Title: Phone Encryption Recovery
Word Count: 3107

Notes: HOLY CRAP! I feel like a horrible person and decide to respond to some comments, and-you know what I find? Over 4100 hits on Technical Assistance on AO3! I can't thank you all enough for all the love and support, so I thought I'd go ahead and post the side story I have finished. :) As always, I love to hear from you, but I understand if life is busy. I'm probably going to be horrible about responding to you for the next week, so bear with me-I promise I won't forget to say hello. :)

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.

"I find it hard to believe you'd do anything illegal," Oliver replies doubtfully, though he does seem to be in better spirits than just a few moments ago. "I would think you'd be more likely to turn in someone committing crimes."

Felicity scoffs at how wrong he really is, especially as she helps the Vigilante by night now. "While it might be a little shady," she admits slowly, "I think that this is something that goes beyond the law. It's not necessarily doing something illegal in my mind as it is doing something right." She pauses, staring out the window. Finally she adds, "Maybe you need to find that distinction yourself, so you can live with the things you've done, too."

It's quiet for a very long moment then, but at least the almost-smile is back on Oliver's face again, and it gives her hope that she hasn't just destroyed a potentially valuable friendship. Finally, the Welcome to Starling City sign shows up under the light from the car's headlights, and Oliver asks her, "Where should I drop you off?"

Felicity huffs, frustrated that she should have to be dropped off in the first place. "It's over on Twenty-Second," she responds, now too irritated for conversation.

Oliver frowns, and Felicity braces herself for whatever he's going to say next. "That's not a very good area of town to live in," he says to her. "That road runs right through the Glades." He says it quickly, as if he's memorized the city, and Felicity wonders how a billionaire who has never stepped foot in the Glades knows where Twenty-Second Street is.

Felicity gapes at him for a moment before finally saying, "That's a weird thing for you to know, Oliver." She crosses her arms, showing that she demands explanation.

She thinks she might see Oliver wince before the almost-smile is back in place. "That's a weird place for you to live, Felicity," he retorts, but offers no explanation.

"No," she says flatly, and he turns to glance at her quickly. "No. You are not allowed to do the enigmatic, mysterious billionaire thing. I have enough of that from the men in my life right now, and you are not going to be another name on that list." She shakes her head and turns to stare out the window, thinking of the Vigilante that is now mysteriously a presence in her once-normal world. "I am so done with my life this month."

It's so quiet for a moment that Felicity thinks she can hear crickets chirping, but then Oliver clears his throat hesitantly. "My father had a steel factory over on Twenty-Second," he says finally, his voice low and his words weighted. "He used to take me with him sometimes when he visited. He sold it a few years ago." He thinks on that a moment before correcting, "Well, more than a few years ago now, I guess. Still, you should be careful."

Felicity scoffs. "I'm not exactly in the Glades—about on the outskirts, I guess." With a laugh, she adds, "And besides, I've heard the Vigilante has been frequenting the Glades some. If I ever need help, I'll just hope Starling City's terror is roaming the streets."

Oliver's eyebrows narrow together, and it takes him far too long to respond, "Look, he saved my life, but he's a dangerous criminal, alright? I think that, if you ever get the opportunity to meet him, you should run the other way." His eyes lock on her intensely. "I saw him kill three men that day, Felicity, and he won't stop killing."

"I think you're wrong about him," she says flatly, crossing her arms as she wonders why she's defending a man who had given her similar thoughts not days before. "I don't think he's going about it the right way, but he's doing more for this city than the cops right now. Starling is in ruin, and the cops either can't or won't stop these guys. Someone has to, and I guess he thinks it might as well be him."

She thinks on it a little longer before continuing, "But that's not to say I agree with everything he's doing. He's not really using this whole thing to its full potential. I don't like that he's killing anyone—that should go without saying. But also, I think he's missing opportunities to help Starling." She frowns, thinking of a way to phrase it properly. "I mean, the Vigilante has gone after billionaires and businessmen who have swindled the people out of their money. And that's fine—I think that needed to be done. But there's more than just one type of criminal on Starling's streets. What about the thieves and the murderers running around? Why doesn't he try to stop them, too?" She pauses. "I mean, why hasn't gone after the Royal Flush Gang?"

"Royal Flush Gang?" Oliver repeats, seeming to take this conversation seriously despite his dislike for the man in the green hood. Felicity likes that about him. In the past, some people have chosen not to take her seriously because she's young or because she's a woman, but he treats her as if every word she says is important.

"There a group of three thieves that have been hitting banks here in Starling for the past four years or so," Felicity explains. "The media started calling them the Royal Flush Gang because they wear hockey masks with a jack, a king, and an ace across them—like a playing card." She launches back into her point. "The police haven't been able to catch them, and I think the Vigilante is a little more resourceful than the cops. They've killed just as many—if not more—people than those billionaires he's striking out against."

"Well," Oliver replies, seeming thoughtful, "maybe he's out on some sort of crusade. You know, like Robin Hood? Steals from the rich and gives to the poor."

"Well, that's just stupid," Felicity replies flatly, then realizes it isn't clear who she's insulting. "I mean if that's his plan—I'm not calling your suggestion stupid. A little more money in everyone's bank accounts won't fix the problems in the city. It's a good start, but he's treating the victims of the plague, instead of stopping the actual source."

Oliver nods slowly, clearly thinking about this. "You're right," he says finally. "His methods are a little wrong, but he might just be what this city needs." He turns to her for a slow moment. "Maybe he's not such a bad guy after all." Before Felicity can respond, he turns onto Twenty-Second Street. "What number are you?"

