An excerpt from Chapter Two of The Firebird, by allstartstofade and mystarsandmyocean (myself):
“Take it,” Thea demands, her palm curling around her gift. It isn’t quite a brooch, Felicity amends - that description too stuffy - but a golden circle, from which a bird emerges, both symbols backed by a pin. Thea’s hand shoves her offering closer, her smile folding into wide eyes and a trembling lip, reminders that for all her bravado, Thea is still barely past childhood.
Tracing the circle with her middle finger, Felicity notices tiny, golden flames falling from the bird’s wings and tail - not a bird then at all, but a phoenix, like in the stories that had preceded the Dark Days. Felicity’s never seen something so beautiful - or so old. Not much remains from the times before the Games; most relics locked away in Capitol museums. “Thea,” she murmurs reverently, “I can’t accept this.”
“Mom gave it to me this morning,” Thea scoffs, pressing her palm into Felicity’s. “She said it would protect me from being reaped.” She pulls away, leaving the pin in Felicity’s hand. “Stupid, I know. But….then again, they didn’t choose me.”
They chose you hangs unspoken between them. Another puzzle pieces clicks into place for Felicity.
“What happened today wasn’t your fault,” Felicity says, placing her free hand on Thea’s knee. She waits until Thea meets her gaze before continuing. “They didn’t choose you - that’s a good thing. But that doesn’t mean that you chose me instead.”
Felicity would never ask anyone to make that sort of choice for her.
Thea nods, a tentative smile not quite there. “I still want you to keep it,” Thea insists, a Queen in every way but victory, “I wore it, and I didn’t get reaped. Maybe if you wear it, it’ll help you win the Games. Or, I don’t know, brighten up your outfits. Those interview clothes have to be flashy, right? Ollie always looks like such a peacock up there.”
This time, Felicity’s laugh is the one just shy of tentative, her struggle with the pin’s old clasp hiding the tears in her eyes. She’s never worn anything but hand-me-downs and stitched-together remnants; she can’t even imagine wearing the glamour of the Capitol. She’s suddenly glad she took a bath that morning, though she’s sure it won’t be enough to make her fit for Capitol couture. The door to the room swings open before she can answer, Rob interrupting with a firm, “Miss Queen?”
“Thank you,” Thea whispers, pulling Felicity in for one final hug, “I believe in you!”
Want to read more? The Firebird: Prologue | Chapter 1
Pairings: Felicity Smoak/Oliver Queen/Tommy Merlyn, all the permutations thereof
Rated: Explicit
Summary: There’s nothing Oliver Queen won’t do to change his sister’s fate. Living his life under the thumb of his mob-boss mother, he’s sacrificed his soul for the Family name. To protect his sister’s innocence, he travels to Russia to enlist the help of Felicity Smoak. With her by his side, and long-time friend and past-lover Tommy Merlyn at his back, Oliver will seek to dismantle the criminal empire that has plagued his city, and maybe rediscover love along the way.
Read on AO3 or follow the cut
Previous Chapters on Tumblr: One | Two|Three|Four|Five|Six|Seven|Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve|Thirteen|Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty
Excerpt:
She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. She didn’t move. She didn’t adjust the jets -- she let the water hit her, hot and hard. Cleanse her of her sins, if she believed in that sort of thing.
She didn’t. But she believed in grime, in filth, the kind that sticks to a soul and weighs it down, blackens it. What kind of person was she twisting herself into? She’d been asking herself some variation of that question since she was sixteen years old, and her life had taken such a drastic turn with the death of her mother, her move to Russia. The first time she’d killed a man.
Chapter Twenty-One: The Near Occasion of Sin
Starling City, Present Day
Felicity was carefully composed as she opened the door to the master suite. She toed off her shoes, every instinct in her screaming in her head to break down, but she ignored the irrational compulsion. She let her hair down, opened the master bedroom door and walked straight through without calling out for Tommy or Oliver or looking to see if they were there. It was all she could do to keep from running. She dropped her clothes without a care, stripping on the way to the bathroom. Skirt, hosiery, blouse, bra, panties -- all left behind in a steady trail. Tears fought their way to her eyes but she refused to give them quarter.
The immense shower was just what she needed. She programmed the many jets for as hot as they could possibly go. It was a punishing, searing, relentless heat. Not enough to burn but definitely hot enough to cleanse.
She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. She didn’t move. She didn’t adjust the jets -- she let the water hit her, hot and hard. Cleanse her of her sins, if she believed in that sort of thing.
She didn’t. But she believed in grime, in filth, the kind that sticks to a soul and weighs it down, blackens it. What kind of person was she twisting herself into? She’d been asking herself some variation of that question since she was sixteen years old, and her life had taken such a drastic turn with the death of her mother, her move to Russia. The first time she’d killed a man.
This was a different kind of grime. Tommy’s face swam in her memory -- the things she’d seen Malcolm do to him, the things she’d heard him say to him, the scars that covered his body, that had rendered him so broken. She had wanted nothing more than to stand up for him -- but she couldn’t. She couldn’t.
He hadn’t been there, but in his absence, she’d let him down. She’d sat next to Moira, and in her she had seen a reflection of herself -- who she could be, left unchecked and out in the cold. It suddenly made sense in ways it hadn’t before, the way Tommy had pulled back from her, the times he’d accused her of being like Moira. No wonder he had such a strong reaction to their similarities.
It broke her, that thought -- that she might be too like the woman she called her mother-in-law for Tommy to ever let it go, to truly love her the way she was coming to love him -- she let out a heart-wrenching sob and slid to the floor of the shower. She’d wanted too much to somehow be an instrument of some kind of grace, to make Tommy’s life better, to make Oliver’s life better. But it seemed everywhere she turned she was misstepping, causing damage where before she had hope to do some good.
She was messing everything up. And in the end, she’d have what Moira had -- a family she couldn’t trust, because when they’d needed her, she’d looked the other way and played a game instead of treating them like people, not pieces she could manipulate to her advantage.
“Felicity?”
If there had been a knock, she hadn’t heard it. She took in a deep breath to try and reply, then another, then another, until they were shallow, almost like hiccups, and she couldn’t get control of herself. She let out a strangled cry and then covered her mouth, trying to take back the sound. But it was too late.
“Felicity?” Tommy burst through the door. He stopped and blinked, taking stock of the situation. She could see utter shock on his face and tried in vain to stop the tears, to push herself off the shower wall and quit this hysterical fit she couldn’t seem to shut down. She’d never let him see her this broken, but she didn’t have the energy to try and pull herself together for him, so she turned her face away.
“I’m okay. Really,” she said softly, hoping that would be enough that he would leave her alone, let her process what she’d done. Maybe she could put a bandage over the wound and hide her shame and be able to look him in the eye again. There was a long moment before Tommy responded. She could tell he was weighing his words, as uncertain as she felt.
“You don’t have to be,” Tommy said. “Maybe it won’t help to tell me. I could get Oliver, if you…”
“No.” Felicity’s voice was flat. Telling Oliver would be worse. Oliver, who looked at Tommy like he was the sun in the sky. The things she’d had to say about Tommy, think about him -- let Moira believe she thought about him -- they wouldn’t sit right with Oliver. He’d figure out, sooner or later, what a cold-hearted bitch he’d shackled himself to, for better or worse, and he’d start to realize the truth: that there wasn’t that much difference between his mother and his wife. She didn’t know if she could take watching that realization in Oliver’s eyes at the moment. “I don’t want to tell Oliver.”
To her shame, that broke her. She bent her head to her knees once more and sobbed.
Without warning, the shower door opened. Tommy had toed off his shoes, his socks, but his tailored slacks and crisp gray shirt were sure to be ruined. Still, he slid against the wall to the floor with her, his hand rubbing her back gently. “Whatever it is, it’s not going to destroy your relationship with Oliver.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” Tommy’s voice was heavy with self-awareness. “Time and time again, I’ve done things, I’ve said things… and I think, you know, this is the time he’s going to realize what everyone else in my life has realized all along: that I’m not worth staying for. But he never does. Once he chooses you, you’re it. We kind of lucked out that way, Felicity.”
“It’ll be different this time,” Felicity said, unable to stop herself from leaning into his touch.
“What makes you say that?”
Felicity blinked, drew in a deep sigh. “I believe Oliver can tolerate being hurt, personal betrayal, he can forgive that easily enough. But I don’t think he could forgive me if I hurt you.”
There was a long pause. Tommy reached for her hand. “You haven’t hurt me yet. Not in a way I can’t forgive. That’s what matters to Oliver.”
She was shaking her head again.
Oh, this would hurt. But she’d failed him. She’d failed him in the worst way -- the way he expected to be failed. She’d treated him the way he had always been treated, like he was a tool, like he was a weapon, like he could be discarded at any moment when he ceased to be useful to her. A fresh wave of pain caught at her stomach.
