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As is typical, Felicity regrets her words before she’s even done saying them. (She longs for a better brain-to-mouth filter. Do they sell those on the black market? Probably not. And she would know; it’s disturbing how often she uses it.)
Maybe there will come a day when Felicity Smoak says something and it doesn’t go terribly, but that day is not this one. And she is one-hundred-percent aware of that. She knows she should’ve said something else. Anything else. Literally anything else would have been better.
But the gods are not smiling on her today. Which is perhaps why, when Felicity had decided to waltz into Oliver’s office, knowing full well that her presence was unrequired, nothing stopped her. No meteor crashed through the window to block the doorway. Her phone didn’t divert her attention with a ring or a buzz or any type of alert, which, honestly, is a little remarkable. A truly depressing number of unfantastic things happen every day that she has to fix, and her tablet loves to scream about them. As if she wasn’t already aware.
But there was no meteor or computer alert or phone call from Thea asking her to tell her brother to pick up his phone, so there was nothing to distract her when Oliver started sending her looks through the glass wall between their offices with his ‘Felicity help me’ eyes.
She should’ve just left him to deal with Laurel on his own.
Instead, she’d draped paperwork over her arm and strode confidently (fake it ‘till you make it!) into his office, just in time to hear Laurel say, aggressively: “This was important to us, Oliver, and you said you’d be there. What could possibly have come up that would be important enough to bail on your best friend’s engagement party?” (Obviously, Felicity noted, she was talking about Tommy, not herself.)
And oh boy, that was her fault. She’d found a lead on a murderer they’d been really struggling to track down, and had made the rookie mistake of telling Oliver about it right before he had to be somewhere. Naturally, he’d grabbed the lead and ran with it. He was suited up and out the door in less than three minutes. (Not that she’d been counting.) Situations like that are the entire reason she regrets having a backup suit for him hidden under her bathroom sink, next to the first aid kit that goes a little above and beyond the typical ‘band-aids and alcohol wipes’ kit that normal people have.
But Felicity had done her very best to not grimace when she’d heard Laurel’s (very fair) accusation. And, because she knew how bad it looked—unexpectedly not showing up to the engagement party of your ex-girlfriend and best friend, she acted. Which is how she got here, to the part where she’s a genius but still an idiot, and regrets words she hasn’t even said yet, but they’re on their way out and there’s no stopping them now. Her paperwork pile hits the desk as she says, almost casually: “He was with me.”
And, yep, there’s the regret. Right on schedule. Hopefully, with some divine intervention, (will the gods please stop frowning on her? She’s doing her best), this won’t end up being one of the many, many holes in which she finds herself digging deeper into.
“No, he wasn’t,” Laurel says dismissively, barely sparing Felicity an over-the-shoulder glance (which, rude, but given the situation, forgivable) before she turns back to Oliver, but his eyes are elsewhere: they’re now waging war with Felicity. And she is, to her great irritation, losing.
He seems unfazed by the daggers she’s glaring at him, which is just fracking great, because she was really counting on those daggers to work.
Please don’t use my terrible excuse! She screams as loudly as possible with her eyes. Laurel doesn’t notice, and Oliver ignores her.
“Actually, Laurel, Felicity’s right. I was with her yesterday.”
Felicity seethes. She is going to kill him later, because there is no possible way that this can go anywhere but south—
“That’s funny, because Tommy called the office when you didn’t show up, and they said you left around four, a good two hours before you didn’t show up at our party.”
Yep. Sounds about right. Damnit, Oliver.
“No, Laurel, I wasn’t at the office,” Oliver says, looking frustrated, and Felicity thinks she might as well throw herself out the window, because there’s the hole, Oliver with the shovel, digging it wayyyy deeper. (For a moment, she guiltily thinks it feels rather nice to not be the one with their foot in their mouth for once.)
Despite her high intellect, it takes Laurel ‘scary badass lawyer’ Lance a long time to figure out what Oliver accidentally implied. (Felicity briefly considers that her long and intimate history with such verbal gaffes has given her the ability to notice accidental innuendos practically before they occur, like some sort of unfortunate superpower.) Even Oliver doesn’t seem to realize what he’s done until Laurel turns so she can see them both, and is able to bounce her gaze back and forth between them like she’s watching a tennis match and is really unhappy about it.
