The Way We Talk

Need (Little Talks #3)

Prompt:  "You're joking, right?"

"Felicity," Oliver demands harshly, in a tone belying his irritation with her, a rare thing in itself. He keeps trying to talk to her, even now that they're in the base (he refuses to call it a "lair" the way she does), even after she's refused a million times. It's one of those rare moments where he needs her and she's not afraid to say no. Usually her tenacious personality is something he likes about her, but today he calls it stubbornness and it's irritating.

"You can say my name in that tone all you want," she retorts instantly, standing near her computers, her arms crossed over her torso in a way that seems like she's trying to protect herself from his tone. She stands straight as if she's prepared to confront him, but her hunched shoulders display the truth: she hates arguing with him, but that never seems to stop her. "No means no, and I've already said that in a plethora of ways."

Plethora. It's another word he'll have to look up later, like so many others since he's met her. The thought turns his mouth up at the corners, but when he sees her hackles raise slightly, he tones it down. It's an inappropriate time to be smiling, he reminds himself, and she probably thinks he's up to no good now. (He is, but it has nothing to do with the almost-smile on his face.)

Every tactic he's thought of thus far has failed, so he tries the one that his pride hates the most. "Please," he says this time, emphasizing the word so that she'll realize how difficult it is for him to say it. "Felicity, I need you."

Something flickers in her expression, like a mask slipping for just a fraction of a second, and he pretends he doesn't see the darkening of her eyes for both their sakes. It passes when she shakes her head vehemently, blonde ponytail flying around her shoulders. She points a finger at him while saying, "No! You will not guilt me into this, Oliver! I told you, I'm not. Going. To do it."

He finally lets enough of his pride go to ask the question he's been avoiding all day: "Why not?"

"You're joking, right?" she asks incredulously, eyes wide as she gives him that Oliver-you-are-an-idiot look. "Do you know what your family will think of me?" At his blank look, she answers, "The absolute last thing I want is for your family to think that I'm just another executive assistant sleeping her way into her boss's good graces." Her expression changes abruptly. "Not that I think you'd be the kind who would sleep with your EA. Or that sex is the only way to get into your good graces."

Oliver has only to raise his eyebrows at the inappropriate ramble to make her stop instantly. "We don't have to say anything about you being my EA," he bargains. "They don't really know about that. And all I'm asking is for you to come to a family dinner with me. As a friend." He sighs deeply. "Thea will be there and she's bringing her..." He doesn't know how to end that sentence without using the word "boyfriend," and that is a word that never enters the same sentence as Thea. He finishes lamely with, "Roy," practically spitting the name, using far too much force. "My mother is expecting me to bring a friend."

"Diggle's your friend," Felicity interjects quickly, but Oliver can already see she's starting to cave now. Something about him saying he needs her always seems to break down the barriers—he'll have to remember that for later.

"I don't think Digg is the kind of friend my mother was talking about," he says slowly. He watches her intently for a moment as she stares at him blankly, but he can see when the light finally dawns in her eyes.

"You need a date to a family dinner," she clarifies slowly, mostly for herself.

Oliver answers the almost-question anyway. "No, I need a friend," he reiterates, knowing she'll never agree if the word "date" is included in the conversation. "I need someone who I'd feel comfortable introducing to my family." His expression darkens as he adds, "I'm more selective about who fills those requirements now."

He can see it the moment before it happens, displayed in the way her shoulders hunch and her arms fall to her sides. She sighs before she finally admits what they both know: "Fine. Pick me up at seven." She gives an indignant huff for the sake of the charade, even though they both know she doesn't mean it, before she adds, "In the limo. If I have to suffer through a billionaire dinner, I might as well enjoy the perks."

"Thank you, Felicity," he says with a genuine smile, and she returns it with a blinding one of her own. It even looks like her eyes are smiling.

Her only reply is to say, "I have absolutely no idea what to wear."

He turns to leave, the battle won, but he can't resist smiling as he calls over his shoulder, "The dress I had delivered to you apartment this morning."

The sound of a very high-pitched, flustered, "Oliver!" follows him out the door.