Prodigal Son

Chapter Two - Part 2

Oliver did not call.  

Felicity was still in shock when she left work, wracking her brain for how she'd guessed so wrong, which is why she figured she didn't notice someone following her up the path to her townhome and the landing she shared with the neighboring unit until after she'd fished out her keys and unlocked her door. 

It was only as she stepped inside, tried and failed to shut the door behind her, did she realize she was not alone. She was appalled. It was not even six pm! The sun was still bright in the sky and her neighborhood was on the safe side of the Glades! Well, safer side.  And the empty units on either side of hers meant a lot of strangers had been coming by lately. But still, she wasn't supposed to get mugged in broad daylight. But then, she wasn't supposed to be doing a lot of things she'd been doing.

Fear heightened instinct. For a second, she froze, unable to recall the self-defense lessons Diggle had insisted she learn, but then muscle memory kicked in and the sharp elbow she jabbed backward connected solidly even if it didn't elicit so much as a groan. Still, she must have caught her attacker by surprise because she was able to turn to face him, getting ready to scream and go for the eyes when a familiar pair of blue ones frowned down at her.

"Oliver?"

***

Felicity grabbed a half-empty bottle of red from next to the refrigerator, paused, and spoke over her shoulder. "I can offer you a beer instead if you'd prefer."

Her guest grunted, which she took for assent.  She went back to the frig and took one of the microbrews Curtis had left behind from their last Doctor Who marathon and slid it across the counter before she selected a wine goblet from the rack. Her fingers rested briefly on one before drifting over to choose the much larger cousin. It had already shaped up to be that kind of night.

"Do you have a bottle opener?"

She rummaged around in a drawer and handed him what he needed, appreciative he hadn't just tried to knock the cap off on the edge of her granite counters. She filled her goblet halfway with the deep maroon liquid and then thought, what the hell, and emptied the rest of the bottle. Queen eyed her filled to the brim glass but wisely didn't comment. Defiantly, she took a long sip. It's not like she was planning on driving anywhere tonight.

Still ignoring the watchful eyes following her, she returned to her Frigidaire and pulled a less than crisp head of iceberg lettuce from the vegetable drawer. The outer leaves were wilted but once stripped away, she decided the rest were still edible. Silently she went about putting together a salad while Oliver sat at her breakfast bar sipping his beer and watching her with unnerving intensity. The man wanted answers but he had enough self-control to know when patience was his best bet.

She finished tossing together what she thought looked like a pretty little salad; the diced tomatoes glistened under a splash of Italian dressing which kept the chopped iceberg from looking too sad. Setting it on the peninsula, she told Oliver she'd be right back. Another grunt sufficed for assent. Not that she was seeking permission. She was in her own home for God's sake and if she wanted to slip into something more comfortable, she would. Her step faltered. No. Not like that. Of course not like that. And definitely not after he nearly scared her to death!

She went to the room at the end of the hall and made sure the door was firmly shut and locked before she quickly traded executive assistant chic for 'Oh thank God, it's the weekend' schlump. The doorbell rang as she was aligning the zipper on the hoodie that matched her striped, powder pink, track pants.

"Coming," she shouted, zipping up the sweatshirt and rushing to shove her bare feet into a pair of cozy slippers. She needn't have rushed. Oliver had the cardboard pizza box in hand and was shutting the front door before she ever made it down the hallway. Scent of the rich sauce and yeasty crust hit her nostrils and she started drooling. Yes, refusing to answer his questions until after dinner arrived had been the smart choice.