Felicity nearly jumps out of her skin when she hears her window open behind her at work. It's a quiet night, and she doesn't expect any visitors, especially on her floor, since most of the business leaders don't want to get caught dead in the nerdy IT department. It takes her a long moment to return her breathing to normal, and it's only then that she turns around, only to find herself staring at the Vigilante's chest. She tilts her head up higher to focus on his face, but she can't even make out his eyecolor between the shading from the mask and his hood.
"You know," she starts, her voice a little high from the surprise, "I'm starting to think that you're trying to scare the crap out of me." She tries to sound collected and calm, but she knows her voice is too fluttery to pull that off properly.
Some sort of breathy sound goes through the voice synthesizer before he responds, "If I meant to frighten you, I would have you hanging by your ankles down at the docks until you told me what I wanted to know." The sinister statement sends a chill down her spine, but then she notices that one corner of his mouth is upturned. Was that a joke? Since when did the terror of Starling City make jokes? Something tells her this relationship has made a turn for the insane, and all Felicity wants for a moment is to get off this roller coaster ride now.
Still, she responds in kind, her voice not as high this time as she teases, "What, did your mother never tell you how to say 'please'?" She thinks it's a little silly, but this is the most normal conversation she's had with anyone in months—and she's discussing this with the Vigilante, of all people. Her life has suddenly hit a new low, she can't help but think.
The Vigilante, for his part, seems amused by her statement, but then the partial smile falls from his face as he grows serious again. "No," he says finally, slowly, "I don't think she ever did." It surprises Felicity for a moment that he's so willing to share details about himself, but then she thinks that it might be a tender subject. She knows her own mother is a sensitive spot, so she doesn't press any further.
Instead, she dares ask, "What have you brought me tonight, Mr. Arrow? A shot-up laptop? A police server hack? Or do you just want me to make bugs again?" She waves to the chair near her desk. "Sit down—you make me nervous when you stand over me impressively like that."
He does as she asks, but it makes him no less intimidating, with his arms crossed over his chest and the impressive glare he wears. As he goes through the motions, his muscles ripple; Felicity is reminded once again how tightly that green leather clings. He wears it better than his counterpart she met the last time, she thinks. Not-Vigilante was pretty impressive, sure, but the Vigilante's strength is more understated. Felicity shakes her head a couple times to clear it so she can stop ogling a man who kills people. Still, Felicity reminds herself that it's okay to look, just so long as she returns to reality afterward.
His glare is quickly replaced by an almost smile, though, when he responds, "I thought I'd change things up this time. I'm looking for someone who might be part of the Royal Flush Gang."
"Royal Flush Gang?" she repeats, that paranoid tone creeping into her voice. It was just a few days ago that she was telling Oliver that the Vigilante should go after criminals like them. Her thoughts spill out as something akin to, "Do I need to check my clothes for bugs?" When he tilts his head and doesn't answer, she continues, "I was just discussing with a friend how you could do so much more good in this city if you'd stop going after billionaires exclusively and start trying to stop the real criminals running around."
He's quiet for a long moment, but when he responds, it's vague. "I don't like the idea of criminals hurting innocent bystanders in my city," he says finally, his tone a little possessive.
"Your city?" Felicity repeats. "Last time I checked, this city is pretty much owned by the Queens and the Merlyns. Which means you probably don't own more than a green hood, a bow, and some really pointy arrows." He lets out a breath, either in irritation or amusement, as she turns her back to him, flexing her fingers over her keyboard. "Now, who am I looking for?"
"His name is Derek Reston," the Vigilante responds quickly. "He's a Starling City resident. I tried doing some research myself, but I haven't found anything."
Felicity nods, agreeing with the sad truth of it all. "Google can only do so much, my friend." She hits a few keys to do her own research and frowns at her results. "Unfortunately, your buddy Derek doesn't leave a long Internet trail behind him. No social media accounts—not even a MySpace that has pictures of you with that one horrible haircut you had for two weeks in 2003." Softer, she mutters, "I still haven't lived that down." She pulls up a different screen and starts typing code into it.
"What are you doing?" the Vigilante asks her, leaning closer so that he can see her computer screen. She can feel his breath on her neck as he watches her, and her fingers fumble over the keys for a moment. She tries to tell herself she's afraid, but she's not afraid of him anymore. What she really feels is comfortable with his close presence, as though he's some sort of guardian angel instead of the vigilante that most of Starling City has learned to fear.
"Exploratory server surgery," she mutters distractedly, staring at her screen. She's barely paying attention to him now; she's been known to become so interested in her work that she forgets the world around her. Of course, she can't exactly forget the Vigilante, but he's no longer her priority. All that matters is the string of code she's typing.
