep a wary eye on his two compatriots in their booth just in case one of them – or both – think to try and give him the slip.
"Love-sickness," he repeats. "You know, falling in love at first sight, dropping everything and doing anything for someone they don't know."
"Is this a prank call?"
"No, it is not. I'm serious. I'll pay well. I just need my friend tested for anything and everything that can induce… I don't know. Love-sickness. Irrational behaviour and falling in love in the space of, apparently, half an hour. Proposing marriage. Wanting to help them. Staring into their eyes."
"Like love potion number nine?" The woman asks laughingly, more than a little mockingly.
"Mr. Merlyn," she continues, "there's no such thing. Love at first sight does happen – chemicals, pheromones, facial symmetry; we're all programmed to respond to each other and if it's the right mixture of chemicals, at the right time – well, let your friend enjoy it for however long it lasts. It's not drugs other than what our bodies produce naturally already. While there is oxytocin, MDMA and ecstasy, they don't work the way you're describing."
He hangs up, already irrationally irritated with that woman for being so blindingly unhelpful and turns back to the not-couple in the booth.
Who have, apparently, spent the last few minutes listening to him or just gazing lovingly into each other's eyes.
He's not sure which option he'd prefer.
"That sounded like it didn't end well," Felicity points out.
"That's because it didn't." Tommy tells them. "Apparently there's no such thing as love potion no 9."
"So, not drugs. What then?"
They both turn to Ollie.
"I've told you before. I'm not on drugs," his best friend leans back, grinning at them, clearly feeling vindicated.
"Plus, you're the one who gave me the idea in the first place."
"Yeah – as a joke."
Ollie shrugs.
"It made sense." His best friend brandishes his phone, handing it over and Tommy pales at what he reads.
"Oh," is all he can bring himself to say as he sits down.
"What?" Felicity asks and he doesn't even bother asking Ollie if he's okay handing it over. His best friend appears to have no hesitations around the girl, anyway. He doubts that this would be any different.
"A text," he tells her while pointing to the screen, "from his sister. Thea. Apparently, she overheard when their mother was convincing their father to amend the conditions of his trust fund so it becomes inaccessible until he's married."
"But," goth-girl's staring between them and the screen, clearly baffled. "You're like what? 21?"
Ollie and Tommy both nod.
"That seems – excessive, to say the least."
"It's like you said – kicked out of too many colleges, not showing any intentions of proposing or going steady… I think my mom's just panicking."
"You shouldn't defend her," Felicity says easily and, for once, she's taking the words right out of his mouth.
As suspicious as he was, she is quickly making her way into his good graces just by being protective and thoughtful.
Damn her.
"She's my mom," Ollie says with a shrug. "But that doesn't mean I want the life she's planning out for me."
"That's fair," goth-girl acknowledges, leaning back in her seat with a heavy sigh.
"So, what's the plan?"
"I believe that was my question for you," Oliver reminds her.
The girl blows out a heavy breath, eyes flitting between them both before her shoulders untense and she's clearly come to- well, some kind of conclusion.
"So, that hypothetical hacking. Hypothetically, a girl who is too clever by far may have wanted to prove herself by writing a code – a virus, really – which could then infiltrate… anything. Then the plan was to publish a picture of, say, student loans, to the dark web. But, again, all hypothetical, the girl's boyfriend may have changed the plan without telling her, delving completely into hacktivism and intending to delete student loans from the system. However, the hack, if it went as I described hypothetically, it would be easy enough to backtrack because it was meant to be without change. So… the FBI swooped in while the girl and boy were on a date together, arresting the boy, and said boy may or may not have taken all the blame."
"And what would your plan be for helping that hypothetical boyfriend in prison?" Ollie asks, and Tommy isn't sure if either of them realise the way his best friend is cradling her hand in his, stroking across it – and has been, for the last few minutes. They're both so busy staring at each other.
"Well, hypothetically, as a prodigy and tested genius who is originally from here, the girl might have thought she could get enough money together in the casinos to hire a good defence lawyer in a short enough timeframe."
