She's getting ready for a date, when something taps on her window and she jumps what feels like a foot in the air.

Her apartment is not on the first floor. It's not within five levels of the first floor. But there is a fire escape, so before she pulls back the blind and looks out, she already know who it's going to be.

"Oliver."

The window opens smoothly and he's right there, crouched on her fire escape with his Hood and quiver.

He blinks at her. The whites of his eyes stand out from the camouflage make-up he wears like he's shocked.

She rolls her eyes. He can't claim he's never seen her dressed up before - there was the charity auction (almost got decapitated) and the underground casino (almost got shot) - so she doesn't really get how he can be looking at her as if he never realised that the glasses weren't a permanent part of her face.

"You're going out." He states in a flat voice.

Felicity resists the urge to say "Duh" but only because she's a nice person.

"Yes," she says, instead, "I'm going out."

"On a date."

"Yes, on a date."

Oliver pauses. On anyone else she would call this fidgeting, but he's not moving. It's more than his eyes seem to have unfocused while he runs through a list of possible things to say. Other people twiddle their thumbs at a time like this, some play with their keys - Oliver searching through his mental Rolodex is always disconcerting because it's so obvious that he's doing that. He really did swap social skills for combat training on that island of his.

"You wanted something?" She snaps, then immediately regrets it because he looks almost hurt. "I mean," she adds, hastily, "that I told you I wasn't available this evening."

"I know."

"And yet you're here."

"Yes."

"Oliver," Felicity says, letting some of her exasperation show on her face. "Why are you here?"

"I'm not sure," he says. "I guess, I wanted to see you."

"Really? You saw me, at the most, two hours ago."

"I wanted to check on you," he says, "you didn't seem very… happy."

"Of course not," she says, "I wasn't particularly looking forward to going home and doing this!" She sweeps her hands wide, trying to encapsulate the outfit (a short red dress with a flared skirt that her mother sent her along with a note to wear it out somewhere nice), the contact lenses (that she never feels entirely comfortable with), the incredibly high shoes (that admittedly she does love but walking in them for more than a few minutes causes actual physical pain) and the fact that every surface in the room is covered in open bottles, tubes, tubs and compacts of cosmetics. "This," she says, adding an additional gesture for good measure, "is not fun. This," one more wave, "is a pain."

"Then why do you do it?"

"I have a date," she shrugs. "It's expected. If I ever meet a guy who won't mind me coming to dinner in pajamas and a hoodie I'll be golden. Until then-"

She throws up her hands. She never wanted this date to begin with. It all began with her mother's weekly phone call and guilt trip - "why do you never talk about any nice boys Felicity?" "When are you going to get married Felicity" "You know your cousin is pregnant again Felicity?"

"You have a cousin?"

"Oh," she says, mentally replaying the last few minutes of the conversation, "did that I say that out loud?"

"Yes," he confirms, "and in a very different voice to your normal one."

"Oh, that's my Mom-voice," she says, "that's how she talks. In my head and in reality. It's distinctive."

"I see," he says but she can tell he doesn't.

"My Mom's putting the pressure on," she admits, "wants to see me settled down in the suburbs with two point four kids and a mini-van."

"Ah."

"And I mentioned this to Janey - Janey from accounts, I don't think you've met her, she doesn't really have anything to contribute to whole vigilante thing unless we decide to go after corruption in the tax office, which, thinking about it, is certainly something which has failed this city."

"Janey?" He prompts, putting her back on track after her ramble.

"Janey. Well she has a roommate, and that roommate has a brother and he got dumped a few months ago, and they all kinda ganged up on me and now I have a date. Believe me I'd much rather be hacking into Interpol in the basement for you."

"I'd much rather that too," she thinks she hears, but it's almost a whisper.

She gives Oliver a look and he adopts an innocent expression.

Nothing makes him look guiltier than his innocent expressions.

"Is that all you wanted?" She asks, "To check on me?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"And I am. Annoyed but okay. My feet hurt - already! - but I'm okay."

Oliver tips his head, looking down at her shoes.

"They look painful," he admits.

"They are," she says. She sighs then sits down on the end of her bed. She takes her right shoe off and starts to massage her foot, trying to restore what circulation the heels destroyed.

She looks up to see Oliver climbing in through her window. In the tiny cramped surroundings of her bedroom he seems oddly huge and out of place. He stands stiffly - he's even still got the Hood up.

Felicity rolls her eyes.

"Could you be any more awkward?" She says, "at least put the bow down."

