Chapter Text
Felicity forgot to RSVP to the first invitation to her ten-year high school reunion since, at the time, she was busy 1) helping to save Starling City from an army of masked drug-crazed maniacs, 2) traveling to a secret remote island to imprison the leader of said army, and 3) obsessing over just how much of Oliver’s declaration of his love was just a ploy to capture the bad guy and how much of it was possibly an actual heartfelt declaration of his love.
So it should come as no surprise that, when she first received it, the e-vite to Centennial High School’s ten-year high school reunion didn’t even register on Felicity's list of things that warranted her attention. But now, two months after returning from Lian Yu, two months after Starling City has once again begun to rebuild itself, and two months after she and Oliver have returned to an approximation of their pre-love-declaration state, she gets what is apparently the final invitation to the reunion.
She’s sitting at her desk while Oliver and Diggle spar on the mat behind her, checking her email on one screen and monitoring the police databases on the others, when the e-vite pops up.
Centennial High School invites you to our 10 year class reunion!
August 30, 7:00pm
Centennial High School Gymnasium
10200 W Centennial Pkwy, Las Vegas, Nevada
“Oh god,” she says as she reads it. “Oh no.”
Behind her, she hears a thud, and then Diggle’s helping Oliver to his feet, both of them breathing heavy as they walk over to her desk. She’s just sitting there, frozen, staring wide-eyed at the screen.
“Felicity?” Oliver says. “What’s wrong?”
“Ugh,” Felicity says instead of answering. She leans down, pressing her forehead against the edge of her desk, hard enough that it hurts.
Oliver leans against the desk beside her, squinting at the computer screen. Normally, he needs her to walk him through whatever they’re looking at because the screen is full of code and algorithms and schematics. But not this time, since the only thing on the monitor is the damn email, which she’s pretty sure he can figure out on his own.
“Felicity?” Oliver says again, sounding confused.
“It’s my ten-year high school reunion,” she says into the desk.
“So?” Diggle asks.
“So?” she repeats, lifting her head to look up at the two of them. “So, it’s this weekend, and I totally forgot about it, and...ugh…” She groans again, tipping her head back against her chair.
“What’s the big deal?” Oliver asks, leaning even closer so that he can read the invitation again, his bare shoulder brushing against her arm. Even with all of the sweatiness, he still smells nice, like soap and expensive cologne and boy, and Felicity shifts towards him without quite meaning to. “Just don’t go.”
Beside him, Diggle nods in agreement, like just not going is a legitimate solution to her problem.
“I can’t just not go,” Felicity tells them, incredulous. “It’s the ten-year reunion. I have to go.”
She clicks on the little RSVP button at the bottom of the email and starts to fill out the form, typing in her name and phone number, her fingers flying over the keyboard even as she shakes her head in annoyance. When she gets to the “Guest” section of the form, she hesitates, her fingers going still.
The thing is, she can’t show up to her high school reunion alone. That certainly won’t send the right message. Felicity bites her lip and taps her fingers idly against her desk, her brain racing to come up with a plan.
The truth is, the only thing that would send the right message is showing up with a super-hot, super-rich boyfriend. Which she obviously doesn’t have. What she does have, however, is a super-hot, super-rich boss who is really good at pretending to be something he’s not. She looks up at Oliver, just as he looks down at her, and she can see the moment he sees what she’s planning, his eyes widening slightly.
“Oliver…” she starts, but he’s already shaking his head and pushing away from her desk.
“Uh uh, Felicity,” he tells her, turning away and walking over to the training mat. She glances over at Diggle for help, but he’s just watching silently, his arms crossed over his chest and an amused look on his face. “No way.”
“Come on, Oliver.” She spins around in her chair to watch him as he picks up his bow and grabs a couple of training arrows. “I’d do it for you.”
Oliver pauses, just for a beat, and she knows he’s probably thinking of all the things she’s done for him. And how if he did ask her to be his fake date to his high school reunion, she would do it in a heartbeat. Not that he’d ever need her to, since he could get a real date very easily, but still. Her point stands.
“Just say you can’t go!” Oliver finally says, stringing up an arrow and sending it flying into the center of one of the targets.
“I already told you,” Felicity says, exasperated. “I have to go.”
“What the hell for?” He shoots another arrow, and this one goes wide. Beside her, Diggle clears his throat and glances down at the ground, looking for all the world like he’s trying not to smile.
“Because I made a promise to myself that if I ever got out of Vegas and managed to do something with my life, I’d go back and rub it in the face of every asshole who made high school a living hell.” And, yeah, Felicity knows that sounds silly and immature and irrational, but it’s high school. No one is rational about high school.
“Come on, Felicity,” Oliver says, lowering the bow and turning back towards her with an indulgent smile. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
She scoffs, shaking her head and looking over a Diggle with a smirk. “Spoken like a true cool kid.”
