Technical Assistance

Chapter 47: Data Migration to New Devices

Felicity sighs as she drums her fingers against Oliver's desk, her head falling on the opposite hand. With Lance threatening the search warrant, the lair is still in careful disarray to prevent him from finding anything that would expose the basement as the Arrow's base. Even if they did have the ability to move on information, the sample she gave Barry is still being analyzed. Fortunately, though, there have been no alerts for names in the Book, so she had time to work on some of the tech for the team earlier in the night. But she finished that hours ago.

There had been an incident two nights ago after they had returned from Central City; a man had died because of his use of Vertigo. Oliver had tried to save him, but it had been too late. Felicity could be analyzing the coroner's report, but SCPD hadn't bothered to do an autopsy yet.

She sighs again, but this time the sound is louder. "Doing that won't make work appear," Diggle comments with a smile from the other side of the desk. Of course, Felicity notes sourly, it's easy for him to say; he has something to do, casually perusing a copy of the information she found on Deadshot a week ago—one littered with information he probably shouldn't have.

"If I don't find something to do soon, Digg," Felicity replies, "I'm going to collapse from boredom. I'm a computer technician—I'm only happy when I have something to keep my hands busy." She cringes at the accidental innuendo. "Something computer-related," she clarifies quickly, making him snort. "I'd like to make sure the tech goes into Oliver's suit the way it needs to, but all of his Arrow gear is currently stuffed into the brand-new hidey-hole in my closet that he put in last night." She shakes her head. "Who the hell has a hidey-hole in their closet, Digg?"

He actually chuckles aloud at that, and Felicity considers it a small victory in an otherwise frustrating night. "You, apparently," he answers dryly with a smile, and Felicity can't see the humor in the situation. But, then again, if Oliver had shown up at his apartment with a copy of the blueprints and asking to stash his stuff for a few days, it probably wouldn't seem as funny to Digg, either. She expected him to stuff it under her bed, not create an entirely new hiding place. Still, Felicity didn't question his logic.

Instead, she just files it into the list of odd Oliver behaviors that probably have everything to do with the last five years of his life.

Changing the subject, Felicity motions to the file folder in his hands. "Are you sure you don't want to talk to Oliver about this whole Deadshot thing?" she can't help but ask. "I won't say anything if you don't want me to, but it's one of those two-heads-are-better-than-one things. I know he would help you catch this guy."

Diggle is already shaking his head by the time Felicity finishes. "He has his own personal vendettas to deal with," comes the firm reply. "The Count is personal for Oliver—Vertigo nearly earned Thea some jail time, and then when Oliver tried to go after him, he ended up nearly overdosing on the stuff. He doesn't need to fight my demons right now, too."

It's Felicity's turn to disagree with his statement, frowning. "That's the thing about friends, Digg," she tries to explain. "He doesn't need to, but he would—without hesitation—because he would want to." When his expression doesn't change, she sighs. "Just promise me you'll think about involving Oliver. I'm not sure what he could do to help, but he would be there. So would I."

He gives her another of those silent almost-chuckles in response. "Yeah, I kind of get the feeling that you two are a package deal these days," he comments with smile. "You seem happy—both of you." He shakes his head. "And to think, I prepared that speech about what I'd do if he hurt you for nothing."

About the same time Felicity laughs, a voice says from the doorway, "Like Ollie would hurt her." Tommy breaks into a wide smile, giving Felicity a cheesy wink as he sits down at the other end of the desk, across from where she sits in Oliver's chair. "I don't know how you did it, but he's..." He lounges across the chair as he thinks of the word, sinking into the cushioned back. "Well, if I was the kind of guy to use words like 'smitten,' I'd call him smitten. But he seemed a little lost when he got back from the island, and now he seems a little more like the old Ollie. But better." He looks around. "Speaking of which, where is our favorite vigilante?"