“I’m such a bitch,” Felicity said, forcing herself to draw away from his touch. “I’m a cold-hearted bitch.”
“Felicity.” Tommy’s voice was flat. “Baby… there isn’t a way in the universe…” he sighed. “Just tell me what happened?”
“I let you down.”
“No.” His response was instant, firm. “No, you haven’t.”
She felt as vulnerable as a child, at the mercy of Tommy’s good graces. She wanted to beg for forgiveness, have it promised before she articulated the transgression. But she couldn’t do that -- couldn’t lock Tommy into something he couldn’t follow through on.
“You remember how you -- in the beginning, you thought I was manipulating you, just like Moira is always manipulating you.”
Tommy leaned over, kissed her shoulder. “I was wrong, baby.”
“No, you weren’t.” Felicity wiped her eyes, cleared her throat. “I’m exactly like Moira Queen. I found that out today, and I… I’m having a hard time dealing.”
“Bullshit.” Tommy reached for her hand, threaded his fingers through hers.
“I said you were a weapon.” Felicity was crying again. She couldn’t stop herself. “I said all I had to do was point you in the right direction. And she laughed with me.”
“Baby.” Tommy’s throat was closing with emotion. “You were doing what you had to do.”
“I hate myself,” Felicity whispered. “I hate what I’m turning into.”
“No.” Tommy’s eyes were filled with tears. He bent and kissed the back of her hand, over and over again. “No, baby, don’t.”
“I’m turning myself inside out,” Felicity said, “playing all of these games, trying to stay ahead of her, trying to keep us all alive, and all it is doing is turning me into her.”
“No.” Tommy lifted his eyes, framed her face in his hands. “You, Felicity Smoak-Queen, you are nothing like Moira Queen. You couldn’t carve out enough pieces of your soul to succeed if you wanted to be like her.”
“I…” Felicity struggled for words.
“Moira never twisted herself into knots over me,” Tommy said sadly. “She never broke down in the shower over what she did to me, what she did to Oliver. She never cried because a decision she made got us hurt.”
Felicity’s eyes flew up to his, shocked.
“I heard you, the other night,” he said softly, “crying for Oliver, crying for us. Baby -- you are as scary-sexy-smart as any person I’ve ever known, and maybe that’s what you’ve got in common with Moira, but she never gave one single goddamn about me. And you do. And you could never, ever be her. I don’t worry about you loving me anymore. I don’t worry about you leaving me. I know, right down deep, that you do the things you do because you love me.”
Felicity launched herself into his arms, the water drenching them, soaking through his clothes, but she didn’t care. He smelled exactly right: citrus and cinnamon, his hair falling over his eyes because the water removed the product he wore in it. His hands were sure and steady and strong.
“I love you,” Tommy said against her ear. “I love you, I love you, I love you. And you didn’t let me down, Felicity. The furthest thing. You make me so fucking proud.”
Oliver, his arm still in a sling, opened the shower door, his eyes stormy. Felicity had no idea how long he’d been listening. He held out a towel for Felicity, and one for Tommy. “Come here, you two,” he said roughly.
With some effort and a little grace, Felicity and Tommy got up off the of the shower floor and wrapped themselves in towels (Tommy after he disrobed). Oliver gently wrapped Felicity’s hair for her and drew her in a hug. Tommy watched, silent, for a minute, before he crossed the room and leaned in himself.
“There’s not a thing either of you could ever do that would make me stop loving you, make me stop wanting you, make me stop dreaming about you and the day when all of this is over,” Oliver said quietly. “So… just. Know that, okay?”
Felicity sniffled and buried her head in his shoulder, surrounded on both sides by Tommy and Oliver.
“Don’t hate yourself, baby,” Oliver continued. “You have been my saving grace. Maybe Tommy’s, too. It’s rough right now, but it’s not always going to be like this. One way or another, it will all be over soon, and none of us will ever have to pretend with her, ever again.”
Tommy nodded, his hands sliding to Felicity’s waist. He bent and kissed her cheek, and then down her neck. “Let us show you how much we love you,” he whispered.
Oliver waited for her nod, and then, with gentle hands, he undid the knot at the top of her towel so it slid to the floor. And he dropped to his knees, while Tommy helped Felicity sit on the edge of the bathroom countertop. The marble was cool against her skin, but Oliver’s mouth was hot and insistent. He pushed her legs apart and parted her with his thumb.
“I love how wet you get before we even get started, baby girl,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “I love that you’re ready.”
But he didn’t touch her there. Instead, he turned his attention to the inside of her thighs, kissing and nibbling.
Tommy bent his head to Felicity’s ear, kissing her cheek before he pulled gently on her earlobe with his teeth. Felicity shivered from head to toe. “You both are teases,” she hissed.
“No,” Tommy said, “We just like to take our time and appreciate you. Believe me, we are aware of how lucky we are to have you. We like to take the time and savor that luck.”
Felicity had seen him flip a knife over and over and over again in his hand, constantly practicing, different blades, different weights. He could hit a target from across the room with a butter knife if he wanted. She was keenly aware of the callouses on his hands from that training regimen as they slid over her skin and danced around her navel.
“I want to touch you,” Felicity said suddenly.
“Which of us?” Tommy asked.
“Either. Both.”
“Mm,” Tommy let out a sigh. “I don’t know that that’s enough information. What do you think, Ollie?”
“I think I’m a little busy,” Oliver said, and he slid a finger inside of Felicity, slowly, so slowly she hissed at the persistent, tempered invasion. She spread her legs and pumped her hips, silently begging for more. “You can touch Tommy, if you want.”
“I always want,” Felicity said.
Tommy chuckled. “You aren’t the only one.”
Felicity reached for him, turned his face to hers and kissed him while Oliver slowly worked another finger inside of her. When he curved both of them at just the right angle, the one she’d taught him to find in Russia with patience and precision, she squealed into Tommy’s mouth.
He laughed, thumbing her nipple. “Good, huh?”
“Makes me want to come right now,” Felicity said.
“Good. Come, right now,” Tommy said, “and then we’ll take you to bed and make you do it again and again.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Felicity said.
“Work with him.” Tommy guided her fingers down to her clit. “You know exactly what you like, baby. You can get there.”
The pleasure was building. A spiral that started in her center and worked its way out. She could almost taste her orgasm. She strove for it, pumping her hips, swirling her clit. Oliver slid another finger inside of her and her eyes went wide with shock, lust and pleasure. It was enough to push her over the edge.
She pushed Oliver’s head away, his hands away, scooted back while the orgasm rocked through her, but Tommy held her close.
“Good,” he said in her ear. “But we can get you there again.”
They took her to bed and did just that. Over and over and over again. Until she was sore and wrung out, beyond exhausted and tired. The last orgasm they gave her sent her to sleep. She was aware, faintly, of the two boys taking care of each other while she slept, but when they were done, they wrapped their arms around her, and they slept too.
**
“I don’t like this,” Diggle said as he maneuvered the sedate, unremarkable sedan through the streets of Starling to the Glades. Nothing in his tone or his grip gave away that he was stressed, but there were faint lines at the corners of his mouth.
“I don’t like it either,” Sara said, her eyes glued out the window, constantly evaluating the area for threats, “but I like the idea of taking Felicity to this place without running recon and knowing what we’re up against even less.”
In the short time they’d known each other, Sara had come to appreciate John Diggle’s pragmatism, his soldier’s instincts, and his loyalty to Felicity. There were very few men she would trust enough to go into battle -- Tommy and Oliver had eventually earned their stripes, although that had taken time and effort. The League’s training had done its best to remove what little patience she had for men from her, and they’d mostly been successful.
But Diggle she’d trust to have her back. He certainly wasn’t trained to think the way she was trained to think, and in many ways, she appreciated that. It made her chosen directive of protecting Felicity that much easier because they each saw threats in different ways.
Aside from his professionalism, the man had a droll sense of humor and a self-awareness that she found refreshing. Under any other circumstance, she would have enjoyed a quiet midnight ride with the man through the streets of Starling City. But they were in Merlyn territory after dark on a busy business night for the red light district, and it wasn’t exactly a secret what side of the brewing war Sara and Diggle were on.
“Let’s go over parameters one more time,” Diggle said. He was a soldier. He liked parameters. Sara could appreciate that, even as they flew out the window as the mission changed. “Observe and collect data only.”
“Yep. Prepare a sitrep for Oliver’s perusal tomorrow so he knows what kind of protection to insist on.”
“Interesting that Moira lets him make those kinds of calls,” Diggle said, noncommittally. As a bid for information into the way the family worked, it was pretty subtle, Sara decided, and as such, ought to be rewarded.
“It was always the plan for Oliver to be in charge of things like security. Traditionally, that’s the Hood’s job.”
“Was it now?” Diggle asked, his tone free of any judgement. “What would your role be… traditionally?”
