Technical Assistance

Side Story #3: Electronic Reconnaissance

Oliver sighs as he finds himself outside Felicity's window for the third night in a row.  Ever since he heard the voicemail she left him, he's been trying to call her.  When she didn't answer after twenty missed calls, he supposed she wanted to see him in person.  His first try was three nights ago, and, if she heard his knocking at her window and his phone calls, she ignored him.  Unfortunately, though, Arrow business called, so it didn't last too long before he had to leave.  The same thing happened last night, too—and that time he stayed long enough to know it would be impossible for her to ignore him.  Saphira pawed pitifully at the window all night, and Felicity avoided her room altogether.

He's hesitant to do it because he thinks she might be trying to sever ties after he screwed up so badly as the Arrow, but he shows up earlier this time, just after nightfall.  He knows he should probably let her go if that's what she wants, but he can't bring himself to do it.  He knows she's just mad at his Arrow persona—and not at her friend Oliver Queen—but he just can't stand her to be angry with any of his personalities.  On top of that, she was the only woman in his life who he hadn't screwed up a relationship with, and he can't let it go over something so trivial.  Thea wants him to open up about the island, though he's not ready.  His mother wants him to spend more time with her, though he can't because of Arrow business.  Laurel wants him to be her friend, but he needs to let her go for his own sanity.  And Helena—well, he's fortunate he hasn't yet received a crossbow bolt in his back.  (Diggle still hasn't let that one go.)  Felicity is the only one who doesn't demand things from him, and he doesn't think he can help the city without her any longer.

Then he wonders when Felicity Smoak became such an important part of his life.

Unexpectedly, the door to her bathroom opens, and she steps out of the room in pajamas.  Her shirt features a stick figure in a cape, but he can't quite read the caption.  The pants feature similar stick figures in purple shirts, and he realizes he probably shouldn't analyze too far—this is Felicity, after all.  She towels off her damp hair as she walks into the room absently, and he notices that she doesn't look all that different without her makeup on.  Apparently she doesn't wear much.

She jumps when she finally sees him standing there, the towel in her hands falling to the floor.  He can't hear her through the locked window, but the hand over her mouth makes him think she's stifled a scream.  Eyes narrowing in a way that tell Oliver he's in trouble, she charges toward the window, flinging it open.  "What the hell is wrong with you?" she demands as she motions him in.

She waits to continue her verbal assault until he manages to stand upright in her room, and he can now see the caption on her shirt, and the stick figure with the cape proclaims, "I wear the cape, I make the whoosh noises."  She pokes a fingernail painted lime green into his chest, and he wonders if the color is a coincidence.  "You don't go around staring into people's bedroom windows!  I thought you were sort of stalkerish before, but you've just taken the creep train to Creepy Island, buster!"  She crosses her arms over her chest.  "Now, why are you staring in my window like a creepy-creep-creep?"

He tries to ignore the barrage of words that always seem to make him smile.  He masks the grin on his face and chooses to respond, "I've been trying to contact you for three days."  He doesn't mean for it to be accusatory, but it comes out dark despite the voice modulator that's supposed to keep emotions out of his voice. It doesn't seem to work when Felicity's around, though.

Felicity isn't amused by the change in conversation.  "So that's how you're going to play it?" she asks, her voice a little high and loud, the way it does when she's angry, apparently.  He winces, but thankfully she can't see it under the hood and mask.  "You're going to pretend that this is all me?"  She pokes his shoulder again.  "Because I am not the one who said they'd help, and then did absolutely nothing!  Also—fun fact—I'm not the one creeping into people's rooms at night!"  She sighs, turning away as she holds a hand to her head.  "I don't like feeling spied on."