DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters, nor am I in any way affiliated with the show or with DC Comics. This story is purely for entertainment purposes.

"Come on out, Felicity," Oliver called through the bathroom door. "You're supposed to be at the club in half an hour."

"I look ridiculous!" she insisted.

"I'm sure that's not true," he tried to reassure her.

"Hah!" was her skeptical reply.

"Felicity," Diggle tried, "we need you for this mission. You're the only one who can get close enough to get us the intel we need."

There was silence as she seemed to ponder that.

"Alright..." she finally agreed, before quickly warning, "But the first one to laugh gets it."

Reluctantly, she stepped out into Team Arrow headquarters, and was rewarded, not with laughs or even smirks, but with wide eyes and open mouths as they took in her attire. She wore a black pleather corset that pushed her breasts up dramatically, a matching mini-skirt that left little to the imagination, black pleather gloves that went just past her elbows, and high-heeled boots that went to her knees. She also wore a black leather choker, and her blond hair was up in a high ponytail. Her usual thick-rimmed glasses were gone for the night in favor of contacts and black eyeliner.

"Wow," was all Oliver could say. He felt like someone had knocked the wind out of him.

"Yeah," Diggle agreed, though not quite as breathless.

Clearing his throat, Oliver added, "You look..."

As he searched for a word appropriate enough, she went ahead and finished, "Ridiculous, right?"

"Actually, I was going to say...good. You look good."

"Really? You don't think it's too... revealing?"

Rather than answer, he looked at his watch and exclaimed, "Wow, will you look at the time! We've got to get going, or you'll be late for your first day!"

The 'first day' he referred to was that of her 'new job' as a waitress at the Windgate Club, a private gentleman's club they were investigating due to possible ties to the mob. While Oliver himself had never been there, he did know a senator who was gracious enough to lend him his membership card, especially in exchange for his silence regarding the senator's mistress, who was a dancer there.

As they went to leave, Oliver stopped and, with a mischievous glint in his eye, gestured for Felicity to go first.

"After you, Mistress Felicity," he teased. Beside him, Diggle tried to suppress a chuckle.

She narrowed her eyes, and replied, "You are so lucky this outfit doesn't come with a whip."


After parking around the block from the club, Oliver and Diggle gave Felicity an earpiece, with the assurance that they'd be there for her should she need backup. They let her go in first, then waited a couple of minutes before following. Flashing the senator's membership card, Oliver and Diggle posed as patrons, both sporting suits since the dress code was a bit more formal than your average strip club.

As Diggle went to sit at the bar to see what he could find out, Oliver took a seat at one of the small round tables that surrounded the main stage. As he did so, he glanced around the room, noticing that all the waitresses wore provocative costumes. One passed him dressed as a sexy nurse, while another passed in the other direction dressed as a Playboy bunny, winking flirtatiously at Oliver as she did so. By the time he turned his head to face forward, he was surprised and even a little bit startled to see Felicity standing there all of a sudden.

"Hey there, cutie," she said, trying to act flirty. "What can I get you?"

He asked what she was able to find out so far, and she replied that she hadn't been able to find out anything yet. At least, anything useful. As they talked, they realized that a man, presumably the club owner, was watching them suspiciously, so Felicity quickly took Oliver's drink order and headed for the bar.

As she passed on the drink order to the bartender and waited on him to fill it, she and Diggle discreetly shared a look out of the corners of their eyes. Then, just as the bartender finished pouring Oliver's drink and placed it on a tray, the club owner approached Felicity.

"Hey. You. New girl," he greeted her gruffly.

She worried for a moment that he had put two and two together after seeing her and Oliver talking, but then relaxed a bit when the next words out of his mouth were, "You dance?"

She was a bit confused as to what relevance that had, but nonetheless replied, "Yes. Sometimes."

"Felicity, no!" Oliver hissed in her ear. "He means exotic dancing. He's asking if you know how to strip!"

"Good," the owner told her before she could take back what she'd said. He explained, "One of our dancers just called to say she has a sick kid and can't get a babysitter. So, you're on in ten minutes."

"Wait! What?!" she exclaimed, but the owner was already walking away.

"You can use her costume," he added over his shoulder.


Eight minutes later, she had changed into the absent dancer's costume, a sexy sailor number, and had changed into a red version of the high-heeled boots she had just been wearing. Her hair had been taken out of the ponytail and instead, put up in a messy bun, and she had just finished putting on some red lipstick.

"How do I get myself into these things?" she asked miserably as she sat at a dressing table, one of many that were situated backstage.

"It's a gift," Diggle replied via her earpiece.

"More like a curse," she shot back.

"Felicity, it'll be fine," Oliver assured her smoothly, also via the earpiece. "Just...pretend you're at home dancing by yourself and just let go."

"You have clearly never seen me dance," she scoffed.

"But looks like we're about to," Diggle pointed out, after some burly guy stopped by to inform her that she was on in two minutes.

She quickly put on a cap that came with the costume and grabbed some aviator sunglasses, then went to wait in the wings. Finding that she could discreetly watch the current dancer onstage, a cowgirl named Dixie who was swaying wildly to "All Jacked Up" by Gretchen Wilson, Felicity tried to pick up some moves. But before she knew it, Dixie was returning backstage, and it was her turn.

"Guys, I don't think I can do this," she told her teammates nervously.

"It's okay. Relax," was Diggle's big advice. "Try to channel your inner Demi Moore."

"Demi Moore, right, got it. Wait, I never saw that movie!"

Regardless, she quickly put on the sunglasses and forced herself to step out on stage, just as an announcer finished introducing her as "all-American girl" Amber Waves.

Well, there are worse stripper names, she thought to herself.

