Felicity Smoak has never felt so out-of-place in her life as when she drives up to the Queen mansion in her Mini Cooper with Oliver's newly assembled computer. She feels like she's at homecoming all over again, but this time she's sitting in the middle of the popular crowd with her nose in a book. She shouldn't be here, but of course Oliver wanted the damn laptop delivered to him. She doesn't want to go in there, but she doesn't really have a choice.
She squares her shoulders as she walks up to the door and dares ring the doorbell. She's only mildly surprised when a maid opens the door. "May I help you?" she asks in a light accent that takes Felicity a moment to identify. Russian, probably, but it could just as easily be Ukrainian or another Slavic language.
"Yeah, hi," she answers awkwardly, but she's just glad her voice isn't shaking—or worse, she could have her voice crack like a boy going through puberty. "My name is Felicity Smoak. I'm not sure if—"
The woman nods, smiles. "Please, Miss Smoak," she says, opening the door wide and waving her in. "Mister Oliver is expecting you. He should be down soon." Felicity balks at the use of "Mister Oliver," but she follows the nice, motherly woman into the foyer.
She can barely hold back a gasp of surprise as she walks into the impressive entrance, examining the high arch of the ceiling, the wooden staircase, and the ornate decor. The maid leads her into the foyer, with expensive-looking furniture and a very nice plasma TV on the wall. She's even more intimidated by the mansion now than before; she should seriously not be here. After all, Felicity's idea of fancy is a dinner at Olive Garden, and she's pretty sure that's a Rembrandt—the real thing, not a print—on the wall.
"Mister Oliver will be with you shortly," she offers kindly, and she beams when Felicity thanks her. She's clearly not used to kind, fair treatment from the Starling City elite, and Felicity can't help but feel a little sorry for her. Felicity may not have the world's best job, but at least she's treated like an actual human being every day.
The maid disappears, and Felicity sits in silence for a very long moment, letting her thoughts run wild as she looks around the room. She actually dares to sit on the expensive sofa, and she finds it's rather comfortable for high-priced furniture (not that she has much experience with that). Even the coffee table looks expensive, and she finds a very nice collection of Shakespeare's plays sitting on the table as part of the decor. It looks old, and she wonders if it's worth anything. But, knowing the Queen mansion, it probably is. After all, she reminds herself, these are the kind of people who blow their noses on hundred-dollar bills.
She almost misses it when the girl walks in, her chocolate-colored hair wavy and long. She's young and beautiful, and bored in the same sense that Felicity has always imagined the idle rich. She knows on sight the girl is Thea Queen, but the camera doesn't do the girl justice. But, then again, maybe it does; she's pretty wasted in most of those paparazzi shots that splatter across the local tabloids.
The girl narrows her eyes at Felicity, and she feels a tendril of dread work its way down her spine. The stories say that Thea has a temper, and that it does not bode well to be on her bad side. Felicity swallows, and the girl says to her, "Let me guess—you're here to see my brother." It's a statement, not a question, and the disdain in her voice is as clear as day—as well as the implication she's making.
All Felicity knows is that she wants to set her straight, but that somehow leaves her mouth in a rush of, "Oliver and I have never had sex." She turns crimson when she realizes what she says, and she puts a hand to her forehead and moans, "You know, I should just have my mouth sewed shut—it would save me a lot of trouble."
She's not sure what she expects as a response, but Thea falls onto the opposite sofa, laughing. Felicity envies the way she still manages to be graceful with the action, even as she wipes tears from her eyes. After she finally sobers, she says with a lilt to her voice, "You're not like the others, are you?" Before Felicity can respond, Thea shakes her head. "I'm sorry—I'm being rude."
She's saved from answering by a lilting British accent as Walter Steele comes into the room. "Allow me to make introductions," he offers politely. "Miss Smoak, this is my stepdaughter, Thea Queen. Thea, this is Felicity Smoak. She's a computer technician in our IT department at Queen Consolidated." Turning back to Felicity he asks, "I trust Oliver came to you about a custom computer system?"
Felicity nods. "Yes, Mr. Steele—thank you for the recommendation, by the way. That's actually why I'm here—I finished it, and he asked me to deliver it to him." She pats the briefcase next to her. "I just need to make sure it meets expectations."
Walter nods, doing one of those little half-smiles. "I trust that it will," he says with sincerity, before clasping his hands together. "I'm afraid I'm needed at the office, but I'll see you both later." He kisses Thea on the cheek before continuing, "Always a pleasure, Miss Smoak."
"Nice to see you again, too, Mr. Steele," she responds cordially. He leaves quickly, and Felicity finds herself alone in the room with Thea again.
This time, Thea appraises her for a moment before saying, "I'm sorry. I acted like a bitch, and you're just trying to do something nice for my brother." She sighs. "It's just that most women that spend time with my brother are out for themselves, so I tend to jump to conclusions." Quietly, she adds, "He's been through a lot."