Sara grinned. “I’m a brand new tradition. I make the rules up as I go. Pull over here,” she said, indicating an alleyway between a tattoo parlor and a liquor store. “Technically this is neutral territory and Big Jimmy, who owns both of these businesses, doesn’t tolerate gang bullshit going down on his watch. He won’t be able to do much if Merlyn’s men decide to make a move, but in general, the boys avoid starting shit in his territory out of respect.”
Diggle nodded. It was very possible, Sara knew, that none of that was brand new information to the man, who had grown up in the Glades. On the other hand, he might even know more about the traditional territories than she did, although her on the job training had been incredibly thorough. Still, Diggle never gave away more information about himself than he absolutely had to -- an instinct that Sara could appreciate.
They left the sedan locked and walked casually down a few city blocks. Starling’s night life was bustling: twenty-somethings and the underaged-with-fake-IDs milled about in blocks, shouting at each other as they moved from club to club.
She fought the urge to draw her gun as she noticed a man standing in a well of darkness, watching a group of girls pass by with lascivious intent in his eyes. Diggle squeezed her waist in warning. “We can’t save the world,” he said softly.
Sara’s every instinct was singing at her. This was the kind of situation that was fraught with danger for the unaware. She knew from experience -- intoxicated, not paying attention, isolated from the group of friends they came out with -- this was when girls and women got stolen from the streets.
“No, but we can save those girls.” Sara pushed him gently with her hip. Obligingly, Diggle walked over with her. “Move along, creep,” Sara said, as soon as they were able to get close enough. “Nothing to see here.”
“I’m not doing anything…” the man whined.
Sara drew her gun. “I said move it.”
The man turned tail and ran.
“Well, I have to say our cover of a couple out for a night on the town is really working out well so far,” Diggle said, rolling his eyes.
Sara smirked. “What? You don’t threaten perverts on dates?”
“Not me, usually, no,” Diggle said, with a small, secret smile. Not for the first time, Sara wondered about his relationship with the good Dr. Michaels, who thought she was so very clever at hiding her affiliations. But Sara had the kind of connections that someone like Lyla Michaels only dreamed about, and she knew exactly who Lyla was working for.
She just wasn’t sure why Lyla was undercover in the Dearden family just yet, and that was the only reason the woman was still alive. If Diggle was truly emotionally attached to her, as he seemed to be, it would be a real shame to have to kill her and ruin another of her fragile friendships.
Sara sighed. In many ways, life had been simpler in Nanda Parbat. Certainly not better. But definitely simpler. No emotional entanglements allowed. No cleaving to sentiment. Only the League and the law of Ra’s al-Ghul.
She touched her neck, a phantom habit from the time when she’d worn the necklace given to her by the Heir to the Demon.
But there was nothing there -- hadn’t been anything there for two years, and it was likely that there never would be anything there again.
Diggle’s frame slowly stiffened as they drew closer and closer to Merlyn’s… facility. Brothel would be too nice a word for it. Even the underworld thugs that Sara had spent the last week beating information out of were reluctant to describe just what went on in the building.
Her palms were already itchy. She’d always had a hard time with injustice. Maybe, she thought with a laugh, it had come from being the younger child. It hadn’t been fair that Laurel got to go to prom without her, got to have later bedtimes, got to date, got to wear make-up, got to wear heels, got to grow up without Sara being able to march in lock-step right with her. The resentment had festered until they were both actively trying to hurt each other.
And that competition had changed the course of her life forever.
Diggle spun her, pressed her up against a lamppost, leaned in as if he were going to kiss her. All in all, it was a pretty good series of moves, Sara thought clinically. “I’m seeing a patrol that sweeps by every five minutes.”
“Mm.” Sara played with the lapel of Diggle’s jacket, lifted her head flirtatiously like she was daring him to follow through. “I’m seeing a bouncer at the front with some actual military experience, I’m guessing.”
Diggle nodded. “Only one confirmed entrance on this side.”
“There’s at least a way out the back, as well,” Sara said. “We’ll have to walk around to to confirm, of course.”
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A flash of black hair and a whip-thin frame skirted the edge of her field of vision. What the hell.
“Ten more seconds here,” Diggle said, dropping his head. “I’m pretty sure these guys coming up this side of the walk are Merlyn goons.”
“Awesome,” Sara said, ducking her head. They’d know her by sight. Diggle, probably less so, since he was a new hire. On the other hand, he had knocked Merlyn out with a pistol at the wedding, so it was possible that his picture had been passed around and a price was on his head.
Diggle pressed his lips to hers, and she gave in to the moment. There was no heat between them, so she could focus on the mechanics of it, a good, thorough kiss. Sure enough, the public display had the Merlyn men looking the other way as they passed. They broke apart with a mutual chuckle at the awkwardness and then shook the moment off.
“We can’t do that again,” Diggle said. “We need to move around to the back.”
A thud, and then a soft clang off to the right had Sara turning her head. Whoever was following them was decent enough. Not decent enough to escape detection, but good enough that if she or he had been following someone not military or League trained, they might have gotten away with it.
Diggle paused, following her eyes with his. “What do you see?”
The outline of a teenager, probably, Sara thought. Maybe feminine, maybe masculine -- it wasn’t obvious, and she was certain that was intentional.
“A cat,” Sara said. “Following us.”
“Hm.” Diggle sounded as though he didn’t quite believe her, but he let it slide, taking her hand in his and walking slowly down the length of the block before they crossed the street to try and see what the back exit looked like.
For a moment, Sara thought their shadow had given up. But the soft sound of footsteps following them picked up after only a few hundred feet.
Sara turned, caught sight of the young woman who was following them -- only her eyes were trained on the Merlyn building. She had made her way up a fire escape only a few feet away from the brothel.
“Go on ahead,” she told Diggle softly. “I want to check something out.”
Diggle nodded. “Head on a swivel, Lance.”
“Always.”
Without another word, they broke apart. Unlike the teenager, Sara had the experience and the skill to make her way up the fire escape without detection. By the time she’d landed only a few feet away from the girl, it was too late for her to escape.
“What are you doing?” Sara asked. To her credit, the girl only startled slightly, her eyes widening as she took a step back.
“Nothing,” the girl said bad-temperedly, forcing herself to relax.
“Good. Go home,” Sara said.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Despite herself, Sara laughed. “Cute, kid, real cute. I’m serious. Go the fuck home. Whatever it is you think you’re doing, it’s a good way to get yourself killed.”
“Yeah?” The teenager shrugged her shoulders. “Why do you give a shit?”
“Cause I’ve seen enough kids die and I don’t think going out at the hands of Merlyn’s men is the way you want to go.”
The girl shook her head. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I’m casing the fuck out of the joint,” Sara said, leaning in, enjoying the game she was playing. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Lot of money moving in and out of that place,” the girl said. “Some of us have bills to pay.”
“Now that’s just stupidity,” Sara said softly. “Go rob a convenience store or something.”
The girl tilted her chin, all arrogance and self-assurance. “Yeah, well, they wouldn’t be a challenge like this place is.”
“Go home,” Sara said. “I mean it. Wherever that is -- go back there. I don’t want to have to shoot you.”
“Why? It sounds to me like we’re on the same side.”
Sara narrowed her eyes, shook her head. “Better I shoot you than they haul you inside there, beat you, rape you, sell you, and kill you. Which is kind of their M.O. Or didn’t you know what kind of a place you were planning to rob?”
Sara could see in the girl’s face that she knew exactly the kind of place she’d been planning to try and gain access to.
The teenager shrugged. “I’m light and quick. Nobody’s caught me yet.”
Sara reached out, lightning-fast, caught the girl’s wrist in her hand, let her elbow fly up just short of knocking the girl out. “You aren’t that light. You aren’t that fast. Someone with more than a minute and a half of training is going to catch you someday. That’s just the way the cookie crumbles. Don’t let it be tonight and don’t let it be here.”
The girl flinched. “Jesus, lady, what the hell are you?”
Sara laughed harshly. “Someone with more than a minute and a half of training. Are you going home?”
The girl sighed. Her eyes tracked from Sara down to Diggle, who was now standing at the bottom of the fire escape with his arms crossed. “You guys are probably going to blow my cover anyway.”
“Yes,” Sara agreed.
“All right, all right. I’m out.” The girl launched herself over the ledge and ran off in the other direction.
Diggle waited while Sara lowered herself down more gently. “You probably saved that kid’s life tonight, you know?”
Sara shrugged. “I might have just delayed the inevitable.”
“Yeah well, sometimes the best you can do is the best you can do,” Diggle said. “I think we’ve got enough information to take to Oliver, at any rate.” He sighed. “The more I see, the more I’m convinced there’s no way this doesn’t turn into a bloodbath tomorrow.”
“It’s been awhile since Moira Queen herself shed blood in the streets of Starling,” Sara said absently, dusting her hands off on her pants. “You have to wonder if reminding people what she’s capable of is part of the plan.”
“You know something you’re not sharing with the rest of the class, Lance?”
