(So I'm a little weary of these prompts right now, honestly. I just haven't been coming up with many ideas. So I decided to try my hand at writing Barry, and to see how many of the prompts I could fit in one conversation. This contains four: "How did that happen," "Tell me the truth," "That doesn't make any sense," and "We make a good team." I probably could have squeezed in at least two more, but I think I ended it at a good spot. I do feel like it's a little OOC because I don't think Felicity actually picked up on any jealousy Oliver might have had. I think she thought he was just being a jerk to the new kid. Also, special thanks to redrose86 for giving me the right word at the right time so that I didn't end up saying "awkward" about 87 bajillion times in this short scene.)

Just Dance—missing scene 2x08

Felicity was not enjoying herself. Not even a little bit. The big welcome-home gala turned awkward little cocktail party at the Queen mansion was, well, awkward. And little. There wasn't enough of a crowd for her to get lost in. She was driving, so she couldn't avail herself of the open bar. Isabel Rochev was lurking nearby, and to make matters worse, Felicity started looking around at the other women and wondering if her hair was too casual for her dress. When Oliver murmured something in her ear about dancing, her first instinct was to elbow him in the gut. He was just lucky she was good at shutting down her instincts when she needed to.

But then he said he called Barry. He'd sucked up his stupid pride and called Barry. Barry, grinning adorably in the doorway of the ballroom, wearing a suit that didn't quite fit. It was close, but the sleeves were a bit short and the pants were a touch too long.

"Hello, invited guest," he said when he reached her. "Your plus-one was able to make it after all."

Felicity took his hand. "Hello, plus-one. Shall we?"

It was a little weird at first because there was only one other couple dancing. They were older and gray-haired and had been slowly waltzing in the same corner all evening. But with Barry in front of her and her back to the rest of the room, she started to relax.

"Um. Is this a bad time to tell you I really suck at dancing?"

"These are slow dances," Felicity said with a smile. "All we have to do is sway and maybe, if we're feeling ambitious, move around in a circle."

Barry grinned. "I think I can handle that without too much stepping on your feet."

Felicity looked down. The long skirt of her bright pink dress mostly hid her feet, which was a shame because her shoes were really cute. So were Barry's, in a totally different way. The toes of his Converse sneakers peeked out from the overlong pant cuffs bagging at his ankles.

"Nice shoes," she said.

She'd meant it as a compliment, but he looked sheepish.

"The suit's a loaner," he explained. "It didn't come with shoes."

"I like them," she assured him. "I kind of feel like I'm dancing with the Doctor."

"You mean Ten, obviously."

"Obviously," she said, still looking at his feet. "It's a relief to not have to explain."

"Oh, I know what you mean," said Barry. "I have to explain Doctor Who references to Iris all the time. I think I turned her off from it for good just because I talk about it so much."

"Who's Iris?" Felicity asked, glancing up. She tried to make it sound innocent and genuinely curious, but on the inside she was praying it was a sister.

Barry sighed. "She's kind of the Doctor to my Martha Jones. There might be some pining on my part from time to time."

"Oh. But not on her part?"

"No, hence the comparison. But Martha had the sense to walk away. I haven't worked up the nerve yet."

Their closeness seemed uncomfortable now, and Felicity found the temptation to rest her head on his shoulder a little easier to ignore.

You're here," she said. "That's a step, isn't it?"

He shrugged. He'd taken her advice to heart and had moved them around so that now she was facing the room. She looked past Barry's shoulder and right into the eyes of Oliver Queen, who was glowering. She frowned right back. He was being unreasonable and overprotective and annoying, and she really shouldn't be admiring the look of him in a tux while she was dancing with someone else.

"So," Barry began, snapping her attention back to him, "you're a bona fide computer genius, right? But you're a CEO's assistant. That's a really high up position, but it's not computer genius-y. How did that happen?"

"Oliver needed someone he could trust," she replied. "We make a good team."

Barry's hand at her waist dropped to her hip and pulled her a little closer. He seemed more relaxed now, which made Felicity wonder if Oliver had been scowling at him the whole time her back was turned.

"I guess it makes sense." He cocked his head. "No, wait . . . that doesn't make any sense. I can't imagine a job like that makes much use of your talent."

She shrugged. The action jostled his hand, which dropped even lower, grazing the top of her thigh. He stared at the hand as if it had moved of its own accord, then settled it at the small of her back, a place less likely to make him blush.

Oliver looked ready to leap across the room and show Barry just how much torque was needed to snap someone's neck, but then his mother stepped in front of him, blocking his view.

Felicity cleared her throat. "Well, yeah, the most I do with a computer at the office is making dinner reservations and scheduling meetings. But there are other . . . avenues."

Barry's eyebrows shot up, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. "Are they shady avenues, or well-lit ones? Tell me the truth."

Felicity didn't answer. She just flashed a brilliant smile at Barry, making sure Oliver could see it.