Felicity thinks about that for a moment, murmuring her forgiveness. Oliver has been through a lot, and that's putting it mildly; God only knows what he faced on that island for the past five years. She remembers again how difficult it was for him to even sign his name, and she thinks that his re-integration into society is going to be horribly difficult. No wonder he has been away from the paparazzi and the public eye. On top of that, she realizes that the Oliver Queen she met was not the same one who made tabloid covers; he was nice to her, and looked incredibly apologetic for the thing with Sara Lance. Maybe it's going to be even harder for him to integrate back into his family—because the Oliver Queen who left on that boat is clearly not the same one in her office a few weeks ago.
Before any further conversation can develop, Oliver walks in, his eyes narrowing when he sees Thea sitting across from Felicity. "Hey, Thea?" he asks, and she tilts her ead toward him. "I think Mom was looking for you. Why don't you see what she wants?"
Thea's eyes narrow at the obvious dismissal, but she rises from the seat. "Nice to meet you, Felicity," she says before heading out of the room.
Silence stretches out between her and Oliver, and she feels the need to fill it. "Mr. Queen," she starts, but then she remembers he doesn't like being called that. She winces before continuing, "Sorry. Oliver, I have your laptop ready to go. I think it meets all of your specifications, but I'd like you to make sure."
He nods briefly. "Since some of the requirements are a little... sensitive, let's go up to my room." He suggests it as though he's asking her into the dining room for lunch—casual, impersonal, and completely devoid of any emotion.
She hesitates. "Are you sure that's okay? Because, I mean, I don't want to give the wrong impression to everyone and—"
He cuts her off, smiling slightly. "Felicity," he says in a tone that says so much in one single word. Stepping closer, he continues, "It's better not to do this in the open."
She realizes the logic of his statement and relents, sighing. "Fine," she says tiredly. She curses herself for being such a sucker for a pretty face; he's nothing but exhausting, and she doesn't know how anyone tolerates him on a daily basis, much less lives with him.
He leads her up the elaborate staircase and down a series of winding halls she will never be able to find her way out of. "Are you sure this doesn't eventually lead to the city of Omashu?" she blurts, and then realizes Oliver probably won't have a clue what she's talking about.
He continues walking, but he turns to look at her for a moment. She's not disappointed when he frowns, eyes narrowed in confusion as he asks, "Leads to where?"
Felicity groans. "Never mind," she assures him quickly, coloring at her own stupidity.
He stops this time. "I'd like to know," he says quietly, trying to smile even though it doesn't reach his eyes. "No one makes references to television or movies around me anymore." He doesn't add anything else, but he doesn't have to: it's clear his family doesn't want to upset him about the missing five years of his life.
Always a sucker for a sad face, Felicity answers, sighing, "It's from a TV show called Avatar," she answers finally. He starts walking again as she adds, "And it has nothing to do with the James Cameron movie with blue people that is also amazing. But M. Night Shyamalan did make a movie out of it." She clears her head by shaking it. "Anyway, there's an episode in season two—called "The Cave of Two Lovers"—where they're trying to get into a city called Omashu, and the main characters go through a series of tunnels that keep changing. Like a living maze, which is what your house is starting to remind me of." She stops babbling as they get to the door, and she can see just a hint of a smile on his face.
He opens the door and ushers her in, and as she takes in the opulence of the room, she mutters, "I keep thinking I'll see a miniature giraffe around here." It earns her a questioning glance from Oliver, but she ignores it as she takes in the room and he shuts the door. It's such an impersonal space; it wouldn't surprise her if he didn't spend much time here. "Where should I set up?" she asks casually, trying to pretend she's in just another office and not Oliver Queen's bedroom.
Oliver waves a hand toward a nice mahogany desk that definitely didn't come from an Ikea. "Over here will be fine," he says, before attempting to clear a '90s model monitor off the top.
Felicity stops him. "No," she says a little loud, startling him, and she winces. She tries again, "No, that's all right—I can disassemble that old system." She's about to say more but she stops, biting her lip.
Oliver offers her a tentative smile as he coaxes her. "And?"
"And," Felicity continues as prompted, "if you don't have use for the old computer and monitor, I can maybe re-purpose them for parts." With a self-conscious hand gesture, she finally adds, "I have a few side projects going."
"Go ahead and take them, then," he assures her. "I'll just throw them out, anyway." As she attempts to shut down the still-running computer, he changes the subject. "That reminds me—we still haven't discussed your fee."
She's confused for a moment, but then she realizes that the Queen family is used to flashing money to get things done. "I'll have everything up as soon as I can," she assures him. "The old one might be a little stubborn to move out of here, but setting up the laptop shouldn't take too long."
To her surprise, he shakes his head. "No, how much money do I owe you for your labor?"
She shakes her head. "Nothing," is her response. "You paid for the parts, and an IT nerd playing with computer parts is a happy IT nerd. No charge necessary." Since the computer is shut down, she unplugs the CPU and the monitor from the wall socket before crawling under the desk to untangle wires and devices.
She's surprised when she sees Oliver sink to his knees on the other side of the desk. "How can I help?" he asks, and Felicity has to admit that the sight of Oliver on the floor in a pair of jeans that cost more than she makes in a month, frowning adorably at the clutter of wires, is a sight to behold.
She directs him to the monitor hookups, and they work their way through the wiring together. Felicity neatly gathers the cables, the tower, and the monitors in the corner of the room for now. "Thanks for that," she says, but he doesn't respond because he's interrupted by the knock on the door.
"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.