Author's Notes:

I wrote this story a long time ago but never bothered to post it here. So here it is.

This story follows the episode "Keep Your Enemies Closer"

There's no happy ending here - but nobody's dies.

A few moments alone in the server room, amongst her babies, helped to center her. Breathing deeply in the intentionally cooled air chilled the heated skin of her cheeks and, at last, she was able to squelch the tears that threatened to fall.

"I will not cry," she told the servers, lovingly caressing their shiny black casing. She always came here when her emotions threatened to get the best of her; never failing to find much needed solace. Not for the first time in her life, she wished she too were made of wires and microchips and circuit boards. After all, they couldn't feel the kind of pain she was feeling. They also couldn't betray, or gossip, or otherwise let you down when you needed them the most. Felicity circled slowly in place, taking in the floor-to-ceiling panels filled with the guts and glory that truly comprised Queen Consolidated, and knew suddenly what she had to do.

These...things…she felt for Oliver Queen? Well, they had to be locked down. He had made his choice and now it was time to pay the Piper. Part of her understood why he did what he did – sleeping with Isabel while they were on a mission – she'd heard the rumors and she's seen the way Isabel has looked at her. Just an obstacle to be overcome. Like Felicity's always said…she's blonde…but she's not that blonde. Worst of all, Felicity has spent the last few months being privy to most lurid and filthy speculation about her skills in bed, because Oliver Queen "promoted" her to his Executive Assistant.

Opening the server panel, Felicity pulled out the keyboard and got to work. It was time she took back control of her life and did what was best for her.

The next morning, Oliver and Digg found her waiting at the executive elevator when they arrived, on time for once. Oliver attempted a smile, which failed the second he realized it wouldn't be reciprocated.

"Mr. Queen," she said, her spine straightening visibly. "I would like a word. In private."

Oliver tilted his head slightly and then scanned the lobby. 'Mr. Queen' was a title Felicity only used in front of others. Unless she was joking; and if the determination in her eyes was anything to go by…she was definitely not joking.

"Ms. Smoak?" he played along, tipping his head in the direction of the office. He buttoned his suit jacket as he walked away from her, opening the glass door to the executive suite.

"Don't mind me," Digg shrugged. "I'll just grab a coffee."

"Thank you, Digg," Felicity nodded. For a heartbeat, Digg noticed the determination in Felicity's eyes slip to reveal a sadness that had him concerned about what was about to happen. It didn't take long when he picked up Oliver this morning, to figure out that something happened in Russia, but predictably, Oliver hadn't been forthcoming. It was clear now to Digg that Felicity knew the score, and whatever it was had had a profound effect on her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, lowering his voice so he wouldn't be overhead.

Felicity opened her mouth to speak, but found words wouldn't come, so instead she simply shook her head. Digg noted her mask of strength slipping even further.

"We'll talk later?" he wondered. She nodded, and again when he kindly offered, "Let me know if you need anything."

Felicity dragged in a deep steadying breath and found the steel in her spine once more, before following Oliver into the office and purposefully closing the door behind. He sat coolly behind his desk, master of his own mask, a hand extended to offer her one of the guest chairs.

She decided to remain standing, as sitting across a desk from him would sweep away what was left of her power. She had to get through the next few minutes; or she would end up with nothing except a lifetime spent as the girl loving the man so far out of her league he was playing another sport. She couldn't be that girl – the girl who constantly settled for the consolation prize. She deserved better than that. She was better than that. She had to extract herself quickly and with minimal mess, and luckily for Felicity she had the skill and wherewithal to do it with grace and dignity.

But she had to get through the next few minutes without falling apart.

"Felicity," he began before she had a chance to speak, "I know we talked yesterday but I'm not sure you really unders—"

"Marlene Maxwell starts on Monday," she announced without preamble. "You've spent the last few months carefully interviewing qualified candidates for your Executive Admin. After all, I was only meant to be temporary, until you got settled. Which I think you are, I would say – getting along so well with your new partner now." She grimaced; she hadn't meant for that to slip out.

"Felicity?" Oliver's mask dropped, he eyes filled with confusion.

"My things will be moved tomorrow morning," she revealed. "Back down to IT…where it has become increasingly clear to me…that I belong."

"No," he insisted, rocketing to his feet. "You belong here. They won't do a damn thing without my say so."

"You signed the transfer orders yourself, Mr. Queen," she informed him. "As well as the Job Offer Authorization form for Mrs. Maxwell, by the way. You liked her a lot in the interview, especially the high premium she places on confidentiality and loyalty. You believe that she might be someone you can trust to have your back – on a corporate level, at least. Her last position was as the EA for the Director of Operations at Merlyn Global. This is a step up for her, so she's very excited for the opportunity.

"I don't give a damn about Marlene Maxwell!" he shouted, his eyes steeling over. Felicity startled at the volume of his voice, her eyes widening behind her glasses as she watched the mask between Oliver Queen and The Arrow shatter completely. Quelled by the expression of alarm on her face, Oliver apologized hastily, "I'm sorry," he vowed, comprehending the paper-thin ice upon which he was treading. "I didn't mean to yell."

