A/N: This is definitely fluff... and a little out there, but I love it so much. (I hope you do as well.) It was actually an idea I had long before I first saw this flash fic prompt, but the prompt fit too perfectly to pass up the opportunity to write this. I actually have an idea for a sequel, so we'll see what happens with this first part... and where our upcoming hiatus prompts lead the muse. Obviously, this was written before "Broken Arrow," so not only is it extremely improbable, but it is also non-canon compliant. Anyway, that's enough from me. Enjoy and thanks for reading!

~Charlynn~


Quirks
An Olicity Flash Fic One Shot

Flash Fic Prompt #26: Oh, Baby!

Oliver had this... thing.

Well, actually, if Roy was being completely honest, Oliver had a lot of things.

When he had first joined the team, he had assumed that it was Felicity who was the cute, quirky one. After all, she was blonde, and bubbly, and the sidekick. It fit. But it didn't take long for Oliver and Felicity to disabuse him of his assumptions, Roy quickly learning that it was Oliver who put the 'idiot' in 'idiosyncrasies...' well, that was if there was actually a 'T' in the word. Plus, the idea of Oliver really being in charge of their team was just an illusion. Felicity ruled them all with a subtle lift to her finely sculpted brows and a head tilt.

And, for the record, Oliver might have been quirky, but he sure as hell wasn't cute.

In fact, he was downright annoying.

At first, Roy thought it was just him – Oliver giving him a hard time as a sort of... hazing ritual or something. He was both the new guy and the guy who had spent nearly two years sleeping with Oliver's baby sister. But other members came and went, but Roy was still always Oliver's favorite punching bag – sometimes actual, always figurative. Then, once he got some distance from his own insecurities, Roy realized that Oliver didn't just harp on him all the time; his... oddities extended towards everyone on the team – even Felicity. They just seemed to accept them better than Roy did.

It was the little stuff that really annoyed him.

Roy, don't mix the peanut butter and the jelly. Either wipe – don't lick, wipe – the knife clean or get a new one.

How many times do I have to tell you, Roy, that the toilet paper's supposed to roll counter-clockwise?

Don't mix the arrows. They're sorted by use and color for a reason, Roy.

Seriously, the man was more particular about his weapons than Felicity was about her babies. If that didn't spell the writing on the wall...

However, all the other... things... about Oliver paled in comparison after he and Felicity finally got their heads out of their asses and hooked up for good. They went back and forth for far longer than Roy's sanity preferred, but, eventually, Felicity took the bull by the horns and... made him her steer.

In other words, they got married.

Now, Felicity didn't literally lob off Oliver's balls... though that probably would have saved them all numerous headaches; she just started to carry them around in her purse, seemingly only giving them back to Oliver approximately once a year... or, to be more accurate, whenever he was in desperate need of proving his virility. And that... theory... brought Roy back to his original point: Oliver had a thing.

At first, he honestly didn't notice the pattern. It took them all going through the hell that was a pregnant and postpartum Felicity Smoak-Queen three times for Roy to put the pieces together. In his defense, he wasn't a detective. He didn't hate mysteries like Felicity, and, like any good kid raised poor and street-smart, he thought puzzles were a waste of valuable time. Plus, Felicity was hot and all, but she was practically his sister. He really wasn't in the habit of thinking about her sex life. In fact, the first time she became pregnant, he preferred to think that she ate some kind of freaky watermelon seed. He just slept better that way. But, after the third time in nearly just as many years, even Roy couldn't keep pushing his head below the sand any longer, because no one would continue to eat watermelons if, nine months later, a screaming, slimy alien was the result. It was then that Roy finally took a good, hard look at Oliver and Felicity's relationship, and he came up with his theory.

Before the island – by now, they all knew that those five years Oliver spent away and presumed dead didn't all occur on Lian Yu, but it was easier to just refer to Oliver's life as BI and AI: before the island and after. Anyway, before the island, Oliver was, to be frank, a man-whore. The press liked to put a more glamorous spin on his behavior by referring to him as a playboy, but Roy had stopped pulling his punches a long time ago. Even after he returned, Oliver remained somewhat of a slore, and his taste in women left much to be desired. At that point, Roy was pretty sure it had been more about not wanting to be alone which had made his choices ring with a note of desperation and less about trying to jumpstart the US' birthrate one tipsy sorority girl at a time, but, whatever the reason, the guy had a reputation. Once he settled down with Felicity, though, Roy had assumed (hoped) that Oliver's decisions when it came to sex would improve. Instead, he just started to seek a whole different level of validation.

Rather than trying to prove that he was the biggest douchebag of them all or that he was worthy of being loved, Oliver started to use his sex-life as a means of confirming his virility. At least, that was the only explanation Roy had been able to come up with to explain why Oliver and Felicity would have had three kids in four years. Nobody would otherwise put themselves through such torture; nobody with a shred of decency would expose their friends and family, would expose him, to such cruelty.