As "Don't Cha" by Pussycat Dolls started playing, Felicity somewhat awkwardly began stripping, starting with the top part of her costume, underneath which was a red-white-and-blue sequined bikini top. She could almost swear she heard one of the guys, either Oliver or Diggle, gulp audibly, but didn't have time to worry about it. Instead, she took off the bottom part of the outfit, a navy-blue mini-skirt, revealing sequined hot pants that also bore a patriotic theme.

Did it suddenly get warm in here? Oliver thought, adjusting his tie.

Then, losing the hat and sunglasses, she took her hair down and shook it loose, inadvertently locking eyes with Oliver as she did so. Inadvertent or not, though, she never took her eyes off of him, nor he her, as something seemed to take hold of her and her inhibitions were suddenly stripped away. For him.

As she moved seductively in time with the music, it seemed as though she danced just for him. That thought even occurred to him, but it barely registered as the blood rushed away from his brain to start to pool elsewhere. The way she moved, the way the top conformed to her breasts, the way the shorts hugged her hips, the way she bit those ruby red lips as she danced... He was entranced.

Finally, the song ended, and the spell was broken. She looked around as patrons applauded, suddenly self-conscious again. As she headed backstage, Oliver took a deep breath to get himself in check. He only vaguely heard Diggle mutter appreciatively, "God bless America."


"I don't believe I've ever seen you here before, Mr. Queen," the owner greeted the man in question. He wasn't angry, though; in fact, he was downright sycophantic.

"Actually, I'm a guest of Senator Jennings's," he replied. Indicating Diggle at the bar, he added, "As is my bodyguard, of course."

"Of course. And will Senator Jennings be joining you this evening?"

"No, it's just me. Though, I got to say, I'm certainly enjoying the entertainment. Any chance I can get a minute alone with that Miss America chick that was just onstage?"

Diggle smiled at that description. He knew Oliver was just playing up his playboy reputation, but also knew that Felicity could still hear every word they said. And with that in mind, he couldn't wait to see how Felicity was going to make Oliver pay for that comment. Hence, the smile.

"Certainly, Mr. Queen." The owner got the attention of the sexy nurse, and instructed her to take Mr. Queen into one of the back rooms.

"Right this way, Mr. Queen," she said, only too happy to oblige.

He followed her to the back, which contained several private rooms where patrons could enjoy a lap dance from the dancer of their choice. In place of a door, each of these rooms had a red velvet curtain for privacy, and above each curtain was a number. The nurse indicated one velvet door in particular, and smiled flirtatiously as she told him, "Here you are, Mr. Queen."

Before she left him to wait by himself, she reminded him that he wasn't allowed to touch — though he doubted that that rule was ever enforced much, if at all — and informed him that there were cameras in each room.

Inside the room itself, he found wall-to-wall leather benches, which could easily sit five or six guys (not there ever were that many guys in one room at any one time). Glancing up, he did indeed see a security camera in one corner of the room.

Probably used more for voyeurism and/or blackmail than security, he thought cynically.

He took a seat, though, and almost as soon as he did, Felicity entered, still in the stars-and-stripes. Judging by the forced smile on her lips and the angry glint in her eye, she had heard every word he'd said to the owner.

"Fe — " He stopped himself from calling her by name, remembering the camera.

Without a word, she closed the distance between them, and immediately straddled him, much to his surprise. Leaning in close, she assured him that she'd already checked and the camera didn't transmit audio, so they could talk freely.

"That's good to know," he replied, very much aware of how close her breasts were to his own chest. He fought the urge to look down.

In the interest of keeping her cover, she gyrated on his pelvis, causing Oliver's eyes to go wide and his jaw to set as his blood once more rushed south of the border. She then slid down his torso to the floor, and his eyes closed of their own volition. After slowly slithering her way back up his body, conscious of every one of his muscles tensing underneath her, she informed him, "That's for referring to me as a 'chick'."

"Felicity," he growled.

She looked at him, surprised. His tone was partly angry, but it was also tinged with...arousal. Then again, she shouldn't have been so surprised, considering what was poking her through her sequined shorts. She gulped visibly, and his demeanor softened as he mistook her reaction for fear.

"So, what'd you find out?" he asked, getting them back on track.

Rather than answer, she got up, turned around, and then situated herself back in his lap. As she leaned back against his shoulder, gyrating some more on his pelvis, she finally filled him and Diggle in on the information she'd managed to uncover backstage.

"Looks like that stripper with the sick kid was a blessing in disguise," she remarked once she'd finished sharing. "I mean, obviously, not for her and her kid. But it was lucky for us because it got me backstage. Though, I'm not too thrilled about having to take my clothes off for you."

Realizing what she'd just said, she quickly amended, "I mean, not that any woman wouldn't want to take their clothes off for you. I just mean, I wasn't stripping just for you. I mean..."

"Felicity," Oliver said, stopping her babbling before she really got going.

"Thank you."

"Uh, guys," Diggle interjected, "assuming Lady Luck was with us earlier, she's definitely not now."

"What makes you say that?" Felicity asked.

"Because a bunch of cops just arrived to raid this place, led by none other than Detective Lance."

Though he'd been demoted recently, Quentin Lance would always be 'Detective Lance' to Team Arrow.

The identical looks Oliver and Felicity exchanged said it all, but they still felt the need to voice their concern.

"Oh..." Felicity began.

"...shit!" Oliver concluded.

A/N: If y'all enjoyed this story, y'all should go read "Jade" by LoudVoice, from which I took a bit of inspiration (though I couldn't help but make this into a bit of a homage to the Smallville episode "Exposed"; in fact, I even debated on whether or not to include a human trafficking storyline, but eventually decided against it).