Tommy whistles.
"You were going to skim the casinos?"
"Not skim. Card count. Perfectly legal. Unfortunately, they do communicate – as you just saw, when they wouldn't let me in. Mr. and Mrs. Klein can get me past the entrance, but the casino's still off-limits."
"Mr. and Mrs. Klein?" Ollie repeats, looking as puzzled as he feels.
"The old couple who came in in front of me. They're my front men." The goth gives a nod to a table near the bar where the two are sitting and the woman waves back excitedly, elbowing her husband, behaving more like an excited twenty-year-old than a seventy-year-old.
Tommy waves back uncertainly; despite all the lessons in manners growing up which are meant to cover all sorts of potential situations, he doesn't think there's anything which prepared him for this.
What exactly is the right way to respond when being introduced to an elderly criminal couple who are complicit on a conspiracy to defraud casinos? Hypothetically or otherwise.
Should he have been ignoring them instead?
Or bribing them, maybe?
He's not sure.
At least, Tommy is nearly certain his and Ollie's teacher on appropriate manners wouldn't have had an answer to that particular question either.
"I'm pretty sure Mr. Klein's a card shark – or used to be, at least. He's got arthritis now but the card tricks and cheating he used to teach me ten years ago – yeah. I don't think it's their first rodeo. And I'm pretty sure Mrs. Klein's parents were smugglers during prohibition."
"So, you can card count?" Ollie asks, once again ignoring all the peripheral information not directly related to the girl he's interested in.
Because, yes, obviously, that's the most important information to pick up on. One-track mind that boy – which is frighteningly new when it doesn't concern anything Thea-related.
"Yes," the girl affirms. "Three times state Mathletics champion," she tells them, proudly.
"Wow," Tommy acknowledges.
"You're remarkable," Ollie breathes out, admiring gaze fastened on the goth in front.
"Thank you for remarking on it," she retorts cockily, smirking, but it's easy enough to tell just how flustered she is by their acknowledgment. Still, her eyes are solely on Ollie's, just like his won't leave hers.
Tommy's not sure what to do – money's easy enough to provide for a billionaire, after all – but the way Ollie's looking at her? He's never, not once in his life, looked at any girl or woman that way. And if it's not drugs or alcohol,… well then, he's going to have to think that this may be genuine. Even if it's short-term, he's going to have to figure out a way to help them. Both of them.
And figure out this situation where Ollie wants to marry a girl who already has a boyfriend – even if he is in prison. And how to stop her from going to prison.
Holy shit. He prefers their last Vegas trip where they both lost a large amount of money, got piss-drunk and woke up the next morning with one sex tape, a trashed room, and one blackout between them and far too many condoms in the trash bins in their room for it to just have been the two of them. That night was never spoken of again, but at least then they'd both known what to do.
This time?
Yeah, Tommy's got nothing.
Author's Notes:
Okay, so what do you think? I'm thinking of removing Samantha Clayton from the equation entirely. According to Arrow-wiki's Felicity's born in July 1989, Oliver in May 1985 and William in 2006. In this one William could be just born a little later in 2007.
Now, big question, I'm kind of undecided on and want you guys to weigh in on:
Island or no island? On one hand, a Felicity in love with both before and after is just adorable. Also Oliver's changes in behaviour on the island with the girls, without Sara etc... could be interesting. On the other hand, we wouldn't get Ollie growing up while being awesome baby-daddy while Felicity's studying, no interactions with baby or toddler-William. No scars and none of the physical bulking up or fighting skills. Argh. Can't decide. So - what do you think? And Why?
Anything you want to see, specifically, let me know. Given I'm once again embroiled in writing a fanfic based on reviewer's prompts, I think we can all agree I do listen to them. Or at least my plot-bunny does. Even when I don't necessarily want to write yet another Olicity fanfic, not when the other ones are all still unfinished. But, prompts are always appreciated despite what it sounds like. It's fun to explore all the AU's.
Please comment, review and kudos