Finding Felicity

She was going to end this. Now.

Nearly two years. Nearly two years of working overtime, turning a blind eye, and following some mission-obsessed vigilante around through every hare-brained scheme and threat like a long-lost puppy.

It was pitiful.

No more so than when he gazed longingly into her eyes and professed his love for her. And she believed him. She had believed him.

She graduated from MIT. She was well versed in unraveling mysteries, solving puzzles, assessing vulnerabilities of systems, and all forms of infiltration. Just over two years ago, she had been offered a prestigious position in that university's doctoral computer security department and had been on the verge of dropping her old entry-level IT gig for a return to Boston when he had waltzed into her life. Oliver Queen. Now, two years later, and it took the blindingly embarrassing instance of a fake love proclamation to finally open her eyes to the obvious.

She was totally and completely pathetic.

Mr. Queen may have faced his maker on that island, but Felicity had been surviving her own unfeasible, lonely battle her entire life. She depended only upon herself for safety, security, smarts, and survival. She knew no other reality. 

So, how had she had slipped into the role of damsel in distress and faux-secretary? How had she dropped her prestigious prospects for a pair of blue eyes and big muscles? The old Felicity wouldn't even recognize this girl. The old Felicity would have claimed the CEO position for herself or settled for nothing less than full partner.

She missed that girl.

Instead, this girl had fallen headlong into some romantic fantasy of quirky computer nerd and handsome playboy. Late at work, she may slip off her glasses and let down her hair, and he would catch one fateful sight of her and fall irresistibly and irreversibly in love. 

How? How had she let herself get this far-gone?

She picked herself up off the floor of her dingy, tiny bathroom. Sirens wailed through the minuscule window over her shoulder as her shadowy reflection stared back at her. She removed her once coiffed ponytail and shook out her hair, staring at the caked blood around her nose and temple. She smiled. The imperfections gave her appearance a welcome grit. She felt more real than she had in months.

Yes, her time in the Arrow lair had been life changing. It had shaped her into the person she was today. She felt a moral obligation for the work she made possible with The Hood. She released her head down against her chest, stretching her neck. But, she wasn't the only computer genius in this city. There were others who could fill her shoes no matter what he spouted about "partners." Others who hopefully would be less stupid and naïve than she had been.

Felicity massaged her fingers against her sore scalp. She shook out her hair as the sun rose. It was time for a change.

*->*

Two weeks later and she sat in an opulent café in the center of Starling City with a hot tea clutched to her chest. Two blue eyes stared back at her.

"Does this have anything to do with what I said?"

"It has a lot to do with that, actually." Her voice was cold. She'd rehearsed this moment so many times in her mirror. 

He nodded. "I understand."

"I don't think you do." Blood rushed to her cheeks. "I'm not in love with you, Oliver. I'm not in love with anybody. In fact, I don't think I've experienced love in a very long time. I am, however, hurt. I am incredibly intelligent in my own right. I've been insanely successful despite many personal obstacles. I have bent over backwards for you these past two years, and all I've gotten in return is used." She took a deep breath, and his look hardened. "I never knew the Oliver Queen from before, but I'm not okay with how you treat me now." She felt an odd sense of calm. It was the longest she'd gone speaking to him without putting her foot in her mouth.