Technical Assistance

Chapter 4: Initial Computer Setup

"Come in," he says instead, as Felicity sits the laptop on the desk.  For her benefit, he adds, "That would be Mr. Diggle, my bodyguard."  It seems a little insane; the world Felicity has stepped into is clearly not the one she's used to.  Here, there are maids and bodyguards and chauffeurs—and apparently stretch limos and lowly IT girls who are forced to do favors for no pay.

The man that walks in sports a shaved head and a nice suit, standing like a soldier.  He's built like one, too, because his arms look like they belong to the Hulk, not an average guy who offers her a very nice smile.  "Mr. Queen," he says, with no preamble, speaking softly for such a big man, "the police are downstairs, and they want to talk to you."  Meaningfully, he adds, "Detective Lance is with them."

Felicity stops Oliver from speaking.  "Oh, well," she says awkwardly, "that sounds like my cue to leave.  If it's okay, Oliver, I'll pick up that computer later."  She shudders.  "I do not want to get involved with Bad-Cop-Worse-Cop down there ever again."  She pats his shoulder, but winces when he tenses at the contact.  "Good luck, Oliver."

He leads the three of them out of the room and down the stairs to the entrance hall, to where they see Detective Lance standing, handcuffs already out.  Whatever is going on now, Felicity knows it can't be good, and it's only going to have one conclusion.  She just feels sorry for Oliver, because, whatever is happening, she has a feeling he didn't exactly ask for the entire situation.

Oliver seems to have come to the same conclusion.  Lowly, he says to her, "Felicity, I need you to do me a favor, please."  He pauses before explaining said favor, looking at her as if he expects her to say no.

If he does, he's certainly disappointed.  "All you have to do is name it," Felicity promises him, and she wonders how she can possibly identify any at all with him after meeting him twice.

"I need you to hire an attorney for me."  At the unspoken question in her eyes, he answers, "I know my mother won't listen to me, and I know you will."  Before she can question anything, he takes his copy of the computer specifications out of his shirt pocket.  "I need a pen," he tells her.  When she scrounges one out of her pockets, he hands her a pen and says, "Can you write for me?"  Before she can answer, he dictates, "'I, Oliver Queen, hereby authorize Felicity Smoak to obtain an attorney on my behalf.'"  She thinks he knows a little much about legal jargon for a former playboy billionaire, but of course that comment doesn't escape the confines of her mind.

She wonders where the sudden burst of trust comes from, but she doesn't ask, only doing as he says because there probably isn't time for questions.  After she finishes, she offers him the pen and paper, and he signs slowly before handing it back to her.  "I want you to get Laurel for me," he says lowly before walking toward Lance.  Before she can ask, he's already talking to Lance.  "Detective, you wanted to see me?"

Without preamble, he responds, "Oliver Queen, you're under arrest for suspicion of obstruction of justice, breaking and entering, illegal entry, aggravated assault, assault on a police officer..."  Felicity gasps at the ridiculous charges; she knows they're accusing him of being the Vigilante without really saying it.  She's met the Vigilante, and he is most certainly not anything like Oliver Queen.  The detective cuffs him, and as Oliver faces Felicity's direction, it's clear he sees the concern across her features.  All he does is offer her a small wink, as if to say,  This will all blow over soon.  "...Attempted murder," Lance continues as he turns Oliver around, and then he growls in his face, "and murder."  A dark smile lights the cop's face as they lead him out of the house.

Vaguely, Felicity takes notice of the family panicking in the background.  Moira is grasping Walter's arm as though her life depends on it, Thea is crying, and the tall man who just stood on the other side of Oliver—Mr. Diggle, she remembers—is watching her intently.

She turns to him instantly.  "I have no idea what to do," she says finally to him.

He offers a slight, sympathetic smile.  "Try to ride out the storm," he says simply.  "And find that lawyer he wanted."

***

If Felicity thought she was out of place at the Queen mansion, it's nothing compared to how she feels at the City Necessary Resource Initiative building.  CNRI itself isn't all that impressive, but the lawyers parading around are dressed pretty nice for such modest salaries.  Her panda flats certainly do not allow her to blend in here, and her wardrobe is a little too bright and quirky for these people.  Her mission, she decides, is to get in and out as quick as she can.

She finds the woman she's looking for, so she asks, "Laurel Lance?"  The woman whirls, taking in Felicity's appearance with a look of mild curiosity.  "Do you have a moment?"

Laurel offers her a polished smile that Felicity thinks she must have practiced in a mirror for ages—but then she decides she's being a little catty.  She doesn't even know Laurel.  "Sure," the lawyer responds sweetly.  "What can I do for you?"

Felicity shakes her head.  "Not for me," she corrects, then frowns.  "I'm not sure if you've heard yet—about the thing with Oliver Queen?"

Laurel blanches, and the smile drops from her face.  "No," she says in a flat tone, "I haven't."

Because it's clear she's not going to play along, Felicity sighs tiredly.  "They've arrested him because the cops think he's the Vigilante."  Laurel takes in a breath in surprise as Felicity pulls out the signed piece of paper.  "This gives me authorization to hire you as his criminal attorney on his behalf."  She hesitates before saying, "He wanted you—and he was very clear about that."

Laurel takes the piece of paper, examines it, then narrows her eyes at Felicity.  "And who are you?" she asks, and Felicity can hear the real question she wants answered:  Who are you to Oliver Queen?

Felicity wants to answer her honestly, but she's not exactly sure what "honest" is in this situation.  Finally, she says, "I'm Felicity Smoak.  I did some computer work for Oliver.  We're friends—sort of."  She tells herself that's the truth, because they must be friends if he considers her trustworthy enough to do this for him.

"Ollie," she says, emphasizing the nickname as she crosses her arms, "doesn't have female friends."

Felicity bites back a retort—something along the lines of, Well, there's a first time for everything, or the meaner option of, Maybe that's because I don't throw myself at him like a female cat in heat.  Instead, she goes with the diplomatic approach, shrugging slightly as she responds, "Like I said, it's hard to explain.  I did some computer stuff, he laughed at my stupidity—that's basically it."  For not the first time, she understands why all of her friends in college were male—it's less complicated that way.  At least boys aren't so catty.

"Fine," she says after a long moment, snapping the word.  "I'd never miss an opportunity to help Ollie."  With that, she turns on her heel and leaves, making Felicity's only option to do the same.