"Building five thirty-three, just up ahead on your left," she replies easily. "Thank you for doing this, by the way. You didn't have to drive me home, you know."

"I know," he agrees, "but I wanted to make sure you get home safely. I think you've had enough excitement for one night." He pulls into the parking lot beside her building then. "And I wanted to find some way to thank you."

Felicity raises an eyebrow, confused by the sudden turn. "Thank me for what? I threw a keyboard and a mouse—that's about it. Detective Lance is the one you should thank, though I don't think you probably will."

"He was going to kill me," Oliver says flatly. "If you hadn't thought to do that, Detective Lance's arrival wouldn't have mattered." The following pause is dark and ominous as Felicity contemplates just exactly what he's implying. Before she can find it in her to respond, he continues, "And for not leaving. I know you had an opportunity."

"I'm a human being—of course I stayed," she assures him. "And thank you for driving me home—even though it was completely and totally unnecessary."

He chuckles slightly at that. "You're welcome. I'm just glad there was something I could do, especially after all you've done for me."

Oliver figures she probably won't understand the meaning of his words as he says them. He reminds himself that it's better this way, but it still bothers him that she's so protective of the man in the green hood, even if she doesn't know who he is. Every time he's with her, he wants to tell her, but then he continues to tell himself it's better if she doesn't know—for his sake, sure, but also for hers.

Felicity's smile is soft but still blinding as she responds. "You paid for the computer, Oliver, and I didn't mind getting Laurel as your lawyer." She tilts her head to the side, her smile teasing. "It's kind of this thing that goes under the category of friendship. Friends don't keep score." She scoffs. "And we've now shared a near-death experience together. I think that makes us officially friends."

It surprises Oliver that she's so blatant and insistent upon this—she usually only uses her forceful tones with his Vigilante persona. He concedes that this might mean she's getting more comfortable with him, and that shouldn't please him as much as it does. "I think you're right," he agrees slowly, against his better judgment. He opens his mouth to speak, to ask if he could walk her up to her apartment, but he thinks that's probably a horrible idea. If she refuses, it will make things more strained between them than it already is, but if she says yes, well, Oliver knows enough to know he shouldn't trust himself alone with a woman.

Felicity performs some sort of awkward gesture with her hands. "Well, I guess I'll..." She motions to the door.

Before she can open her door, however, Oliver puts a hand on her shoulder. He surprises himself by making contact; he hasn't really touched anyone since the island, let alone someone he didn't know two months ago. "Hey, wait," he says quietly. "Can I see your phone for a second?"

Felicity hands it to him slowly, a questioning look in her eyes. For not the first time, he marvels at how much she trusts him. Sure, he's trusts her, but he knows her; time and time again he's gone to her, and every time she hasn't hesitated to perform a favor or two for him. He's just starting to realize that Felicity Smoak is just inherently good, despite the cold shoulder she tries to throw at both of his identities on occasion.

He takes the phone from her, surprised when he doesn't meet resistance with a locked or protected phone. He takes a slow moment to systematically plug numbers into both her phone and his, despite his difficulty with the touchscreen technology. Finally, he hands it back to her, flashing the screen. "I hope you don't mind," he says, probably a little late. He decides to tell her a rare truth in order to make up for all the lies. "I'm not doing so well with technology since..." He trails off because he knows Felicity will understand his vague reference to the island. "Well, technology and I are at war right now. Maybe if you know I'm calling, you can decide when you get enough of me."

She looks a little blank for a moment. "So, not only do I have Oliver Queen's number programmed in my phone, I also now—" She cuts off abruptly, but Oliver already knows what she's going to say: I also now work for the Vigilante. She shakes her head a moment before holding up her phone, an eyebrow raised. "So, how much are you going to pay me not to email this to every screaming fangirl in Starling City?"

Oliver can't help the chuckle that leaves his mouth. "Nothing at all," he replies with a smile. "I trust you to keep my secrets." It's another true statement; she's kept them so well in the past, he doesn't mind giving her one more.

"And I trust you," she replies slowly, carefully, "to call me when you need to talk to someone." She crosses her arms. "I know you put my number in your phone, too. I know things have been rough, and I promise this"—she motions to herself—"is a no-judgment zone."

Her offer surprises him, as does her kindness. "I will," he assures her, surprising himself even more by realizing that he means it. "I guess I'll see you later."

In response, she opens her door and steps out, offering a single awkward wave before walking away. He makes sure she gets into the building safely after she stops to retrieve her keys from Diggle, who quickly piles into Oliver's car. It doesn't take too long for Diggle to smile mysteriously and shake his head.

Oliver can't help but ask, "What?"

Diggle only shakes his head. "You know," he says slowly, "I always thought you were selfish. Thanks for proving that."

Oliver crosses his arms, not yet ready to leave. "How did I prove it?" he asks slowly.

Diggle frowns before nodding his head in the direction Felicity just went. "Felicity," he says by way of explanation. "You keep going after her, even though you know it's in her best interest for you to stay away. You need to let her go—before you get her pulled into your crusade, too."

"She's already involved," Oliver reminds him stubbornly. He doesn't want to admit the truth of Diggle's words, even though he knows the older man is right.

Diggle doesn't back down. "Then before you get her killed," he tries this time, his voice stronger now. "Every time you talk to her, you get closer to dragging her in for real. She's a civilian, not a soldier, and we're building up enemies left and right. I hope you come to your senses before her life is forfeited in this fight, Oliver."

Needless to say, the ride back to the Queen mansion is a quiet one.