"What?" he asks, demanding clarification. Felicity can't see his face, but she can guess his expression: brow furrowed, mouth slanted downward, head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Then it scares her that she knows the Vigilante so well.
"Exploratory server surgery," she repeats, slower this time. When he still doesn't respond, she continues, "You know—bridging the digital gap between employee and visitor? Performing unscheduled file maintenance of non-client systems? Warming my hands on the inside of a firewall?" When he still doesn't respond, she huffs in irritation. "Hacking, braniac. That's what I'm doing."
She frowns as she looks at the screen for Starling City Bank that appears on her screen. "Let's see... Derek Reston hasn't touched his bank account in close to four years." She tilts her head to the side. "Makes sense, I guess, since the Royal Flush Gang started up about four years ago." A few more keystrokes, and another screen shows itself. "Last employment history was about seven years ago at... oh." She stops as she reads the words.
"Where?" the Arrow demands quickly, his voice just behind her right ear. It sends a shiver down her spine, but she keeps her mind on business. She's already let her thoughts run wild once; doing it again is inviting unnecessary risks.
"He used to work at Queen Manufacturing. Apparently, when the company was sold, all the employees got nothing—Robert Queen was able to get better lawyers and get out of all the union contracts. All the employees were fired on the spot with no pension, no severance—the heartless bastard even weaseled out of paying insurance benefits." She sighs. "I'm suddenly thrilled to realize that Oliver Queen is nothing like his father. I can't see him doing this to fifteen hundred loyal employees."
"You shouldn't idolize a person you don't even know," the Vigilante responds darkly.
Felicity turns around in her chair, surprised for a moment to find his strong jawline only inches from her face. It takes her far too long to pull herself out of the haze and remember what she was talking about. She jabs a finger into his chest. "Listen, buster," she snaps, feeling that angry fire starting to build within her, "Oliver Queen is my friend. Do you understand that? He's off-limits. You don't say bad things—incorrect bad things, by the way—and you certainly don't go after him. As of this moment, the Queen family is officially off-limits, okay? That family has been through Hell and back and they don't need you to run around in your tight leather pants and put arrows in them. You got that?"
He nods once, but both corners of his mouth turn up. "Are you complaining about my pants?" he asks, sounding almost incredulous.
"God no," Felicity replies instantly, but then her face heats as she realizes her tone implies she likes them far too much (which, she has to admit, she does). She stares at him awkwardly for a moment before turning back to her computer and focusing on business. "The last credit card statements from Reston showed that he liked to frequent a bar just down from the old Queen factory. Old habits die hard—maybe he still hangs out there"—she chuckles awkwardly—"you know, when he's not robbing banks."
As she turns back to him to see his expression, he says, "Felicity, you're amazing."
She huffs. "It's true, but amazing doesn't pay my bills. Say thank you with gifts." Her snarky response is meant to be a joke, and she's pleased to see it makes the corners of his mouth turn upward a little. Then she remembers that this is the Vigilante, and she should only be pleased to see him leave. "Thank you," she says, serious this time.
"No, thank you," he replies slowly. He hesitates for a moment before placing a hand on her shoulder, hesitating so that she's aware of what he's going to do. She surprises herself because she doesn't even flinch this time. "You're risking a lot by helping me—don't think that I don't recognize that." His tone is both sincere and appreciative under that modulator, and Felicity thinks she's seeing a whole new side of this man who has started to frequent her life.
"Good luck out there," she says finally, as he rises from his seat. "You know where to find me if you need anything." She hesitates before turning in her chair and picking up a sticky note from her desk. She writes her cell phone number on it before turning around, holding it between her finger. Before she can back down, she stands up and sticks it to his leather jacket, the fluorescent pink contrasting ridiculously with the dark green of his jacket. "And do me a favor and call me if you're about to get yourself killed and a little technical assistance could be enough to save your life."
He pulls the sticky note from his jacket with a half-smile on his face, before unzipping his jacket and sticking it to the inside on the left. "Thank you," he says slowly, "but I don't have a phone. Something tells me I can't get a contract with any of the carriers."
Felicity snorts, rolls her eyes. "Please," she drawls. "Burner phones, my friend. No contracts, no names, no identification—especially if purchased with cash in a store that doesn't have security cameras. Find yourself one, and then you'll be able to contact whomever you like." She holds up her smartphone before winking. "Don't worry, though—I'm encrypted." At the confused set of his mouth, she adds, "Oh, like you want Uncle Sam watching your every move. I think you're being a bit judgmental."
He chuckles softly before turning back to the window. He stops for a moment, turning back to her. "Goodnight, Felicity." Without waiting for her to respond, he fires an arrow to a building across the street and rappels down it like he's Spider-Man or something.
"Well, that was slick," she mutters to herself before gathering her things. She said she'd work later than eight, but who could work after an encounter like that?