Sara shot him a look filled with amusement. “Oh, so many things, Diggle. But not on this particular issue. Moira Queen does not see fit to share her motivations with the likes of someone like me. But I feel comfortable with rampant speculation.”
Diggle nodded. “In any case I think the mission parameters tomorrow ought to be: be prepared for anything.”
Sara laughed outright. “Aren’t those the mission parameters every time?”
Diggle sent her a self-aware grin. “Particularly when Felicity Smoak is involved.”
Uncaring now of preserving the illusion that they were together, since they had left Merlyn territory, they headed back towards the car on a different route than they had taken to get to the brothel.
As soon as the car started, Sara reached into her pocket for the wallet she’d lifted from the teenager. It had a library card -- a few discount grocery cards, receipts, one dollar and forty-seven cents in change, and a faded ID with only one readable name: Cindy.
*
Starling City, 2 years ago
“Go go go!” Oliver shouted at Tommy as the building began to rock underneath their feet.
“Already gone!” Tommy said, jumping through a window with his forearm out to protect his face from the shattering glass. “Come on, Oliver, let’s go!”
Oliver was right behind him, landing with a thud. Tommy and Oliver took off running like twin bullets down the Starling City alleyway. “Your mother said we needed to send a message. Do you think this is what she meant?” Tommy asked, huffing.
“I think this is the only kind of a message Thomas Calloway will understand,” Oliver said.
They were a good distance away when the explosive blew. It wasn’t enough to break the windows of the building -- but it was enough to destroy years of research. Oliver might have even felt bad about it, if Calloway hadn’t been using trafficking victims as research subjects in Dearden territory.
Moira didn’t have many lines that she drew in the sand. That was one of them. Oliver was more happy than usual to lend his newly acquired talents to putting a creep like Calloway out of business. Unless he ran to someone deeper in the underground and got out of town and started somewhere else.
Oliver closed his eyes against such a thought. He could only do so much. He could only care about Starling City, and what happened to her.
Flush with victory and riding the high of completing their task, Tommy and Oliver grabbed a quick shower at the gym they both belonged to so they could head back out into the Starling night. In the old days, they hadn’t had to look very hard to find a party -- the party went wherever they were, of course.
They’d flown all over the world, rented yachts, bought out football stadiums, water parks. Spent more money on hotel suites and champagne than some people made in their lifetimes. They’d put all of their time and attention into burning through the money they were allotted, year after year.
Now -- things were a bit different. Oh, there were still people who wanted nothing more than to party with two billionaire heirs, men and women who were more than happy to ride their coattails to a good time. But now, the constant partying, the people who participated in the lifestyle… Oliver thought it was a bit like an uncomfortable suit. Made his neck itchy, his palms sweaty. The guise didn’t lay well over the features of the new man Moira had insisted he had to become.
And now -- now Tommy was the same way. Oliver felt sick to his stomach every time he thought about it -- what his best friend must have gone through to become the person that flew through broken windows at his side, who didn’t blink at the kind of brutality Oliver had learned to live by, who was quick and precise, almost elegant in the way he fought. In a way -- Moira had truly given Oliver a gift -- a reason for his best friend to stick by him, to not blink at the kind of person Oliver had become.
But she’d also ruined the thing that Oliver had believed he was sacrificing himself for -- the opportunity for Thea and Tommy to remain untouched. That betrayal burned right down to his bones, ignited his blood.
“Oh, you’re not mad, Oliver,” Moira had said, a regent to her knight. “In time, you’ll come to see that this was the best solution for everyone. He simply wasn’t going to stop looking for you, and that kind of devotion deserves to be honed.”
Honed. Sharpened. Forged. Pain, and the grinding away of edges. This is what he’d come home to, he thought -- nothing but an ever-present and lingering pressure from above to be stronger, to be better, to be harder. Home.
Home for Thea’s beautiful eyes and the way she was growing into a young woman. Home for Tommy’s quick grin and laugh.
Home. Away from Felicity.
His throat ached. His stomach hurt. For one shining minute, he’d had almost everything he’d ever wanted in Russia. Almost everything. But the last few years had taught him that happiness was never complete -- he could never have everything he wanted. The second he did, it would be wrested from him by some force greater than himself. He reached into the slacks he was planning to wear that night, pulled out the cell phone Felicity had programmed for him.
It was easy enough to locate the gallery. Picture after picture of Felicity and Russia. His favorite was one she took. He was kissing her cheek, totally absorbed in her, but in her eyes he thought he could imagine something like love as she stared at the camera. His heart twisted in his chest.
“Hey,” Tommy said, a towel slung around his waist, his hair dripping water. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Oliver closed the image down. “Just letting my mind take a wander.”
“Hm. Might be a good thing. It might not be.”
“I was with someone. In Russia.” Oliver blurted it out.
Tommy raised an eyebrow. “With someone?”
“Yeah.” Oliver sighed. “I just -- she was… she is important to me. I couldn’t not tell you. It wouldn’t be honest.”
“Yeah,” Oliver said. “She’s the niece of the Bratva Captain Moira sent me to do my training with.”
Tommy snorted. “Good to know you still have the same preservation instincts you’ve always had. If there’s a hilariously inappropriate woman to fall for, Oliver Jonas Queen will find her and fuck her.”
“It wasn’t like that. I mean… it was. But it wasn’t.” Oliver’s brow was knit together.
Tommy’s voice was low. He laid a hand on Oliver’s arm. “Did she make you happy?”
“Yeah.” Oliver closed his eyes. “She did.”
“Good. You deserve some happy.”
Oliver reached for his pants. “That’s all you have to say about it?”
“Yep.” Tommy dropped his hand, reached for his boxer briefs, stepped into them. “I… you know how I feel about you, Oliver. How can I be anything other than happy that one moment out of the last few years didn’t suck for you?”
“What about you? Did you find anyone that makes you happy?”
A self-deprecating grin crossed Tommy’s face. “I don’t have the same kind of luck you do, Queen. There were women, sure. A few men, when the mood struck me. But no one that ever put that look on my face.”
The strangest combination of guilt, happiness, and sorrow washed through Oliver. In a perfect world, he thought, this is where he would grab Tommy, risk kissing him, show him that he was still the biggest part of Oliver’s heart, if his heart were still a thing he gave out. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t.
Hate. Hate for his mother. For the situation she forced him into. Rage against the world. Sorrow. He shut down the feelings. All of them.
Ignoring the storm swirling inside of him, he dressed quickly in the kind of clothes Oliver Queen would be expected to go clubbing in. Tommy dressed next to him and Oliver spent most of his time trying to ignore, trying not touch, the way the darkness of the shirt emphasized the paleness of Tommy’s skin.
Some things were worth sacrificing happiness for, he thought. Thea needed him here. He might not get to touch Tommy the way that he wanted, or have Felicity in his bed. But he had his best friend at his back every night. That was more than enough for him.
Hours later, they made it back to the Queen manor, making certain to keep the proper amount of distance between them. Still, Tommy was making jokes, and Oliver let himself laugh at his impersonation of Carter Bowen’s foray onto the dance floor of the club they’d escaped to. It was the first time he’d really laughed since he got back to Starling. It felt good. It felt right.
“Oliver, Thomas?” Moira’s voice cut through their conversation from the parlor. “Why don’t you come in here?”
Cold dread made its way down Oliver’s spine. There was a note in Moira’s voice that made spiders crawl over his flesh. She was a little too happy, a little too pleasant. Next to him, Tommy stiffened as well. Automatically, Oliver reached for the knife he kept at the base of his spine. Tommy grabbed his wrist and shook his head slightly.
A few deep breaths and Oliver pushed open the door of the parlor.
And nearly fell to his knees.
“Sara?”
She raised a hand, waved a little. “Hey, Ollie. Guess what? I’m not dead.”
**
Starling City, Present Day
“You have your gun?” Oliver’s face was drawn with pain and impatience. The pill Felicity had practically forced down his throat to help with the tension in his muscles around his bullet wound had yet to sink in. She knew, if she and Tommy hadn’t practically sat on him, he would have gone along on this particular trip. But Moira had been convincing that Malcolm wouldn’t take her and Felicity as a threat, especially if they showed up with only two bodyguards.
“I have my gun,” Felicity said evenly.
“Shoot first, ask questions later,” Oliver said. “I’m very serious about that. Your safety is… everything.”
“I know. I’ll have Diggle.” Felicity smiled brightly, trying to hide how uneasy the situation made her, as well. She trusted Diggle implicitly, but Merlyn was a next-level threat and she would much rather have Oliver and Tommy close to her. Especially with Moira at her back. Given what had happened earlier -- the way she’d reacted to the person she’d had to pretend to be, Felicity wasn’t relishing the prospect of spending more time with her mother-in-law.
“Diggle’s the best,” Oliver agreed without raising his voice, “but he can only do so much. So you promise me, you act as paranoid as… well. As me.”