“Let me get this straight,” Laurel starts, her voice low and dangerous. Oliver cowers, and Felicity half expects him to reach out and pull her close so he can use her like a human shield. She almost rolls her eyes, but she’s already fairly stressed and doesn’t want to further upset Laurel. Because she is scary. Not as scary as Felicity’s Loud Voice (patent pending), but still. Formidable.
“You’re sleeping with your secretary—”
“—Executive Assistant,” Felicity says helpfully.
“So not important right now, Felicity,” Laurel says, doing a very good impression of Oliver’s growly Arrow-voice. “I can’t believe you chose having sex over mine and Tommy’s engagement party!”
“That’s not what happened,” Oliver says. His voice is far too calm to be genuine. Felicity is, mostly internally, freaking out. She mentally crosses all of her fingers and prays to Google that someone, anyone, decides to give her a call. At this point, she’d even take one from her mom. It would totally derail the rest of her day, but it would be worth it. Anything to get her out of this conversation.
“You and Tommy are both very important to me, and if I could have been there, I would’ve.”
Felicity forgets about her mom for a second and lets her eyes dart back and forth between Laurel and Oliver, the former of which looks thoroughly unimpressed. She’s raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, and yes, Oliver looks a little nervous. Felicity thinks she probably shouldn’t be happy about that, but lets herself off the hook because this is all his fault. She watches him as he very visibly does some quick, desperate thinking.
“I’m sure your father’s told you that Felicity works with the Arrow,” Oliver says, and Felicity fights the urge to scream. Not any words in particular, just your average banshee-like scream. If Laurel hadn’t already known about her less-than-legal side gig, she does now.
Laurel glances over at Felicity like she’s never seen her before, and Felicity knows basically what Laurel’s going to say before she does: “Felicity what? She works for the vigilante? And my dad knew? For how long?”
For fracks’ sake, Oliver.
Felicity eyes the windows with renewed interest. Unfortunately, they don’t open and the glass is bulletproof. (A recent addition, inspired by the truly discouraging number of times they’ve been attacked at QC this year alone.)
“Yes. She was working last night and needed help, so I offered. I’m truly sorry, Laurel, and I’ll find a way to make it up to you both, but Felicity is my top priority.”
Laurel’s glare is gone by the time Oliver finishes explaining himself. And sure, it was a fake explanation, but—wait—had Oliver called her his top priority?
“Oh my god,” Laurel gasps. “You’re in love with her.”
“You’re talking about me like I’m not here,” Felicity complains before she processes Laurel’s words, and her throat practically closes up. (She’s pretty sure there weren’t any nuts in her lunch.) “Wait, what?”
Oliver smiles, and they continue talking like she isn’t standing right there.
“Yes, I am,” he says. If Felicity didn’t suspect him to be lying, this would be the part where she grins like an idiot.
“Oh, I’m so happy for you; both of you! This is wonderful!” Laurel beams, grabbing Oliver by the shoulders and dragging him into a hug. Felicity takes a momentary pause from her confusion/freak out to smirk at his discomfort.
“I have to go, but I think you two should talk. Felicity looks like she’s had a building dropped on her,” Laurel says, backing out of the office with the cheeky grin of a person who’s just flipped a poor unsuspecting IT-specialist-turned-reluctant-EA’s life upside-down.
When she’s disappeared around a corner, Felicity spins around to punch Oliver hard on the arm.
“What were you thinking! Laurel is not going to be able to keep this secret! I’m not sure she’ll try!”
“We’ve been talking about telling people for months,” Oliver says, rubbing his bicep even though she’s certain the punch hurt her hand more than it hurt his arm. “Now seems like a good time.”
“Maybe, but…” Felicity trails off, unable to think of a good argument. It’s then that she remembers—“Wait. Wait.”
“Waiting,” Oliver says, amused, because he’s a jerk. She ignores him; a skill she has developed and honed over the years.
“Did you mean…that thing you said, a minute ago? About, you know, your feelings surrounding—” she gesticulates wildly around herself, and he leans back to avoid getting whacked “—me? Because if you didn’t and said that to shut her up then I completely and totally understand—”
“I meant it.”
Oh. For once, literally once, in her life, Felicity Smoak is silent.
“Every word,” Oliver continues, his voice really soft and close. When did he move so much closer? “I love you, Felicity.”
“Okay,” she whispers, trying to take the words apart in her head, find their meaning, and put them back together. Love isn’t a computer, she realizes. She doesn’t have to search her mind for a reason, a string of code, a clicked button, a reason for him to love her. There isn’t one, not truly.
“I love you too, by the way.”