I do not own the characters, dialogue, or story of Arrow. I'm taking them out for a spin and promise to return them (relatively) unharmed. No monetary gain is sought ( although you're certainly welcome to hire me as a screenwriter for Season 2).
This story takes place 6 months after the Season 1 finale. Spoilers for ALL of season 1. Warnings for language and violence.

Diggle was surprised that it took so long for Felicity's notoriously run-away mouth to go right off the rails in front of Oliver. The blonde had never been known for holding her tongue, or for tact, so she must have bitten her tongue into a bloody stump to last a whole three weeks with Oliver's increasingly foul moods.

The three of them were in the lair, doing what Diggle called an "after-action review" and what Felicity called "getting our stories straight for the inevitable grand jury investigation". They had partially foiled Malcolm Merlin's "undertaking", but Oliver hadn't been able to hang up his hood. There was a city to rebuild and crime still ran rampant in the devastated Glades. Some days it seemed as if two new villains emerged for every one that the vigilante killed or turned over to the police.

His inability to retire from a life of crime fighting put enormous strain on Oliver's re-ignited relationship with Laurel Lance. She still mourned Tommy; she even felt responsible for his death. Struggling with her grief, and Oliver's obvious unwillingness to share every detail of his life with her, she had become increasingly unhappy. Five months after the catastrophe in the Glades, Laurel abruptly announced that she needed a change of pace—and scenery. She jumped at a job offer from UNICEF and promptly left the country.

Alone and miserable, for over three weeks, Oliver snapped at everyone around him and spent most of his time sequestered in the lair. When he wasn't exercising at a frenetic pace, he drove Diggle and Felicity mad with his increasingly authoritarian demands.

So, when Felicity finally snapped back, Diggle was only shocked by how long her patience had lasted.

"Excuse me?" Oliver's tone dripped with all of the arrogance that a lifetime of privilege could instill. His eyes turned flinty, a gift from his five years on the island.

"You heard me." Felicity's hair danced behind her head like the tail of an agitated cat. "I said: just because that bitch Laurel broke your heart doesn't mean you can treat us like dirt."

"You speak for Diggle now, too?" Oliver glanced at the older man.

"Hey man," Diggle said with a placating gesture, "people in glass houses. You aren't dishing out anything I haven't done myself in the past few years."

Oliver invaded Felicity's personal space, looming over her. She titled her head back, glared at him over her pert little nose and pushed on his chest with her hands. "Well I haven't given you any reason to be such an asshole and I certainly haven't ever treated you this way. So knock it off."

"You called Laurel a bitch!"

"I call them like I see them! She broke your heart—again! I mean the first time, when you were back from the island, fine, because, you know you'd slept with her sister and all and that was a really asshole move by the way, I don't think I've ever told you that. But this time, you did everything you could to help her grieve and it's not like you don't have a lot going on, like all the time even, but she's too weak to deal with it all and it's all about Laurel without any thought about how Tommy was your friend too."

"I told you not to mention his name," roared Oliver. He was right in Felicity's face, now. Fury made the tendons in his neck and shoulders stand out in tense lines.

"Well I've never listened to you about what to say or when to say it before so why should I start now? I'm not your slave, Mister Queen and I can leave here any time I damn well feel like it. In fact I think I've had about enough of being yelled at and bossed at and ignored and treated like a one-stop-shop for all your computer and wound patching and bomb diffusing and blueprint reading needs!"

Oliver's hand flashed out to grab her wrist as she tried to walk past him. Diggle, already moving to separate the two of them before Oliver's temper exploded even further, didn't get there fast enough. Felicity whipped around and punched Oliver as hard as she could.

"Ow!" She cried out and cradled her right hand while putting a table between her petite form and her very shocked boss.

"Felicity, let me see your hand." Diggle kept one eye on Oliver just in case, but he was more worried about the girl at this point.

"No." Tears welled in her eyes. She swallowed several times, grabbed her purse from the table and hurried to the door.

"Felicity, please let me—"

Diggle's plea was cut off by another sobbing "No". The door slammed closed behind her, leaving an eerie quiet. Diggle turned around, arms crossed over his chest. "For a guy who's supposedly such a playboy, you certainly have a knack for pissing off the ladies."

A/N: Writing Felicity's dialogue presents a challenge. She speaks in run-on sentences and tangents. While it pains the author in me, I've decide to use run-ons to best capture Felicity's cadence. This is only the beginning, stick around for one wild ride!