Felicity chuckled and kissed his cheek. “I’m going to be okay.”
“I can send Tommy to follow you. You won’t even know that he’s there,” Oliver offered, waggling his eyebrows. “He’s the best of the best.”
“Moira would know he’s there.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Oliver said darkly.
“It kind of flies in the face of our plan to sneak in under the radar,” Felicity pointed out.
“I don’t like it,” Oliver said again. “I’m supposed to be the head of security. I can’t guarantee anyone’s security if you and Moira refuse to listen to me.”
Felicity went up on tiptoe and pulled his lips down to hers. Slowly, gently, she kissed him, over and over, until some of the tension faded from his frame and his eyes were just a bit dazed. “I’m listening to you. I’m wishing we could do it your way.”
“Get in, get out. Recon only right? Sara and Diggle told you what they saw.”
“Yes,” Felicity said. “We’re just going to get a feel for the scope of his operation. See if he’s really broken the agreement with Moira.”
“Oh he has. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the first thing he did once the relationship between the families started to break down,” Oliver said. “Mom’s insistence on being civilized in this one area has always been a sticking point between the two of them.”
“Good to know.”
Oliver sighed. “I really can send Tommy.”
“I have Sara and Diggle. They’re both scary in their own right.”
Oliver nodded. “Yeah, but they don’t know Merlyn like Tommy knows him.”
Felicity shrugged. “Is Tommy worried about us?”
Oliver’s mouth quirked up in one corner. “Tommy’s always worried about you. And me. He’s a worrier. It’s a thing he does.”
“He’s not the one keeping me from leaving the house at the moment.”
It was Oliver’s turn to kiss her. “Believe me, if he could have this job, he would.”
Felicity’s eyes narrowed. “Why can’t he?”
Oliver shook his head. “He’s got some big stock transfer today or something. He explained it to me like I was supposed to understand it. I nodded when he paused for breath. But I don’t think I passed a single business class at any of the four colleges I attended so it all went over my head.”
Felicity tugged on his ear gently. “That’s only because college is the last place you wanted to be. You know that, right? You’re one of the smartest guys I know. Don’t sell yourself short.”
Oliver let out a harsh chuckle and sighed. “How did we end up here?”
“You were fretting. I was distracting you,” Felicity said. “I also think you’re incredibly handsome, for the record. Like, sculpted by the gods pretty…”
“All right, all right.” Oliver lifted both of his hands in an ‘I surrender’ motion. “You’ll be careful.”
“And you’ll rest while I’m gone,” Felicity said, tapping his chest with a single finger.
“I’ll do my best. It’s hard without you or Tommy around.”
“We’ll take a nap together when I get back,” Felicity said. “I’m exhausted myself. Someone kept me up last night.”
Oliver grinned. “You’re welcome.”
A soft knock at the master suite door announced Diggle’s presence. “Mrs. Queen?” He said formally, in deference to the foot soldiers that walked the hallways of the manor. “Your car is ready, and Mrs. Queen is waiting for you.”
Felicity looked at Oliver, her lips quirked in amusement. “She’s waiting for me. That’s a polite way of saying she’s tapping her foot and generally being a miserable human being.”
“I’d tell you to tell her you were taking care of me, but I don’t think that would gain you much traction with her,” Oliver said ruefully.
Felicity lifted his hand to her lips, kissed it gently. “I love you. I’ll be back soon.”
As the door shut, Oliver waved at her. “Keep your head up, Felicity.”
“Always, Oliver.”
This car ride was different than the one that had come before. There was no polite conversation, no attempt made at pretending civility or a relationship between the two of them. Each woman was lost in her own world.
Until Moira spoke. “My son insisted you carry your own gun.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. He’s very particular on that point, my husband,” Felicity said, carefully looking out the window. “The one time I was caught without one nearly ended disastrously. I think both of us would prefer not to repeat that experience.”
“Hm. I seem to recall the Russians sending him back with a few more holes than I sent the original model with,” Moira said evenly.
“If your question is whether or not he has one of those scars because of me, I would not hesitate to tell you the truth: He does.” Felicity tapped her knee, almost in counterpoint to Moira’s manipulation, her efforts to get Felicity off-balance.
“Still, apparently you both learned your lesson.” Moira tilted her head to the side. “At the beginning of our marriage, Robert would insist on such things for my safety as well.”
Felicity narrowed her eyes. “Did you need a reminder?”
“Hm? No. But sometimes it’s nice to have the illusion that someone cares about you beyond what they care for themselves, isn’t it?”
Ice slid down Felicity spine. She steeled herself. “Indeed.”
“You’ll soon see what I mean. Queen men aren’t given to impulse control, particularly around something they’ve already indulged themselves in,” Moira said, breaking away from Felicity’s gaze. “Although for your sake, I hope not.”
Tommy. She was talking about Tommy. Again. Felicity grit her teeth and took deep breaths. “Oliver knows better than to betray my trust. That’s a lesson you taught him well, when you killed his father.”
Moira’s eyes flashed. “That’s quite an accusation.”
Felicity tossed her hair and responded in Russian. “Yuri’s sources are always impeccable.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Moira responded in the same language.
“Yes,” Felicity said, but left it at that. She had decided, after last night, that allowing Moira to think they were allies, or that they understood each other on any level, would require too much damage to her own soul.
The tension was crackling between them when the car slowed, and Diggle got out to let Moira and Felicity out. Sara stood on the sidewalk, her eyes constantly sweeping back and forth.
Moira stiffened as she surveyed the property. “Rebecca would be furious,” she said softly and shook her head. “All of this in her memory and if she knew it would kill her again.”
The building had once been one of Rebecca’s clinics. Tommy and Oliver had saved most of them -- but this building, this facility, had been beyond repair and nearly condemned, so they’d moved the clinic up and over several blocks to a better building, but Merlyn Global hadn’t let go of the lease.
On paper, it would be empty. In reality, it was anything but. Bodyguards loitered in front of the building, and there were bars on all of the windows, no fire escapes on second and third story windows. In more than one way, it was immediately evident that the place was a trap -- a firetrap, a prison.
Nausea rolled through Felicity. “I think it’s safe to say Merlyn has violated your agreement.”
A shoe flew through the plate glass of a second story window. It was a thick-soled boot. Felicity’s eyes flew upward. “What the…”
They heard a blood-curdling scream and then there was a shout. “Help me!”
Without a word from Felicity or Moira, Sara was off like a shot, Diggle right behind her. “Get in the car,” he told Felicity before he took off. “If you get in the middle of this, Oliver will kill me.”
Moira was more than happy to make her way to the backseat and wait, but Felicity couldn’t do it. She tried. She paced back and forth by the car, but at the sound of the first gunshot, she took off running towards the action.
Time and time again Oliver had made her fire the weapon in her hand. Over and over -- she could still hear his voice telling her aim, breathe, fire. Guns weren’t his specialty, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t absolutely deadly with one -- actually, the man had uncanny aim with almost any form of launched projectile, she thought…but then forced herself to focus.
Diggle and Sara had taken care of the guards that had been standing in front of the building. Felicity slowly swept through the front rooms -- clearly they’d made their way up the stairs towards the girl, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone twitching downstairs that could make their lives miserable.
While she moved, meticulously checking for enemies, she noted the conditions the brothel was in. Locks on the outside of the doors. The girls were locked in at night. Little food, but copious booze and pills in the kitchen: they were kept drugged. Filth everywhere. They were humiliated. She could put these facts together as quickly as she could solve a Rubik’s cube. Bile rose in her throat.
Someone was crying behind one of the first floor bedroom doors. But there wasn’t time -- the alarm had surely been raised. Felicity couldn’t pick the lock.
“I’m coming back for you!” She shouted through the door. “You just have to hold on, okay?”
Sara and Diggle burst down the stairs, carrying a bruised and bloodied, nearly-unrecognizably human form between them. If she had been conscious before, and she must have been, to make the inhuman sounds she had been -- she was not now, and that was clearly a blessing.
Felicity’s heart twisted in her chest. “Oh my God,” she said, rushing forward.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Diggle asked, more harshly than he intended, she was sure. “I told you to wait in the car.”
“I couldn’t,” Felicity said simply.
“We’ve got to go. I can hear Merlyn’s back-up arriving,” Sara said. “We’re good, but we can’t take on an army by ourselves. Not and get this girl to safety.”
“Oh, we’re coming back tonight,” Felicity said through her teeth. “And we’re bringing our own army. We can’t let this go another day.”
“Where do we take her? A hospital? Do you think she’s got somewhere to live?” Diggle asked.
“No. No hospitals,” Sara said. “Merlyn will be watching them. Her life would be in more danger there than anywhere else. I lifted her ID when we ran into her last night -- I don’t think the address she gave was real -- it’s a fairly well known squat for Starling City homeless.”
“Well, that makes it really simple then,” Felicity said, holding the door open for them as they brought Cindy out into the street. “She comes home with us.”
