Technical Assistance

Chapter 24: Computer Refurbishment

Felicity sighs as she looks at her computer screen yet again, but this time she puts her head in her hands.  She hates being on the tech support logs, even though she thinks it's fair that they take turns; all she does all day is type report after report into the log.  Someone's computer screws up, so she posts it to the log for a tech to repair.  Then, she has to file the tickets the techs fill out when the job is complete, and everyone must think it's a crime to fill out the whole damn thing.

She lets out a growl of frustration as she looks at the next ticket in line, frowning because half of the thing is missing.  Tired of the bureaucracy of working in a large office, she denies the ticket and writes a somewhat nasty note to the person, saying that she can't fill out a repair ticket without even knowing what the fix was.  She looks down at her clock forlornly—it's six o'clock and she still has several hundred requests and tickets to process.  So much for getting home at a reasonable hour.  She'd like a normal night every now and again—one that doesn't involve logging five hours overtime or running around the city at three a.m. with the Arrow.

A chuckle comes from her doorway, and she looks up, startled to learn that anyone else is on the floor.  She's even more surprised to find none other than Oliver Queen leaning against her door frame, a very busted laptop in hand.

"Shit," she offers in greeting, "I completely forgot about fixing your laptop tonight."  She had called him a few days ago to let him know that the new casing was in, and she had told him to drop by her apartment at five-thirty.  Between the normal grind and the sleep deprivation from too many encounters with the Arrow starting to wear on her, she had forgotten.  "How mad are you?"

"I'm not mad," he assures her with a convincing smile, sitting down in the chair inside her station.  "When you weren't there, I knew you'd probably forgotten."  There's something loaded about his smile now, as if he's making his own private joke as he continues, "Though you don't seem like the type to forget an appointment."  He sets a styrofoam box on her desk, and she immediately places the smell—and it's divine.  "And, if I remember correctly, we made a deal that I was to provide dinner."  He offers her a rare, wide smile. "And we hired that chef, so if you find yourself craving Italian, you could always stop by Verdant when it opens."

"Oliver Queen, you know me too well," she answers as she removes her plastic fork from its wrapper.  She finds it a little odd that she's said those words to two different people in the past week, both of whom she didn't know a few months ago.

He offers her a small smile, this one maybe more genuine than the last.  "I could say the same to you," he says quietly, and she stops halfway through opening her box, remembering the Arrow saying exactly the same words.  She shakes her head.  No, that's ridiculous, and she should know better; Oliver doesn't have the sort of training that the Arrow does.  She heard him storm a house full of mercenaries last week with a bow, and there are a select few people she thinks could be that talented.  Oliver isn't one of them.

She resumes with opening the box, and she plunges her fork into the waiting pasta with enthusiasm.  This time she knows to stifle the groan that threatens to escape her, and she says, "You know, it's better now than it was the last time.  This should be illegal, it's so good."  She frowns.  "But then I wouldn't get to eat it."  He snickers at that, and she manages to glance at a clock and see what time it is.  "Oh, damn, you were supposed to pick up Thea at six, weren't you?"  That's why they'd originally agreed on five-thirty; he was supposed to drop off the laptop and then pick up Thea and come back for it.  Since she's without a license, Oliver somehow was roped into being her chauffeur, and Felicity thinks Thea might not be the most patient person in the world.

He waves a hand, though he seems surprised she remembered.  "Tommy said he would take care of it," he answers.  "I think he was tired of yelling at contractors all day, anyway."