Oliver only feels a mild push of guilt as he lies to Felicity's security company.
"Right, like I said, my girlfriend's out of town for a few months, and she wanted me to keep an eye on her place. So I need any security breach alerts on her apartment sent to me."
The clerk on the other end of the phone argues, but Oliver is ready. He's lifted her last bill to get the account number, and he'd had her give him the security codes the day she installed the system. The clerk capitulates.
"We can put it on a 10 minute delay – that way any accidental alerts that are immediately corrected don't flood your phone."
Oliver closes his eyes, imagining the damage that could be done by the dark archer in ten minutes.
"No, I want to be alerted immediately."
"But if she sets it off with the wrong code-"
"She's out of town, remember?" Oliver forces himself to be pleasant. Another few keystrokes and it's done. He'll set up a mirror on his phone to send to Diggle if he doesn't open the text within the first 2 minutes; in case he is otherwise occupied when the alert comes in.
As he hangs up the phone, Felicity herself clatters down the stairs of the cave.
"So, not to be unfeeling toward the cause or anything," she begins talking before she reaches the bottom step. "But this has been an absurdly long day and I missed lunch and I'm pretty sure it's about half past dinner time…"
His mouth curves up as she deposits her purse on the desk and waits for him to vacate her chair. He lounges for a beat, just to see her glare impatiently, before lifting himself out of the seat and heading back to put the phone away.
"Was there a question in there, Ms. Smoak?" he teases, always enjoying her bluster.
"A question?" She drops into the chair and gives it a tentative spin, probably checking to make sure he hadn't adjusted her settings. "Not a question. A demand. Well, a question. Does the bat cave get takeout?"
Her look is so hopeful that Oliver decides to play dumb a little longer. He reaches into the drawer below his arrow supplies and pulls out a granola bar which he carefully lobs her direction. She squeals, grabs for it, and manages to knock it halfway back across the room.
"Oliver! Don't throw things at girls with glasses!" she scolds. She retrieves it from the floor and then grimaces, reading the ingredients off the back. "Oat bran? Carob chips? No. No way. You keep your weird health food to yourself, mister. I just want a cheeseburger."
The door opens once more, and Diggle's heavy footsteps sound on the staircase. Oliver grins when he sees the takeout bags in his partner's hands.
"Well it's a good thing I asked Dig to stop off on his way back," he says. "Although the granola bar would be better for you."
It's easy to dodge the snack when she throws it at his head, although the force and accuracy leaves him staring thoughtfully after her for a few seconds.
The first time the alarm activation alert comes through to his phone, it takes Oliver seven minutes to reach her. He tries to call her, but it goes straight to voicemail. That doesn't calm him down.
He's off his motorcycle and up the stairs to her place so fast that all the doorman sees is a blur. He doesn't see any signs of forced entry, but he still puts his ear to the door, listening for evidence of trouble.
What he hears is Felicity. And she is annoyed.
"Yes, I already explained this to your employee. I didn't enter the code wrong. Your pad's wiring is inconsistent. It recorded a touch on the 8 as a 7. This is a real problem for your security model…"
Sagging with relief, Oliver hammers on the door.
"…uh, hang on please, there's someone at the door." He can hear her walking through the apartment and gives his best innocent face when she peers out. "Oliver?"
The door opens, and she blinks at him. "What are you doing here?"
"I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop by and see if you needed a ride." His lies haven't really gotten any better, he thinks.
She just gapes at him, so he pushes gently past her, needing to finish the job and make sure no criminal masterminds have a gun to her head from another room.
"Right, well, come on in," she calls after him, putting the phone back up to her ear. "And furthermore, the assemblage you used on your boxes is way too prone to cracking. I really don't see why I should continue paying you."
When he's content, he rejoins her in the kitchen, taking in the bags of groceries still sitting on the counter and the open tub of ice cream with a spoon stuck into it.
She's off the phone, and staring at him.
"So, a ride?" he says, grinning at her obvious frustration. "Who was that on the phone?"