"Shit!"

Oliver's eyebrows raise, hand pausing over the pot of pasta he'd been stirring, and he turns his head in the vague direction of the laundry room where Felicity had been for the past few minutes tranferring a load of whites from the washer to the dryer. Although, if the loud curse was anything to go by, there had clearly been some sort of setback in doing so.

"Uh, Felicity?" he's a little scared to ask, given her rather loud outburst, but if she is injured - that is something he needs to know. "Everything alright, honey?"

"No!" the blonde's voice is a few octaves higher and he hears the ruffle of denim as she comes down the hall. "Nononono! No! Oliver!"

"Felicity?"

He bites back his laughter when she comes in the kitchen holding the laundry basket like it contains some sort of explosive device. There's something terribly adorable about the deep furrow of her eyebrows and the way she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, clearly concerned, and it's only upon closer inspection does he understand why.

Their white clothes are pink.

It's not an outlandish or particularly garish shade of pink but it is just enough to know that the clothes were definitely not supposed to be that color.

"They're pink." Oliver notes, looking up at his fiancee. "Did you separate them?"

"Yes. The whites from the colors and then the lights from the darks." Felicity assures him. "I don't know what could have turned them pink."

"Okay." he takes her by a bicep and guides her over to the table they eat breakfast on in the mornings. "Okay. Well, I'm sure it's nothing."

"They're pink, Oliver. Pink!" Felicity growls, looking up at him. "Unless you went behind me and poured dye in the washer, they shouldn't be pink."

Oliver just grins in amusement and turns to rifle through the laundry basket, immediately finding the culprit. A pair of red panties. Her red panties. The same pair she wore underneath that little black dress, last week, that made them go through three condoms and a pregnancy test.

Of course, Oliver, being the good fiance, says nothing, simply buries the underwear underneath the rest of the white clothes, out of her sight, and plucks the basket from the table. "I will go see if I can fix it."

He kisses her head as he passes on his way to the laundry room to re-wash the whites and toss her panties in the right basket. He pours the proper amounts of bleach and detergent in the washer and sends the pink clothes through another cycle to rinse away the transferred dye.

Within an hour, everything has been resolved; the whites are no longer pink, dinner is finished, and Oliver vows to keep his favorite girl far away from his favorite clothes.

Felicity never does laundry, again.