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Side Story #1: Phone Encryption Recovery

Felicity can't believe her poor luck as she realizes that none other than Oliver Queen is going to drive her home. She was too distracted by the puppy-dog eyes he flashed her earlier as he asked to determine that he was trying to get his way. She's already conceded now, so she'll have to deal with the consequences, but it will definitely serve as a cautionary tale in the future. Oliver will not find her so amiable the next time; of that much she is certain.

In a way, it scares her that he can read her so well. They've only talked on three different occasions, but yet he can read her far better than she can him. Maybe her people skills are just a little rusty from all that time spent in the Satan Pit. There's a reason she chose a career working with computers instead of people, after all, and it's not because her first choice of being a surgeon fell through. (She forgot about that horrible fear of needles and blood, but it came rushing back to her in college.)

Oliver guides her through the garage with the quiet smugness of a man who has won, leaving Felicity to fume silently to herself. She has to admit, though, the Queen family "garage" is more of a car museum than a garage, displaying at least thirty cars of all shapes and sizes—all of them flashy. It takes Oliver a while to find one he deigns fit to use; it's the least garish of the collection, but it's still a Mercedes sports car of some kind. She rolls her eyes at how ostentatious it is, then supposes it's the best he could do under the circumstances. After all, he probably doesn't even know what a Ford is.

In a surprisingly chivalrous gesture, he opens her door for her, and she practically has to sit on the floor to slide in. She stumbles a little, but Oliver only offers her a steadying hand and a smile that makes her breath catch for a moment. Then it's like he pretends nothing happened, and the next thing she knows, he's driving, and she can see her little Mini Cooper come to life with a soft glow of headlights, as Mr. Diggle follows her and Oliver into the city. It's clear Oliver is perfectly content with their lack of conversation.

Felicity, however, is not so thrilled. It's an awkward, tense silence to her, so she decides to break it. Much has been flying around her head since the... attack, for lack of a better word, so she focuses on the thing that stands out the most to her: Oliver. She vaguely hears the words, "You're quite a scrapper for a billionaire," leave her mouth, and she cringes instantly. "I didn't mean it like that," she says, waving her hands awkwardly. "I just meant that I was surprised. I'd expect you to be a bit of a sissy, honestly—" She cuts herself off, cringing again. "I really need to stop talking completely."

Oliver just chuckles a little at her rambling speech. "Well, you're quite a scrapper for an IT girl," he replies, sidestepping her question altogether. That little one-sided smirk plays across his mouth as he asks, "How did you learn how to throw like that?"

Felicity's smile falters as she thinks of who taught her that particular skill. "My brother," she says flatly, unwilling to continue. Not wanting to answer more questions on the subject, she demands, "I think you were about to explain to me why you were able to do that, though." He doesn't answer and chooses instead to ignore her completely. It's enough to for her to hazard a guess, and she tries to do so gently. "You know," she continues quietly, slowly, "you don't have to be ashamed because you learned new skills on the island in order to survive, Oliver." She feels like she understands more about him in this moment than she ever thought possible. "We all have to adapt to stay alive."

"It's not so much the skills as what I've learned to do with them," he responds, smile falling from his face completely. His voice says what his words won't, and Felicity doesn't feel like she should press further on the subject. Apparently the island is a painful memory for more than one reason, and who is she to demand he speak.

"I think I understand—in theory, anyway," she responds slowly, but her words jumble together as she adds the qualifier. "I'm a computer programmer by trade, sure, but... well, let's just say my skills haven't always been used for legal reasons." She thinks again of the work she's done for the Vigilante—at how Detective Lance could probably throw the book at her after she completed just three favors for the man. But she's started to think about it differently—it's not about legality now, but about doing what's right. It's a complicated state of affairs, though, and she wants Oliver to know he's not the only one with a strong moral dilemma.