Diggle nods and smirks back, and Oliver narrows his eyes at him. Felicity guesses their next sparring match is probably going to be a little more aggressive than usual.
“Hey, I bet you were cool, too.” Oliver winks at her, a totally desperate move that she sees right through. No way is Oliver Queen going to charm his way out of this plan with a freaking wink.
“I was not cool. I was the definition of not cool. I was a kid who skipped two grades and ate lunch alone in the bathroom and tried to start a computer club. Which, by the way, nobody joined.”
“Oh.”
“But now,” she says, tilting her chin up and squaring her shoulders. “Now, I’m a successful partner to a badass vigilante. Of course no one can actually know that due to the whole secret identity thing, but at the very least I could show up with a billionaire playboy on my arm.”
“I’m an ex-billionaire playboy, remember?” Oliver tries.
Felicity just rolls her eyes, because, please. That’s just semantics.
“Besides,” he adds, sounding sort of desperate. “I need to stick around here, make sure no new evils befall Starling City.” He looks over at Diggle for support. “Right, Digg?”
“Actually, things have been pretty quiet around here,” Diggle offers, and Oliver glares at him. Yeah, there aren’t going to be any pulled punches the next time they’re on the mat. “Besides, I’ll be around to keep an eye on things.”
“Yeah, see,” Felicity agrees, smiling gratefully at Diggle. “Digg’s got Starling City covered. So, Oliver. What do you say? Want to come to Vegas with me and be my pretend boyfriend for the weekend? Pretty please?” She clasps her hands together in a pleading gesture, and she sees the exact moment he gives in, his face softening and his mouth curling up at the corners.
“Fine,” he says. He pinches the bridge of his nose, but she can tell he's still smiling. “But you owe me.”
*
Since Oliver's position with Queen Consolidated still isn't quite sorted out, they can’t use the private plane or the penthouse at the Encore or any of the other luxuries he normally has at his disposal, but he still gives Felicity his credit card and tells her to go wild.
It’s not until she starts making all of the arrangements that the realities of her little plan start to hit her. She’s going to be alone all weekend with Oliver, a thousand miles from Starling City, and they’re not even going to have a mission to work on. But, Felicity tries to convince herself, it will be fine. She and Oliver are fine, they’re basically on the same page when it comes to their completely platonic relationship, and things are fine. Really. Plus, they’re going to be in separate rooms at the hotel, so. Things will be fine.
“Everything set for this weekend?” Oliver asks her on Thursday night, just as she’s heading home for the evening. Diggle left a few hours ago, and so it’s just her and Oliver. She’s been dividing her attention between getting the last of their travel arrangements sorted and trying not to stare too obviously as Oliver works out on the salmon ladder.
Felicity nods, pulling on her coat, and not looking at his bare chest. “Our flight leaves Starling City at noon tomorrow, and we fly out of Vegas first thing Sunday morning. The reunion is on Saturday night, which means we’ll basically have to entertain ourselves for Friday night and Saturday afternoon, but it’s Vegas, and we’ll be staying on the Strip, so I’m sure we’ll figure something out. Plus, there's the whole jet lag thing, so we'll probably just want to fall right into bed. Different beds, I mean. Not the same bed, obviously. I booked us two suites at the Bellagio, not just one. Because, you know, we normally don’t sleep in the same bedroom, so why would we now, just because you're pretending to be my boyfriend? And, so. We have separate suites."
When she finally manages to stop babbling, Oliver’s watching her with an amused smile. “Sounds good,” he says.
“Good,” she says, nodding a little. Because it is good; everything is totally and completely good. A weekend in Vegas alone with Oliver Queen, who she is in love with and who may or may not be in love with her and who will be pretending to be her boyfriend, is a brilliant idea. “Well, goodnight.”
“Oh hey,” he says, reaching out and taking her arm as she walks past him. “Am I going to get to meet your mother?”
“My mother?” Felicity repeats, her stomach dropping. Oliver’s hand is warm through her coat, and she stares down at it as he brushes his thumb lightly over the fabric.
“Yeah. She lives in Vegas, doesn’t she?” Oliver asks.
“Yes, she does. She does live in Vegas,” Felicity stammers as the full ramifications of her plan start to hit her. She’s already going to have to deal with being back in a town she hates, surrounded by people she can't stand, and spending the weekend with the guy she has an incredibly complicated thing with. There’s no way she can add her mom to the mix. There’s only so much one woman should be expected to handle.
When she glances up, Oliver’s still looking at her expectantly. “So will I be meeting her?”
“No,” Felicity says, shaking her head and picking up her bag. “It’s just...she probably has to work. Cocktail waitressing is a pretty time-consuming gig, you know? Plus, she doesn’t actually know I’m going to be in town. Not that I don’t want her to know that I’m in town, just that this whole trip is kind of last minute, and, you know. There’s not really going to be time,” she finishes lamely.