***
Oliver can't believe he's returning to the same building twice in less than twenty-four hours, but visiting Queen Consolidated today is a must. At least, he thinks, he's using the front door this time. He's starting to forget what the normal entry procedure in a building is supposed to be. His first instinct is to go to the IT Department, as he's been wont to do over the last few weeks, but today's visit isn't about seeing Felicity—it's about seeing Walter.
As he disembarks the elevator on the top floor of the Queen Consolidated building, he thinks of how much he absolutely hates being here. It just isn't the same place without his father, and he dislikes being the center of everyone's attention, now that he's been away from the press, the prying eyes, and the glamor for five years.
Walter's secretary tries to stop Oliver as he charges into the room, but Oliver won't hear of her objections and goes to see his stepfather immediately. "Oliver," the Englishman says, nonplussed as ever, "it's always nice to see you here—where you belong." Oliver's family has been pushing him to become a part of Queen Consolidated since the day he arrived in Starling City again, but the last thing he wants is to be burdened by the weight of another responsibility. Tracking down the names on his father's list is enough pressure for Oliver—especially since Felicity unknowingly convinced him to apprehend Starling's criminals, too. "I take it this isn't a social visit."
"No," Oliver agrees. "It isn't." He hesitates, trying to find a way to ask for his favor without ruining her reputation. "I think you remembered that I hired Felicity Smoak to build my computer for me."
Walter chuckles at the name, showing that she clearly leaves the same impression on everyone. "Yes," Walter agrees, "she's quite a clever girl—a valuable asset to us here." He pauses, clearly thinking of a delicate way to phrase things. "We recruited her out of college three years ago—and we're quite lucky, it appears. I believe she turned down several offers with large software conglomerates to work with us."
It shouldn't surprise Oliver, but it does. "Really?" he asks, wondering why confusion coats his tone. He should know by now that she's ridiculous, though it seems to be one of her better qualities.
Walter nods solemnly. "I haven't heard the story directly from her, mind you, but I do believe there were some offers from American Micro Devices, Intel, IBM, and Apple. She actually wrote most of the code for the version of Linux we use here at the office." He nods, smiling slightly. "Though I'm sure this news hardly surprises you."
"Not at all," Oliver agrees. He makes a face. "The thing is, I'm really pleased with my computer, but she has refused to let me pay her for it. I'd like to show my appreciation, though." He frowns, mostly for show. "I was thinking—it's about time for the annual bonuses, right?" At Walter's nod of affirmation, Oliver continues, "I thought that maybe I could match her company bonus—anonymously, of course. I think she'd be more likely to take it if she thought she earned it for her work at Queen Consolidated."
Walter gives him that appraising for not the first time. "You'd make a shrewd businessman, Oliver," he says finally, with a slight smile. "I would be pleased to help you with that. If you would leave a check with my secretary, I could help you with that." He looks up a few records on his computer before saying, "It appears that Miss Smoak stands to receive a five-thousand dollar bonus this year."
It takes Oliver a ridiculous amount of time to write out the check—it's apparently a skill his hands have forgotten in the past five years—but he matches the five thousand dollars without a second thought. She's worth it, he decides, and money is the only way he can think of to express his gratitude. He doesn't know her well enough to purchase a gift, and he doesn't really think she'd appreciate the grand display of a bouquet of flowers.
"You know," Walter starts casually, instantly making Oliver's hackles raise, "I think it's quite time you took your place as head of this company. I know you could run it far better than I in the long-term. I could stay on to help you through the first trying months—"
"Thank you," Oliver interrupts, "but I think you're doing a wonderful job, Walter." Irritated by the battery he's received for the past few weeks, he continues, "And I think everyone has forgotten that I spent the last five years on a deserted island, not earning my MBA."
Walter nods to concede his point. "As you like," he says finally. "I would certainly never want you to think you're not welcome in your own company."
"And I appreciate that, Walter," Oliver concedes, deciding against his better judgment that he might like the man, "but I don't think I'm CEO material. This was my father's corporation"—the words are painful as he forces them out in past tense—"and I think he understood that I never wanted any part of it."
"And I think that Robert would be proud of you for choosing your own path," Walter responds carefully, as if he's afraid of upsetting Oliver. It doesn't, though—Oliver is certain that his father would be proud of his plan to save Starling City.
"Thank you," is his response, though, and he nods before leaving. He agrees completely; Robert wanted nothing more than to write his wrongs, and Oliver is doing that for him. But Oliver is choosing his own path in how to implement his plan—and choosing whom he wishes to share it with. Diggle was an obvious choice—Oliver knew from the beginning that he would ask Diggle to aid him in his goal—but Felicity was an unexpected turn for the best.
Felicity. The name reminds him that he still hasn't made things completely right with her, even after the bonus.
After all, he still owes her a printer.