He does so, gingerly pushing aside bottles and tubs on the top of her dresser to find space for his aggressively large compound bow. It looks weird there, a piece of him carefully placed amongst her belongings. She stares at it for a second, knowing somehow that she'll dream of this moment - maybe it'll get added into her subconscious' favourite Oliver fantasies.

Her subconscious has a lot of Oliver fantasies. Some of which involve this room, this bed and, yup, she looks down to check, even these shoes.

They're the shoes she always wears on a first date - they make her feel sexy and desirable and it's no surprise that in every dream she has along those lines she's almost always wearing them.

But Goddamn do they hurt her feet.

She swaps her attention to her left foot, letting the right settle back down flat on the fuzzy carpet. She can't help but sigh at the relief she's massaging into her feet. She almost forgets Oliver is there.

"Don't go," he says softly, and she looks up in surprise.

"What?"

"Don't go on your date," abruptly his hands come up, pushing the Hood back and his eyes, dark and intense and all the more so from the green camouflage make-up spread around them, pin her down with a look she can't quite identify.

"Why?"

"I don't want you to go."

Felicity bites her lip. She's had dreams like this, but in every case he was confident and determined and she was swept along. She was never sitting on the end of her bed hunched over a painful foot while he stood stiffly several feet away, his hands clenched by his sides.

"Felicity."

"Oliver."

"Don't go," he says, simply, clearly. "Do not go out tonight."

"I have plans…" she says, but it's a token protest.

"Cancel them," he says, "cancel them all. Stay here. With me."

"With you?"

"I want to hear about your day," he says, "I want you to pester me for coffee beans and tell me about movies I missed and whatever the hell an internet flame war is and what you want to eat for lunch tomorrow and where that scumbag colleague of yours lives so I can go and shoot him for looking at you like he has any right to think of you like that at all."

Felicity stares.

"Please, Felicity," he says, taking a step towards her and suddenly she can see an edge of desperation in his expression. He's nervous - as if the babbling didn't give it away. She's quite au fait with babbling as a concept, but she never expected to hear it from him.

"Please Felicity," he repeats, "you are the best part of my day. Talking to you is the best part of my day and I want it to be all of my day. I want you to be all of my day. I want you."

She stares up at him.

"You want me?" She repeats, shocked.

"I want you. I want all of you." he confirms. "Felicity, please."

He steps closer, so close she has to crane her head back to look up at him. His hand comes up to cup her face, his thumb strokes her cheek.

"Oliver," she says, but she doesn't have any more words. This kind of thing happens in dreams, not in reality. This kind of thing doesn't happen to her. He's supposed to fall in love with the heroine, not the IT girl.

"Felicity," he says, then smiles and leans down, brushing his lips over hers.

He doesn't push the kiss, just offers it. Offers himself to her.

She looks into his eyes. There are gold flecks in his irises that she's never noticed before. That she's never been close enough to notice before.

Her arms come up, locking around his neck before she even thinks consciously to make the movement. She lifts her lips to his, and suddenly his hands are on her waist, lifting her to her feet so he can wrap her in his arms.

His kiss is better than she ever imagined. Little sparks of electricity seem to dance across her skin everywhere he touches her. She opens her mouth to let his tongue inside and he groans, pressing her body against his and running his hands over her back.

She lets her eyes fall closed and savours the sensation - the taste of him, the touch, the smell.

"Is this really happening?" She whispers as he kisses his way down her neck.

The hungry growl of a groan he replies with does things to her insides that she's only ever read about.

"Seriously Oliver," she says, opening her eyes and pulling on his hair to get him to look at her. "Why? Why now? Why me?"

He smiles, warm and open.

"You really do have no idea how remarkable you are, do you?"

She tries to smile back, but she suspects her expression is more confused than confident.

"I didn't expect you Felicity Smoak," he says, "but I'm really happy I found you."

He grins and glances down at her outfit. "And I'm really very happy I found you in this dress."

"You should see what I look like out of it," she quips, and her brain sparks and she's about to apologise, again, for saying something so inappropriate to… to the man who's holding her in his arms and grinning widely.

"I can't wait," he says dropping his mouth down to kiss her again. "Best part of my day," he repeats between kisses. "I can't wait to see if you'll be the best part of my night as well."

And that's it, but there is an adult rated sequel over at AO3. I've tried to add a link here but won't let me. But if you go over to An Archive Of Our Own, you can find it the two sequels by searching for either "The best part of my night" or on my username which is Redtoes there as well as here.