Oliver purses his lips and nods, not saying anything for a couple of seconds. After all, it’s not like complicated parental relationships are some big mystery to him. “Okay,” he finally says, and, with any luck, that will be the end of that.
*
It’s been a long time since Felicity has been back in Vegas -- not since college, actually -- and in that time she’s almost managed to forget how much she hates it.
She and Oliver step out of the airport and into the hot desert air, both of them blinking against the harsh glare of the sun reflecting off all of the glass and steel of the Strip.
“Home sweet home,” Felicity mumbles. It feels like it must be a thousand degrees outside, her thin silk blouse is already sticking to her skin, and she can feel the tension creeping into her body, her shoulders already aching from it.
Oliver leans over and presses his hand against the small of her back, and instead of relaxing like she normally does when he touches her, she starts, flinching away from him.
“Sorry,” she says, feeling like an idiot. She's just kind of jumpy and anxious from being back here, and the normal pleasant tension she feels whenever she's around Oliver has ratcheted up about a million degrees. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Oliver says, but he looks kind of hurt, his forehead furrowed and his hands held up in front of him. A black town car slides up to the curb, and Oliver opens the door for her as the driver takes their bags.
They spend the short drive to their hotel in silence, Oliver texting on his phone while Felicity stares out the window at the tourists and the buildings and the tackiness that is Las Vegas.
“Diggle says everything’s fine in Starling City,” Oliver tells her, sliding his phone into his pocket.
Felicity nods, looking over at him. “Good,” she says, giving him what she hopes is a smile.
It must not be though, because he leans over and touches her softly on the wrist. “Hey,” he says. “You okay?”
“Yeah," she tells him. "I’m fine.” She looks out the window again as they drive past the fountains, and then they're pulling up to the hotel, tall and ornate and tacky. Her mom worked here for three years, back when Felicity was in high school. She used to do her Statistics homework at the Blackjack table. "It’s just weird being back home."
“I know the feeling,” he tells her as the driver opens the door for them, letting in a hot blast of desert air. Felicity takes a deep breath and gets out of the car, following Oliver through the glass doors and into the building.
The hotel lobby is fairly empty, just a couple of people sitting on the couch below the colorful glass ceiling and a few more milling over near the entrance to the casino floor. There’s only one person working at the check-in desk, a tall, thin brunette in a tasteful black suit, and Felicity and Oliver are only a few steps away when Felicity recognizes her.
“Ugh,” Felicity says under her breath.
“What’s wrong?” Oliver asks in a low voice.
“I went to high school with her.” She nods at the woman behind the counter. “Her name's Janice. She totally hated me.” Felicity takes another deep breath and smiles as she and Oliver reach the check-in desk.
“Hello,” Janice says, looking up and giving them a bland, plastic smile. “Welcome to the Bellagio. How may I help you?”
“Janice,” Felicity says with false brightness. “Hey. It’s good to see you.”
Janice looks at her blankly. “I’m sorry,” she says, still with the same plastic smile. “Do we know each other?”
“I’m Felicity, Felicity Smoak,” she says, but Janice is still staring at her blankly. “We went to high school together? You sat behind me in homeroom? Every day? For four years?”
Janice looks at her for a couple of beats and then her face lights up in recognition. “Felicity Smoak!” she says. “Oh wow! You look great!"
Felicity blinks. Maybe this won't be so bad after all. "Oh. Thank you."
Janice shakes her head, looking Felicity up and down. "Weren't you, like, really into computers and video games and all of that geeky tech-kid stuff?”
“I was indeed,” Felicity says wryly. Behind her, she feels Oliver shift, a warm and solid presence at her back.
“You here for the reunion?” Janice asks.
“Yep,” Felicity says as Janice glances behind her, raising her eyebrows when she sees Oliver. Felicity doesn’t say anything, and Oliver gives her a gentle nudge with his elbow, making her jump. “Oh, right! This is Oliver. He’s my...” she clears her throat and glances back at him. He’s giving her a curious look, his head tilted to the side, and she can’t believe she thought this plan was actually going to work. But they’re here and Janice is looking at her expectantly, and, well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “My boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend. Yep. He is my boyfriend,” she babbles, tapping her fingers against the reservation counter in time with her words.
“Really?” Janice asks, sounding skeptical. Like it’s so hard to believe that Oliver could be Felicity’s boyfriend. Ugh, forget what Felicity said about this not being so bad after all. It's definitely going to be terrible.
“Oliver Queen,” Oliver says. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Oliver Queen,” Janice repeats, glancing at Felicity. “And Felicity Smoak.” She shakes her head and laughs a little. “Well. Let’s see what we’ve got.” She types something into the computer and smirks. “So, it looks like you guys are going to need two rooms. How romantic.”