Okay, so a Martian AU (aka Smoaking Billionaires in SPACE!) is a thing I need.
Oliver Queen: Astronaut-botanist stranded on Mars all by his lonesome after being hit by flying debris and losing consciousness in the middle of an emergency ‘shit!-unexpected-dust-storm’ evacuation. Presumed dead by the rest of the Artemis III crew (and everyone not living under a rock back on Earth 225 million km away), he survives by sciencing the shit out of the abandoned equipment and supplies, cultivating an indoor potato field (thank God he didn’t inherit his mother’s potato allergy), and steering clear of Commander Laurel Lance’s disco (so. much. ABBA) collection.
(Imagine the above gif sans bow, arrow and hobo-Robin Hood getup. Suit him up in proper space gear instead. The beard can stay.)
Felicity Smoak: Artemis III's system operator and reactor technician. After completing high school (and delivering a rambling valedictorian speech that concluded with a celebratory fist pump) at sixteen, she goes on to rank second in the National Information Technology Competition before graduating from MIT with a master’s degree in Cyber Security and Computer Science at the ripe old age of twenty-three. Was in the process of starting up a private software company when a chance encounter with SpaceX CEO Walter Steele inspires her to switch paths and make a career out of taking field trips into outer space instead. Nearly rips Oliver’s head off that one time he questions her coffee-making abilities on their second day of mission preparation (”It’s really strong,” he splutters, grimacing into his mug), vowing never to make or bring him coffee ever again. (She makes him his first post-rescue cup of joe. Yeah, it’s terrible, but what did he expect? It’s space coffee, for fuck’s sake.)
Dr. Tommy Merlyn: Flight surgeon, EVA specialist and biologist for Artemis III. Also a Johns Hopkins graduate and former Captain in the U.S. Air Force Reserves who has extensive training in aerospace medicine. In summary: a badass spacewalking doctor who could probably draw blood in the dark. (They say could probably because Laurel has decreed that there is to be “absolutely no stabbing each other with sharp objects in the dark”. Which, let’s be honest, is a good policy to have in place.) Constantly worries that Felicity will develop carpal tunnel; frets over Oliver’s vitamin C levels; pesters Laurel to get more sleep. Spends most of the journey home marveling at how a man can subsist on a diet of potatoes and condiment-of-the-day for nearly two years.
“She’s a high-level intelligence asset, Queen. Extremely efficient. Best damned codebreaker we’ve got.”
“And you’re sending her to me,” Oliver said flatly. “Because you think Afghanistan is the right place for someone like that?”
“Because we trust that you can get her to the location, get her in, and get her out. She’s got field training and ice in her veins.”
“What does she need me for, then?”
“Everyone needs someone to watch their six.”
The flap on his tent opened. “Sorry,” a female voice said. “I didn’t realize you were on a conference with the general.”
“How was the flight, baby?”
“Good, thanks Dad.”
“Oh. That’s the other thing,” the general said. “She’s also my daughter. Don’t fuck this up, Queen.”
Oliver sighed. “Awesome.” He turned and got a glimpse of her for the first time. Hair pulled back in a regulation knot, her uniform a bit crumpled from the travel, eyes bleary from lack of sleep.
The general’s daughter. A genius codebreaker they would need to take down the section of the Taliban that had been making life miserable for them and for the people in the mountains.
Olicity in the old-timey AU era of your choice! You know how I love that old timey stuff!
Oh, I’ve done a Wild West AU, and a Industrial Age London AU in the past. How about a Robin Hood AU?
**
The big fire in the Great Hall of Nottingham Manor wasn’t quite enough to keep the draft at bay. It swept in through the cracks in the doors and swirled around the feet of the bustling handmaids as they worked to ensure the nobility never had to worry about an empty glass.
Felicity’s skirts were a touch too short and the cold assaulted her ankles as she avoided the wandering hands of Lord Merlyn, and filled the goblet of Slade, the sheriff of Nottingham village.
As soon as she was able, she snuck away, stealing a quick moment to breathe in the crisp winter air. She leaned against a wall and covered her eyes with her hands, shaking with rage.
“Don’t move.” She could feel the prick of the point of a knife before she opened her eyes.
“Obviously,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t want to get stabbed in the neck. I can stand still.”
She opened her eyes, and regretted mouthing off in an instant. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “You’re the Green Arrow.”
Olicity. Oliver keeps stealing her parking spot in the office lot AU.
It started, understandably, on the day that Felicity was 30 minutes late to work. She zipped in the Queen parking garage, and nearly rearended the very nice Porsche convertible in her spot.
Well, it wasn’t hers. It should have been, though. Two solid years she’d been at this company, and people knew it was her spot. No one parked here. Except over-privileged entitled douchebags who drove Porsches to the office.
She could let it go. Once.
Then it happened on Tuesday. And she showed up fifteen minutes early! And then again on Friday, and then Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday of the next week.
Two weeks into it, Felicity opened the door of the IT department and seethed. “Whatever whiny, entitled jerk who keeps parking in my spot with his stupid Porsche had better hope I don’t figure out who he is. Two years I’ve been working here! Two years! It’s the perfect spot – far enough away to stretch your legs but close enough so it doesn’t feel like a hike if you’ve had a long day. It avoids the massive pothole in the road and it’s mine.”
“Um, Felicity?” Colin, one of the underlings who worked for her raised his hand. “You have a visitor by your desk.”
“I don’t want a visitor, I want a coffee,” Felicity grumbled. “And possibly something with electrolytes to replace the ones I just lost on that hi….”
“Hi.” The man standing by her desk grinned at her, slipped his hands in his pockets. “I’m Oliver Queen. And I drive a Porsche.”
Pairings: Felicity Smoak/Oliver Queen/Tommy Merlyn, all the permutations thereof
Rated: Explicit
Summary: There’s nothing Oliver Queen won’t do to change his sister’s fate. Living his life under the thumb of his mob-boss mother, he’s sacrificed his soul for the Family name. To protect his sister’s innocence, he travels to Russia to enlist the help of Felicity Smoak. With her by his side, and long-time friend and past-lover Tommy Merlyn at his back, Oliver will seek to dismantle the criminal empire that has plagued his city, and maybe rediscover love along the way.
Read on AO3 or follow the cut
Previous Chapters on Tumblr: One | Two|Three|Four|Five|Six|Seven|Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve|Thirteen|Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen
Excerpt:
It didn't behoove Moira, or him, to drag out the inevitable. His orders were to be as quick and as clean as possible. Dent's death, as far as the Deardens were concerned, was a simple matter of taking out the trash. Efficiency, not cruelty, was the name of the game.
It sent a clearer message, to Moira’s mind. Do what you were told. Or be disposed of. It was that simple, and as far beyond a matter of losing her temper as it possibly could be.
A state execution, and Tommy was her chosen hangman.
Chapter Twenty: Red Light, Green Light
Starling City, Two Years Ago…
Tommy's feet were soundless as he landed from a solid five-foot vault onto the garden patio of a Starling City judge. It was a pretty enough spot, Tommy would have thought, if he allowed himself flights of fancy on occasions like these. It might have been the judge's wife who had an affinity for yellow roses, and they grew in large bushes all along the outside walls of the stately brick house.
From the moment he had landed, the knife hadn’t left his hand. Someone like this wouldn’t normally have armed security, but then His Honor didn’t often go around sentencing major players in the Starling City mob game to life without parole.
There were whispers, quiet ones, away from Moira’s listening ears, that there might have been something she could do for Adam Hunt before the sentencing came down, yet she had chosen to wait until the night after the trial to deal with it. Too little, too late, some said, unless she wanted Hunt in a cage and was only going after the honorable Dent as a stop-gap measure to save face.
Tommy didn’t much care, either way. He had a job to do. And he didn't have many qualms about doing it. Not anymore. He was familiar with the urge to stand up, to fight against the will of the Dearden and Merlyn families.
He was also familiar, in ways that perhaps the Gotham-born Dent was not, with the consequences of doing so. It never ended well. Dent had been warned. But he had chosen to be a hero.
Tommy sure hoped he died like one.
It didn't behoove Moira, or him, to drag out the inevitable. His orders were to be as quick and as clean as possible. Dent's death, as far as the Deardens were concerned, was a simple matter of taking out the trash. Efficiency, not cruelty, was the name of the game.
It sent a clearer message, to Moira’s mind. Do what you were told. Or be disposed of. It was that simple, and as far beyond a matter of losing her temper as it possibly could be.
A state execution, and Tommy was her chosen hangman.
His pulse didn’t race the way that it used to -- something like numbness had settled over his skin instead. It was getting easier and easier to imagine himself only as the masked figure who emerged at night and dealt Moira’s terrible justice. He felt half-dead, and almost wished that this time, his skills would fail him, and at last, he would be allowed to stop.