"I understand this is difficult, Mr. Queen," she nodded, her eyes dropping to floor. Felicity swallowed, her throat dry from the anxiety pumping through her veins. She licked her lips and cleared her throat before starting again. "I've done everything I can to ease this transition for you. I've created a private and secure Instant Message application for us to communicate between floors, should it become necessary. The icon is at the bottom left of your desktop. I've routed it through 18 secure servers globally, including Interpol and a Bank in Geneva rather renowned for the strength of their firewalls, so our communication will be untraceable. Oh, and the cache is permanently scrubbed every half hour, so no one will be able to access our communiques."

"You're punishing me," he said, his eyes closing as though accepting defeat from a worthy opponent.

"I'm not some vindictive ex-girlfriend," she denied, shaking her head vehemently. "Give me some credit. This isn't about you."

Oliver swallowed convulsively, visibly wrangling the emotions rallied by this unexpected turn of events. "I didn't know that you would be hurt so badly."

"I wasn't-" she cut herself off, turning her face away. She had carefully planned how this conversation was meant to go, and taking it to an emotional place was not part of her strategy. "We have a job to do – a mission," she began again, hoping to redirect the conversation. "And emotional involvement makes it more complicated than it has to be. You said so yourself."

"I didn't mean…for things to change."

"Oh," she scoffed, a trace of bitterness leaking through into her tone. "Well, that's all well and good for you, isn't it? You just get to have everything that you want. Here's some cake, shall I cut you a slice?"

Now it's his turn to be taken aback, because he saw and accepted the truth in her words. But still he couldn't just watch her walk out the door. "This isn't happening," he said to no one in particular, scrubbing his face with his hands. "Let me make some calls. I can walk this all back."

Her heart panged with a throbbing ache, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Visions of Oliver having meaningless sex with Isabel assaulted the darkness behind her lids, forcing her to viciously lock down the emotions swirling in the pit of her stomach. Isabel was a woman Felicity knew would gut Oliver the first chance she got and the sick thing was…she was near certain that Oliver knew it too. But that was a bed he made, and now he had to sleep in it. "Listen to me," Felicity demanded, her voice cool and steady, her eyes like glass. "I need you to hear me."

"I don't know how many times I can say I'm sorry. That it didn't mean anything."

"Then stop," she asserted, "because none of it matters. I mean…what I felt didn't matter. And that's the point."

"Apparently it did."

"This isn't the end," she told him, placing a hand gently on his lapel. She pulled it swiftly away once he tried to cover her hand with his. "I'm just going to be downstairs where I belong. Where I'm comfortable. I'll continue at Verdant as needed because I still believe in the work. And because you'd be useless without me."

"Yeah," he agreed. Relief was evident in his eyes. She wasn't leaving him completely.

"I just think I need to compartmentalize some things in my life. That's all. For my own good. It's not all about you."

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"Stop saying that," she instructed sternly. "You don't owe me anything. You don't belong to me and I got a little…inappropriately possessive," she confessed, unable to mask the depth of her sorrow. "I convinced myself that I was the only one you allowed to see the real you. So…after some soul searching, I came to a decision. The only one I could come to really." She took a deep breath and dropped her hands when she caught herself wringing them. "Hey, this is for me, okay? I need this and you're not going to try to stop me, because I'm your friend – as you keep telling everyone who will listen. Maybe I should get it tattooed on my forehead." She tried a little smile, hoping it would make her feel better. It failed spectacularly and she was certain he noticed. "I need to step back because you may have been oblivious to the water cooler gossip and the way people talk behind their hands whenever I walk by, but I haven't been. Maybe…if I'm lucky, I can salvage something of my reputation in this company. Because if I can't…I really will have to leave."

"I think I understand," he replied after a moment. "I guess I never imagined that anyone would think that."

Another stab through the heart, she had to check, a hand on her chest, to make sure she wasn't actually bleeding. "Yeah, well…why would you?"

Oliver replayed his words over in his head, and taking a second to hear them the way she might have, opened his mouth to qualify his statement. "I just meant that—"

"I know what you meant," she cut him off. It was long past extraction time. Turning to leave she informed him, "You have a meeting with Ms. Rochev and Mr. Michaels in ten minutes about this year's projected EBITDA. I left a notated hardcopy on your desk."

Felicity opened the door to leave and stopped for one last thought – a coup de grace. "I'm sorry if the choices I make for my life, either now or in the future, inconvenience you or Queen Consolidated in any way. But it's become abundantly clear that I need to start taking care of me. I just think, with the life I lead, that I can't work so closely with someone I could really care about." Then she left him standing there in the middle of his office, hands on his hips, eyes closed in defeat, his own words fed back to him with interest.

It would be hours yet before he would have his mask securely back in place, so unsurprisingly it wasn't until he was leaving for the day that he realized Felicity had never once called him Oliver.