“No!” Felicity says, feeling panicked. Shit. “I mean, yes...I mean...Oliver, he...I -- ”
“There must be some mistake,” Oliver interrupts, taking a step forward so that he’s leaning against the polished marble counter beside the computer. He’s got the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his arms look smooth and tan against the countertop.
“It says two rooms.” Janice shrugs, swiveling the computer monitor so he can see the screen. He glances at it with disinterest before turning back to Janice.
“My assistant made the reservations,” he says smoothly. “She must have made a mistake and double-booked us. Right, darling?”
Felicity doesn’t answer, not actually registering that darling refers to her, and when Oliver reaches over and brushes a strand of hair away from her face to get her attention, she flinches, jerking away from him. He rolls his eyes.
“Right, darling?” he says again, giving her a get it together look.
“Right,” she agrees, laughing and fluttering her hands up near her face in an awkward gesture. Oh god, she’s going to blow their cover before the night is over. “You know how your assistant can be. A total dolt.”
“She’s not a dolt. I’m sure she was just...preoccupied.”
“Preoccupied,” Felicity repeats, not feeling any less like a dolt. “Right.”
“Anyway,” he says, looking back over at Janice with an easy smile. “We only need one room. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Felicity echoes, feeling a little dazed as she realizes what this means. That she and Oliver are going to be sleeping in the same room tonight.
“Of course,” Janice says, typing something else into the computer and then sliding a keycard across the counter to them. “You’re all set. You’ll be in one of our Tower Suites, 28th floor.”
“Excellent,” Oliver says. He takes the keycard from her and flashes what Felicity recognizes as his fake Oliver-Queen-playboy-extraordinaire smile. “Thank you, Janice.”
“The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Queen,” she simpers, and Felicity rolls her eyes as she follows Oliver across the lobby to where the bellhop is waiting with their bags. They all get into the elevator, and she and Oliver move to the back of the car, standing rigidly next to each other as the polished gold doors slide closed.
“You know,” Oliver says, leaning over to speak quietly in her ear. His breath is warm and close and Felicity feels an involuntary shiver run through her body. “If you want me to be your fake boyfriend, you’re going to need to at least pretend like you want me to touch you.”
“I always want you to touch me,” she says, and her cheeks burn. “I mean, I’m just a little jumpy right now, but I like it when you touch me. What I mean is, I don’t not like it.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head, but Oliver just smiles.
“Well, good,” he says, bumping his shoulder against hers. “Just make sure you act like it when we’re around other people.”
“I’ll try,” she tells him, bumping him back, and his smile gets wider.
*
The room they’re staying in is bigger than Felicity’s last two apartments combined. It's also surprisingly tasteful, at least by Vegas standards, everything done up in neutrals and polished black wood. Felicity takes a lap around the place while Oliver tips the bellhop and brings their bags into the room.
There's a living room and a wet bar and a full dining room and a bedroom with an enormous en suite bathroom. The place is perfect -- amazing, even -- except for one tiny thing.
“There’s only one bed,” Felicity announces, stepping into the bedroom where Oliver is staring out the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Looks like it,” Oliver agrees, turning around to face her. She can't read his expression, which she's not sure is good sign.
“I thought there would at least be two beds.” Felicity’s voice has gone high and tight, and she can feel herself starting to panic. “You’d think with a room this size, they could have at least sprung for two beds.”
“Is this going to be an issue?” Oliver asks. “Because I think if we called down to Janice and asked for two beds, it might blow our cover.”
“Nope. No issue. I mean, why would there be an issue?” Felicity babbles. “So there’s just one bed and two of us? That is totally and completely fine.”
“Good. Although, you know, I can just take the couch if you don’t want to sleep with me.”
“I definitely want to sleep with you,” she blurts out, and somehow doesn’t immediately drop dead from embarrassment. She closes her eyes and counts backwards silently from three. “That came out wrong. What I meant was --”
“I know what you meant,” Oliver says, putting his hand gently on her shoulder, and turning her to face him. She doesn’t jerk away from him this time, and he doesn’t move his hand. “It’s going to be fine, Felicity,” he tells her, holding her gaze.
His eyes are very blue and his hand is warm against her shoulder and he smells really good and, when Felicity's phone buzzes, she answers it without even looking at the display, her eyes still locked on Oliver's.
"Hello?" she says absently. Oliver's still touching her, and he's standing so close that she can feel the heat radiating off his body, and it's like she can't think straight, like this is some kind of dream, a world where she and Oliver are alone in their hotel room, and he's holding her close and staring deep into her eyes.
But then: "Hello, Felicity," her mother says in her ear, and reality comes crashing down on her.