This was not that night. There were armed guards, but they were no match for Tommy’s skill as he disposed of each of them quickly and silently, knocking them unconscious before they had time to grunt.
He checked each bedroom -- discovered the sleeping tousled heads of two children tucked snuggly into massive beds, five years younger or so than Thea. His intrusion woke neither of them.
He thought they deserved to sleep in a world where they still had a father as long as possible.
Down the same corridor as the children's rooms at the end was the door to the master bedroom. Dent's wife was very likely there with him, Tommy thought. He had no intention of orphaning children tonight. He would have to do some maneuvering to make sure the wife didn’t get in his way. There was no good way to kill a man quietly -- and Tommy had tried to find one.
He took a risk that the man, a noted workaholic, was in his office -- if he was, and the wife wasn’t, that would solve a lot of Tommy’s qualms.
He had no such luck. Dent’s office was empty. He took a quick moment to peruse the judge’s desk. There were notes from the case against Hunt on top of a pile of papers, open cases, closed cases. He was looking to make a mark against organized crime in Starling. Tommy almost wondered if the man were going to run for office.
Wouldn’t that just thrill Laurel to pieces, he thought. Laurel, who’d so often spoken of Harvey Dent with something akin to hero worship. Dent had been a remarkable prosecutor before he’d been a judge, and Laurel couldn’t say enough about the things he did for Starling. If she knew what he was doing she would -- well, she would hate him. But they hadn’t talked, spoken a civil word to each other in years, not since Oliver’s boat had “gone down” in the South China Sea with Laurel’s sister on board.
He allowed himself a moment of regret. Then he walked away from the desk, closing the office door behind him. He didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate, didn’t think, from the moment he opened the master bedroom door until it was all over.
**
Starling City Private Airstrip, Same Day, 2 Years Ago
Oliver didn’t know exactly what he’d been expecting when he stepped off the plane from Russia, but it hadn’t been this. His arm was still in a sling to take the pressure off of his bullet wound near his shoulder, and it ached and throbbed. Felicity had tried to push painkillers at him before he’d gotten on the private jet, but he’d turned them down -- not being as alert as he could have been had yielded dangerous circumstances in Russia. He’d thought that, at the bare minimum, Thea or Tommy would be waiting for him on the airstrip. Instead, a black towncar was waiting for him, a uniformed driver standing next to it.
The driver barely lifted his head, greeted Oliver politely, took his duffel bag filled with the meager possessions he’d managed to get ahold of and threw it in the trunk of the town car.
The ride back home -- one he’d dreamed of for so long -- was nearly-silent. The driver didn’t acknowledge Oliver, or speak to him. Oliver felt no urge to talk to him either. His fingers itched. The cell phone in his pocket was capable of calling Felicity. With one press of his finger, he could hear her voice, feel reassured, feel confident.
He’d known that this would be hard. But he hadn’t anticipated feeling… disembodied, as though his own skin weren’t quite real. The air was close, almost oppressive. Everything about the situation he found himself in felt wrong.
The towncar arrived at the manor much quicker than Oliver was anticipating, and yet somehow it was much too fast. He felt like he’d squandered the time lost in thought, not preparing himself for whatever horror his mother had waiting for him. He knew for sure, down to his bones, that if Thea and Tommy knew that he was on the way home, nothing would have stopped them from meeting him at the plane.
Would she finally make a move to kill him? In one way or another, he’d been waiting for that shoe to drop since the island, since Slade Wilson had told him what would be required of him to live. He had fully anticipated failure, and though Felicity had assured him Moira was ready for him to come home, Oliver wasn’t so certain.
Felicity hadn’t looked his mother in the eyes the way that he had, hadn’t known the coldness there, the utter lack of feeling where once there had been motherly regard. He had a knife in his boot, a gun in a holster on his back. His beloved arrows were being shipped from Russia, and he felt almost-sick without their reassuring presence.
Home. He was back home. It was everything he’d wanted -- everything he’d worked for. To come back here, to Tommy and Thea. He just hadn’t anticipated Felicity Smoak. He’d thought -- he’d thought he was too wrapped up in how much he missed Tommy to crave someone else like that. He wished that she were there to hold his hand, to say something that would take his mind off of the dark thoughts that whirled relentlessly in his mind. Or, in her calm, pragmatic way, she would walk him through all the possibilities, help him come up with solutions before the problems presented themselves.
He had one stupid moment where he wished Tommy could meet her -- wished that he’d talked her into getting on a plane with him and coming here. No way would her Uncle Yuri let her leave -- in many ways she was as much a prisoner to her family as he was to his. But he let the fantasy wash over him. Tommy and Felicity would love each other, he thought. They both had that rapier wit, those quick, lightning smiles. Felicity’s runaway mouth would give Tommy’s smart one a run for its money.
But he wouldn’t live long enough to see either of those mouths, ever again, if he didn’t get his focus back.
The driver opened the door, tipped his hat. “Mrs. Queen says you’re to go right to her study.”
Oliver opted not to speak, nodding his head in acknowledgement. He’d used to talk a mile a minute. The men would probably expect that of him, but he’d come to learn the value of silence. He’d not been a naturally intimidating man -- there had been no reason to be. But from Slade Wilson, he’d learned that silence, and the patience to wait, to observe, would often make people nervous enough that they would give more information than they wanted to, than they planned on.
“I would hurry, Mr. Oliver. She’s in quite a mood. Something about the Hunt verdict.”
Oliver had tracked the case on the other side of the Pacific, watching with some interest as the family accountant took the downfall for some of the routine money laundering that was normally well-hidden enough to not be a problem. He had his doubts that Moira was really that upset about Hunt going to jail. But she would want her henchmen to be. The illusion that she cared -- that each family member was valued and she would personally do her best to see they remained free -- was a crucial one in maintaining loyalty across generations.
Again, Oliver didn’t say anything. He just stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled through his childhood home, noting the little changes. The painting of a ship tossed at sea that had been his father’s favorite was removed, replaced by an explosion of abstract color -- bright greens and blues and reds in streaks offset by troubling expanses of white. It was unlike his mother’s taste, and very much not his father’s.
He cocked his head to the side. Either Thea was making art decisions now, or someone else was living here, and had enough clout to demand something go on the walls. Interesting.
He dared not loiter, though. The few men he passed in the hallway were careful not to look him in the eye. One of his hands left his pocket, went to the gun at the small of his back. Moira’s men didn’t sneeze unless they were instructed to -- so it appeared they were told to ignore him. Which didn’t bode well for him.
If his mother planned to kill him -- well, he’d kill her first. He steeled himself toward that possibility, absolutely prepared to do what he had to do. He wouldn’t survive the onslaught of footsoldiers who would come once they heard the gunshot -- and he would truly regret doing it, but he wouldn’t be passive and let her destroy him.
Not again. Not when he’d just come from Russia and remembered what drawing a full breath was like, what laughing was like. He’d be damned if he’d let his mother kill him in her parlor while the rest of the world stood idly by.
He pushed the door open, senses on high alert. His mother was seated at her desk. She was wearing one of her trademark suits -- the palest, pale pink he’d ever seen, so close to white he might have called it that if not for the pearls his father had given her when she’d given birth to Oliver resting against her breastbone, whose whiteness picked up the pink of the suit.
The door shut behind him and he folded his hands in front of himself, waiting patiently while his mother ruffled papers, signing things, moving them from one pile to another. He’d seen Felicity do similar things to underlings she was particularly displeased with. The wait was supposed to make him anxious.
Instead, the thought of Felicity made his lip twitch. He could play this game. Slade Wilson had made him wait for hours in a single tree, hardly breathing, so that he could shoot one of the deer that lived on the island, so that he would have enough meat to live through the winter. A few minutes in Moira’s study would not ruffle his feathers.
Finally, Moira dropped her pen and lifted her head. “Oliver, there you are.”
“Here I am.” He lifted his chin. “Where is Thea?”
“She’s in bed,” Moira said evenly. “I have an assignment for you.”
“Of course.” Oliver didn’t move to sit in one of the chairs. It was clear she didn’t want him comfortable, wanted him off-balance. He could only fight that by staying firmly planted on his two flat feet, ready for anything.
Moira raised her eyebrows and stood as well, coming around the desk to stand in front of it. ”I assume you’ve been following the Hunt case.”
“It made for interesting television, even on the other side of world,” Oliver said.
Moira’s lip twitched. “Yuri and Slade were right. You have picked up some things while you were away.”
“I do believe that was the point.” Oliver folded his arms over his chest. “The Hunt case.”
“Yes.” Moira sighed. “It’s unfortunate, but sometimes we must -- make moves to ensure that our understood position in the city does not… shift.”
“You think that the establishment wants to make a move against the family?”
Moira folded her arms in a mirror position of Oliver. “I think they believe, falsely, that now would be the perfect time to move against us. There hasn’t been, in quite some time, an enforcer of mythical strength for people to fear -- there’s an increased false sense of security, due to the internet and outsiders coming in, trying to make the kinds of changes they think they’ve been capable of making elsewhere.”
