A/N: Just what it says in the description. A series of outtakes from Felicity's perspective, based on the events of my story "Whatever it takes." So if something doesn't make sense, or you want to see Oliver's perspective, head over there. :)
A/N 2: Thanks to Drunk!Felicity for being such good-natured fun to write, and to my thoughtful beta Diana, who gave great suggestions!
It's not quite what Felicity would call a rager, but her 24th birthday is shaping up nicely. She's finally dug up the courage to wear that stupid gold dress again - the one that Oliver Queen bought for her the night that the Dodger collared her at the art auction. Maybe her hands keep brushing her neck, but she looks damn fine and her friends are suitably impressed.
"I'm sorry, is that Smoak in a proper clubbing dress?"
"Where's my favorite geek in panda flats and glasses?"
"Felicityyyyyy! You look amazing!"
Well, she calls them friends. She supposes that more accurately they are girls she knows from work who are willing to go out and celebrate her birthday. Elaine from Procurement, her lunch buddy who mostly now pumps her for dirt on Oliver ("Are his eyes really that blue?" "Does he still speak normal English or does he have a Chinese accent?" "Yeah, but are they REALLY that blue?"), sets up the whole night. That means Felicity only knows about half the group. But hey, they keep buying her drinks, so she'll go with friends.
Her only requirement is that they go somewhere, anywhere, but Verdant.
Elaine is visibly disappointed when Felicity draws this line at lunch. Felicity is pretty sure that's because her lunch buddy was planning to investigate for herself whether Oliver's eyes are quite that blue. (They are.)
"I just, it'd be too weird, Elaine." Felicity stabs another crouton as she demolishes a caesar salad. "I don't want to go to the club my boss owns with the intention of getting drunk and silly." I don't want Oliver to see me as more of a mess than he already does.
So, here they are, across town at Blackout. It may be only the second hottest ticket in town, but it's incredibly unlikely that she'll see Oliver or Diggle. She's wearing the stupidest plastic "birthday girl" tiara and about to do her third Soco and lime shot when someone stumbles up to her.
"Felicity Smoak! You look smoking hot. Heh heh, 'smoak-ing', get it?" He's vaguely familiar, and he's looking down her dress. She downs the shot and looks around for backup, but Elaine is chatting up one of her admirer's buddies and won't meet her eyes.
"Did they let you out of the IT cave for the night?" He's talking again. Well that's a relief, a bad pun on my name followed up by a dig at my job. At least he's consistent.
But she's loose and having a good time, so she can handle a little unwanted attention.
"No, this is a hologram projection of me. I'm actually drinking alone in the bowels of Queen Consolidated." She feels her crown shift, and reaches up to fix it. "While wearing a tiara."
He laughs, but not at her joke. "You should dress like this at work!"
"That would be totally inappropriate!" she yells over a new song. Elaine has ordered another round of drinks, and slides hers across the bar with a grin.
"Hi, George! You found the birthday girl!"
The club stays open until 4 am, but Felicity manages to call it a night around 1:30, citing work the next day. It's been fun, despite some awkward exchanges with George (who she's learned works in accounting, is very keen on grooming his chest hair, and has two Siamese cats). But she has to rebuild a server tomorrow and needs at least a few brain cells operating.
Elaine is unimpressed. "Doncha know how to have any fun, Smoaky?" She's hanging onto the arm of a seriously handsome guy, and shooting furiously suggestive looks at him in between pleading with Felicity to stay. Most of the original group are either already gone or out on the dance floor.
"S'fine, Laney." Felicity blinks when her nickname slips out. She's drunker than she realized. Making an effort to speak clearly, she says, "I'm jus' going to grab a cab. Totally fine. No big deal. S'fine."
She's both absurdly relieved and surprisingly disappointed that neither Oliver or Diggle have called. As she picks her way carefully across the sticky, crowded dance floor to the door, she considers – just for a moment – calling one of them and telling him he's a terrible boss for forgetting her birthday. But then she almost slips on a spilled beer and when she regains her balance, she remembers that she really, really would rather not mix drunk Felicity and her intimidating, stupid-hot boss.
The cabbie has to wake her up when they get to her apartment building, and she shoves two twenties at him with a smile and a cheerful "S'my birthday!"
Hank is at the door, shaking his head.
"Miss Felicity, you are wearing a tiara."
She grabs the silly plastic thing off her head and giggles.
"THAT," she says carefully, "is cause 'tsmy birthday, Hank."
"Well isn't that nice," he says, walking her to the elevator. "Did you get presents?"
"No. NO. I didn't get ANY." This suddenly bothers her. A lot. "Why didn't I get any presents?"
The elevator dings and opens. Hank shakes his head again.
"I'm sure they're coming." Hank has such nice eyes, she thinks. And then she's thinking about eyes, and she's back to Oliver and she's staring off into space, trying to pinpoint the RGB code for his eye color. Hank reaches in and hits her floor number. "You get some sleep, ok?"
"No way," she says as the doors slide closed. "Imma go buy myself presents."
She gives a wave goodnight to the security cam in the elevator, and is quite proud of how well she manages to find her door. But then it gets complicated. She's still only half awake, after sleeping through the cab ride. And since the security company came and replaced her broken unit a few weeks ago, she has a new code that is currently dancing around in the hidden recesses of her mind.
She stares the keypad down, and then sways and puts her hand on it to catch herself.
Whew, dizzy much? Oblivious to the soft buzzing warning that the keypad is emitting, Felicity leans against the wall. I'll just sit down for a minute, just till the hallway stops spinning.
She wakes up in her bed. Her head is splitting open, and she rolls to her side in agony, taking stock of her situation. She's still in her dress, but she managed to get her shoes off, so that's a plus. There's a glass of water on her bedside table, and she cheers drunk Felicity for remembering to leave herself a way to down some aspirin.
Then she hauls herself into enough of a sitting position to see the note. Drunk Felicity wished herself happy birthday? Just how drunk had she gotten? She needs to check in with Hank… or hack the video feed in the lobby.
But first, ugh, she needs a shower.
Felicity crawls out of bed and sheds the dress, groping around for a t-shirt to replace it. She feels too gross to be walking around naked, and the soft cotton is a relief against her clammy skin. A piece of paper crinkles under her foot and she grimaces at the scrawled numbers. Apparently "George" had gotten close enough to tuck his number into the back of her dress. Ewww.
The room tilts a bit and she stumbles out into the living room, then stops cold. There is someone on her couch. There is a man on her couch. And she's in a t-shirt.
Then he stirs, and she realizes that it's not just a man, it's super-hot, totally confusing, completely out of her league Oliver Queen. She doesn't mean to say anything, she really doesn't. She'll just keep walking to the safety of the bathroom. But he's there, and it just… slips out.
"Are you freaking kidding me?"
A/N: So now I feel like I need to get Felicity some presents. Poor thing. Let me know what you think! Want a few more of these?