Technical Assistance

Chapter 8: Wireless Access Troubleshooting and Diagnostics

Felicity is glad to be home, with the only thing separating her from comfort and bliss being a locked door to which she has the key. It was a bad day because she actually had to dress up for her employee review with her boss, and she's not equipped to run around in heels all day doing office work, especially in her favorite pink, gray, and black dress—which she's come to realize is a little too short and hugs far too nicely for office work. And of course she ran out of her apartment late, so her hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail instead of being styled properly. Her day has been spent crawling around in office spaces, so she can no longer feel her feet—which is good because, before they went numb, they felt like someone was jabbing needles into them.

Just as she's about to turn the key on her door and sink into a blissful marathon of ice cream and sci-fi gloriousness, a voice calls from behind her, "Felicity!" She's so tired that she doesn't even recognize the voice, just turns on her aching heels toward whomever it is. She wishes for a moment she was a violent person so she can slap him for interrupting her plans for a fun night in.

Her eyes light up in surprise as she sees the man who dares stand in front of her and interrupt her planning of an interesting evening. "Oliver," she says, breathless in her surprise. He's gorgeous as always, but this time in jeans and a long-sleeved pullover and not a suit. Then she feels a paranoid feeling creep up on her. "What are you doing here?"

He offers her a rueful almost-smile. "I wanted to see you about some technical things," he explains, holding up the laptop she built for him under one arm. "I tried to catch you at the office, but they told me you'd already left for the night. I hope you didn't mind me stopping by—the desk clerk said it was okay for me to come up." His eyes wander over her figure in a way that doesn't offend her—it doesn't imply that he sees her as a conquest, but rather expresses interest in the difference in her attire. "You look nice," he offers hesitantly, as if he isn't certain how she'll take the compliment.

"Thanks," she answers, flushing at the unexpected attention. "And that's perfectly fine," she assures him tiredly, now that she sees her paranoia is completely unfounded. She winces. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm probably not going to be a great hostess tonight—bad day at the office." She turns her key and motions him in after the door swings open. "Come on in, take off your skin, rattle around in your bones," she offers, surprising herself by using the old saying from the latter part of her childhood.

He chuckles as he walks into the main area, kitchen on one side, living area on the other, both just beyond the short hallway that connects to the entrance. She stops in the hall, and Oliver stops just ahead of her, watching her step out of her shoes and throw her bag onto the small table with her keys. Her coat somehow makes it onto the rack, and then she's moving again.

"Sorry," she offers. "High heels and IT work aren't exactly friends." She motions to the couch. "Have a seat." She glances around the room for a moment because something about it feels different, and then she sees it. The sleek black printer definitely isn't hers, since her old one is now in a dumpster somewhere. "Oh!" she says in surprise, rushing over to it. She smiles when she sees the dark green bow—a decidedly store-bought one that you get for a dollar at the nearest supermarket—sitting on it. The Vigilante apparently has a sense of humor. There's no card or anything, but she knows the message he's trying to send: I don't break my promises. Thank you. Forgetting her visitor, she hugs it, squealing just a little—it's far nicer than the one she had before, and it's definitely a top-of-the-line piece of equipment. She hopes he didn't pay too much for it. Then she hopes he didn't steal it.

A light, breathy sound that could pass for laughter comes from the sofa. "Who's that from?" Oliver asks, his mouth turning down into a slight frown.

"Just a friend," Felicity replies, already feeling her cheeks heat in response. She chastises herself for being such a nerd. "He broke my printer a few weeks ago—the klutz knocked it off the stand—so he promised to buy me a new one." She feels guilty about lying to Oliver, but then she realizes that it's not really a lie—she did work out some aggression by smashing that printer to pieces before putting it in her trash. It was kind of fun, if she thought about it. She shrugs self-consciously, trying to find a way to change the subject. "Can I get you something to drink?"