It all started with Oliver's bum knee. He and Felicity hadn't been married long when he finally hurt the joint one too many times. After he had returned to the lair practically hopping like on a pogo stick, Felicity had forced him to see a doctor. The diagnosis: quit with any and all high-impact physical activity or have a knee replacement in his thirties. Either way, their days with Oliver as their lead crime-fighter were over. The man who had trained Roy was forced to take a step back, sidelined and put down on the roster as second string. Six weeks after they had shared the bad news with the team, Felicity announced that she was pregnant with their first child.

Less than six months after Avianna came screaming into the world – and, boy, did that name fit Oliver and Felicity's first born, because, when Roy first saw her, he would swear that she looked like a featherless, pink baby bird, Felicity swallowed another magic watermelon seed. More accurately, Oliver was feeling threatened because his daughter hated him. Whenever she was upset... which was often, because she was something that Felicity referred to as colicky... whatever the hell that meant, Avianna would only wail louder when her father tried to hold her. However, when he or Digg held the squirmy, squalling migraine, she would calm almost immediately. To add salt to Oliver's man-wound, Felicity earned herself a stalker not of the lacrosse playing variety, and, instead of going to her husband, she went to Digg. When Oliver found out, Felicity ended up pregnant. Again.

Thankfully, Katerina was nothing like her older sister. She was a quiet baby, but Roy wouldn't go so far as to say that she had a sweet disposition. When he was around her, Roy could feel the little girl's gaze burning into his back... like she was watching him – biding her time, plotting. To him, she actually seemed like the more dangerous Queen daughter. While Avianna was in your face with her anger, Katerina's seemed to be constantly brewing... like her mother's... on the back burner, just waiting for something or someone to turn up the gas and make her boil over. Roy avoided her like the plague.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for her father. By the time Katerina was ten months old, Oliver was spending so much time away from a once-more Queen Consolidated that the board decided to oust him in favor of Thea as CEO. Oliver had never enjoyed playing the big cheese at the family company, but it was still a blow to his ego to have his job not only taken away from him but then also given to his little sister. Nine months later, Amalia was born, and Roy had to face two facts – one painful to swallow, while the other kind of inspired him. First, as previously spoiled, his whole watermelon seed idea didn't wash, and, secondly, whenever Oliver's masculinity felt threatened, he had a nasty habit of knocking up his wife. While he hated to think about the closest thing he had to a sister having sex, Roy could work with Oliver's quirk. And that was how the 'Hero Games' were conceived... which, in retrospect, was a very poor choice in words.

They had been in the middle of a painfully slow December. Usually, they saw an uptick in crime during the holiday season, but Roy had learned long ago that evil hated to be predictable, so, apparently, that year, the thugs, and the thieves, and the terrorists (because, unfortunately, Starling City still had a disproportionate amount of idiots intent upon destroying the world) had decided to take a vacation. This left Roy with way too much time upon his brain. Hence, his theory was born, and, like with any good scientist, he had decided to put his hypothesis to the test.

Oliver was still... Oliver – highly competitive and supremely fit physically. However, between his knee and his affinity for playing house with his wife, he was starting to slow down. Roy was faster and more agile, Thea had always been a better shot, Digg had always been stronger, and Laurel was the angriest. Between the four of them, he had felt pretty confident in their collective abilities to beat Oliver at his own game... or, in their case, games. So, feigning boredom, Roy had casually suggested a little friendly competition, everyone agreeing to keep it in-house and far away from Barry 'The Cheater' Allen. A few contusions, two busted computer monitors, and a bruised ego later, Oliver lost every single event, and he went home to Felicity and his daughters, licking his pride. Now, all that remained for Roy was a trial of his patience, because he had no doubt his theory would be proven correct. In nine months time, yet another blue-eyed, wrinkly, female Queen would be born into the world and saddled with a four syllable name... yet another of Oliver's quirks.

Three Months Later...

When the door slammed above them and loud, petulant stomps could be heard coming down the metal stairs, Roy smirked to himself. He didn't even have to look up from his workstation where he was trying to develop a new trick arrow to know that Felicity had just arrived, she was pissed, and Oliver was about to be shelling out some dough to buy them all celebratory cigars.

"OLIVER!"

By the time Felicity marched into the center of the lights, all eyes were upon her – including Roy's. He dared to look up from underneath his lashes, the safety goggles he wore going far to protect his interest from being discovered by anyone else. Not that he really needed to worry, because Felicity was too irate and Oliver too worried about what he had done to set his wife off this time for either of them to pay Roy any heed. Digg did manage to catch his gaze, however – none too subtly indicating that they should both leave. Roy didn't know if the other man already knew what had Felicity fairly vibrating with fury or if he was just that well trained by his own wife to know when it was best to skedaddle. Whatever the reason for Digg's display of self-preservation, Roy ignored him. This was his science experiment, and he was going to see it through to the very, probably-bloody-for-Oliver end.

Hands fisted at her sides – her knuckles were a ghostly white she was clenching her fingers together so tightly, Felicity glared at her husband. "You promised."

"I've made a lot of promises to you, Felicity." Oliver started to take a step towards her, but she fairly growled. The once mighty Arrow froze in his tracks, and Roy snickered under his breath. "You know that I've always done my best to honor those promises."

"So, you're telling me this baby is a miracle, then," Felicity spit out between her gritted teeth.

Like the dumb shit he was, Oliver parroted, "what baby?"

Oh so helpfully, Roy offered, "I'm guessing it's your baby, Oliver." He was thoroughly ignored by the Queens, though Digg threw him a suspicious glance. Apparently, the former soldier only ran away when he had company.

"You said you'd take care of it. That this wouldn't happen again. That, if we ever decided to have another child, it'd be planned. You promised."

Shocked – maybe a little awed, too, but definitely shocked, Oliver whispered, "Felicity, you're... pregnant?"

Roy chuckled out loud. "Yeah, I think that's been established, man." Again, it was like neither Oliver nor Felicity even heard him.

"But we... we were careful," Oliver protested to his wife.

"We've always been careful," Felicity countered back. "That hasn't stopped us from having three kids in four years. Now, you can make that four in five."

"But you breast fed," Oliver argued.

"Hey," Roy yelled in objection. Sure, he knew Felicity was a girl, and, yes, he had come to the unwilling acceptance of the fact that she occasionally – about once a year – had sex with her husband, but that did not mean he was anywhere near ready to hear mention of her girly-bits. That was just... uh, no.

"And you went on that special pill this time," Oliver continued, making Roy grimace and shudder. "And I always – I always – wore a condom."

"We should have just stopped having sex. Period." Roy couldn't argue with Felicity's suggestion, but, evidently, Oliver could, because he opened his mouth to do just that right before his wife continued, "or, better yet, you should have had a vasectomy."

Dollars to donuts, every single guy in the basement winced at that idea. However, probably because of his own personal interest in the development, Roy was the first to recover, offering up the argument, "maybe he just wants a son, Felicity... you know, an heir," as... assistance... for his mentor.

"You're not helping, Roy," Oliver hissed, glancing in Roy's direction briefly before turning back to his livid wife. Addressing Felicity once more, Oliver said, "you never asked me to do that." If she had, Oliver really would have been castrated and not just in spirit. "And we agreed that, after the girls were a little bit older, we might want to have a fourth child so that Katerina never ended up the middle child. But, if you want something more permanent, maybe you should have your tubes tied... after this one."

Everything Oliver said, though, went ignored as Felicity turned suddenly teary instead of terrifying eyes on Roy. Oh shit, he thought to himself as he stood up and backed away from his workstation. While he meant to test his theory and even to give Oliver some grief, Roy had never intended to hurt Felicity. "A son? An heir? Our daughters aren't... good enough?"

"No, of course not," Oliver reassured his wife. Rather than be cowed back by her already hormonal emotions – and, by Roy's estimations, she was only just right around the end of her first trimester (he couldn't believe that his life had come to this point... where he knew legit pregnancy terminology), Oliver rapidly ate up the distance that separated him from Felicity, reaching out to wrap his hands around her fists, slowly coaxing them open and loose so he could braid their fingers together. "You know how much I love our daughters. I wouldn't trade them... or this new little one – boy or girl... for anything."

"Plus, look at the family's track record," Roy suggested helpfully. "Queen women are much smarter and more powerful than the men. Hell, Moira oractically had Robert whacked, and Thea's always been better than Oliver at... well, everything."

"Shut up, Roy," Oliver threatened.

But he didn't. He couldn't. Because he could still see those tears he helped put in Felicity's eyes, and he was determined to make her feel better. "Plus, if you think about it, Oliver always knocking you up is kind of a compliment." Felicity turned to look at him, her face scrunched up with curiosity. Egged on by this, he rapidly added, "I mean, obviously, he can't keep his hands off of you... leftover baby weight or not." Diggle groaned and walked away, Felicity's face turned red with indignation and embarrassment, and Oliver just started towards him, making Roy rush to correct himself. "I didn't mean that as a bad thing. We all know that he's always had a thing for your ass, and, every time you have a kid, it just gets bigger and bigger."

By the time Oliver's fist connected with his face, Roy knew two things to be fact: one, he was right. Oliver definitely had a thing. And, two, science hurt like a bitch.