“You’re talking about Gotham and Harvey Dent.”
Moira shot him a look full of pride. “I was. And I am talking about the DA, David Song. My sources inside the district attorney’s office have let me know this is just the first of a series of cases they plan to launch against the family.”
Oliver thought it would be too much of a stretch to affect concern, so he went for interested. “Do they have enough evidence to go after you?”
“Not at the moment, no. I’m very careful. However, now is not a good time to be fending off an investigation of any kind.” Moira uncrossed her arms. “This is where you come in.”
“You want me to eliminate the threat,” Oliver said.
“Indeed. I’ve met Song at a few fundraisers. He won’t listen to reason. He needs to go. Once he’s out of the way, his replacement will step up.”
Oliver couldn’t be too interested at this point. He wanted his mother to believe that she had stamped the humanity out of him, flattened him out and forged him into a weapon. “Okay.”
“I have everything you need to kill Song in this folder.” She tapped a manilla folder on her desk, but didn’t move to hand it to him. “His routines, his club memberships, his address.”
“Is this some kind of test?” Oliver asked, finally uncrossing his arms. “If so -- what’s a passing grade?”
“Get in, kill him, get out, without detection or remorse,” Moira said. “Once your task is complete, I will let Thea know you’ve come home and that you are going to take your proper place in the family as the Hood.”
Less than an hour in Starling City and she wanted the blade of his knife soaked in blood. Oliver nodded. He’d expected no less from her. “Okay.”
Moira studied his face for one long, unending moment. Then she pushed off the desk and strode across the room to a sitting area, sat on a sofa and crossed one leg over the other. “Of course, I can’t send you out in the field on your own.”
Oliver grit his teeth. The very last thing he wanted was a babysitter his first night out in Starling City. Though he understood why Moira would perhaps want him watched, it still grated. “I can assure you, that’s not necessary.”
“I can assure you, it is.” Moira pressed a button by the sofa, and a buzzer sounded. “Send him in, please.”
“Who’s him?”
“Someone uniquely suited to be your backup,” Moira said, her face giving away nothing. The door to the office opened, and a man, broad through the shoulders and narrow in the waist, stepped through the door. He was wearing a ski mask that obscured his facial figures, and walked silently. Yet there was something about him that was familiar. Something about him that said Oliver ought to know him.
“Oliver?” The man ripped his mask off, and Tommy’s face -- thinner, sharper -- appeared. Oliver could see the stain of blood on his hands, could practically smell it in the air. “Oliver, you’re back?”
“Tommy.” Tommy had blood on his hands. Oliver blinked. Tommy was here. But Tommy had blood on his hands.
He fisted his hands and sucked in a deep breath. What good was all of the training on the island if he couldn’t control the anger that swept through him. He wanted to explode. He grappled for control.
“Oliver, Tommy is going to be your backup for the evening, and possibly for the foreseeable future, provided this goes as well as I hope,” Moira said calmly, her eyes shifting from Tommy to Oliver and back again.
“Tommy is going to be my backup.” Oliver carefully avoided Tommy’s eyes -- Tommy who had gone still and silent. “Tommy doesn’t have the training to be my backup.”
“Of course he does. He has precisely the right training.” Moira’s mouth twisted up in a little smile. “I thought he would be uniquely suited to be your shadow. He seemed so content to be one before you went away.”
“What did you do?” Oliver asked, inadvertently taking a step closer to Moira. He couldn’t stop himself. Felicity would have said something about his face, about how he ought to school it to hide his rage. “Tommy -- what did you do?”
“He learned to be useful,” Moira said. “His specialty is clean-up and retrieval. He’s quite competent.”
Clean-up and retrieval. Oliver knew precisely what that meant. He felt sick down to his core. Tommy had become a murderer, and a thief. And all in the name of Oliver’s family.
Finally, Oliver allowed himself to look at Tommy. He barely heard Moira over the rushing in his ears. “You have twenty-four hours to kill David Song, the two of you. Otherwise, you will both have proven to me that you are not the men I have been assured you have become. Dismissed.”
**
Starling City, Present Day
Felicity opened her eyes as her alarm clock shrieked. “Oh, God, someone… turn that off,” she moaned, her hips meeting Tommy’s rhythmically. Oliver kept one finger on her clit, massaging it gently, while he hit the snooze button. “Can’t think…” she said softly.
“Good. Thinking’s the last thing I want you to do.” Tommy set a punishing pace. What had started out as languid morning sex was quickly becoming breathtaking.
“Demanding,” Felicity said on a gasp.
“He is, isn’t he?” Oliver asked, amusement coloring his voice. “If he thinks he doesn’t have all your attention…” Oliver’s voice trailed off while he bent his head to flick her nipple with his tongue. “He just gets… rough.”
“Are you touching yourself, Oliver?” Tommy asked.
“I can’t help it,” Oliver confessed. “You’re so gorgeous, the two of you.”
“Don’t pull something,” Felicity said, snapping out of her haze for a second. “You’re still in a sling for fuck’s sake…” she let her language devolve into a slur of Russian curses.
Tommy reached around her and slapped Oliver’s good wrist lightly. “One of us will get that. Be good, make Felicity come.”
“I can do two things at once,” Oliver protested.
“Not with only one good hand, you don’t.” Tommy lifted Oliver’s good hand, kissed his palm. His hips never stopped moving. Felicity felt a thrill run through her. She didn’t want to think about what it meant that she was so crazily turned on by Tommy’s full attention being on Oliver while he fucked her. “You know what to do. Do it well. Then we’ll make you see stars.”
Then both of them had their attention on her, the weight of their gaze and their hands and their creative minds. Oliver worked his way down her body until his tongue met Tommy’s cock as it slowly entered her body. Felicity nearly arched off of the bed. “Fuck, fuck… oh shit, oh…”
It was like he was greedy for her. Greedy for the taste of them. “I want you to come, Tommy,” Oliver rasped, “then I’m going to eat it out of her.”
It was more than Felicity could take. She nearly cried as she came, shaking and shuddering, driven to madness by the sight of them, the feel of them. She tried to push her body away, but Tommy and Oliver held her still, so she couldn’t hurt herself on the headboard. Tommy spread her legs even further, pumped his hips and groaned as Oliver’s tongue never quit.
“Oliver, Jesus, I can’t…”
“Come on, Tommy,” Oliver coaxed him. “Come in our pretty wife.”
Tommy gripped the sheets and flexed his back, the orgasm drawn from deep in his belly, hot and fast and powerful. “Shit, shit, shit…”
Tommy rolled away from Felicity, and Oliver practically dove to lap up the come, his thumb finding its home on Felicity’s clit. “Oliver!” Felicity practically squealed.
“Take it for me, baby, please,” Oliver whispered. “I can’t get enough of you.”
“I can’t, I can’t…”
“You’re so beautiful, so perfect. You can do this, I’ll go so slow, I’ll be so careful…” Oliver’s tongue was deep inside of her. It was embarrassing how wet she was, how warm and ready and liquid her muscles felt. “Felicity, baby, you should taste the way you taste when it’s you and him together…”
Oliver shuddered as Tommy raked his nails down the curve of his ass. “Lot of talking for someone who’s supposed to be eating.”
“Mmm,” Oliver closed his eyes, circled Felicity’s clit with his thumb. “So good. Jesus!” Tommy had wrapped his arms around Oliver’s middle and gripped Oliver’s cock in one hand. “Tommy!”
“Sssssh,” Tommy said, winking at Felicity. “I’ll go so slow. I’ll be so careful.”
“Tommy…” there was an edge of a whine in Oliver’s voice. “Please.”
Tommy gently pushed Oliver’s head out of the way, gathered some of the moisture at the vee of Felicity’s legs, and used it to moisten his palm. “Where do you want to come, Oliver?”
“Tommy…”
“Where?”
Oliver closed his eyes and wet his lips. “In Felicity.”
“Hm. Are you ready for that?”
“Yes, I… Christ, Tommy, I get any harder and…”
Tommy bit Oliver’s earlobe gently, guided Oliver’s cock to Felicity’s pussy. “This okay, baby?” he asked her.
“Mm,” Felicity agreed, spreading her legs even further. “Come here, baby.”
Oliver slid inside of her easily, setting a slow but powerful pace. Felicity ran her hands up and down over the powerful muscles in his arms. “You’re so beautiful,” she nearly slurred.
Tommy chortled, and Oliver’s eyes widened. “Handsome, baby, I’m handsome.”
“No, you’re beautiful. Like… a Raphael statue. All muscles and beautiful eyes. Much better cock than any of those guys, though.” Oliver laughed, and it sent a shiver right through her. “Oh, do that again.”
Oliver couldn’t stop, his body shaking while he thrust. He bent and kissed her neck over and over and over again. “Fucking hell. I love every single fucking thing about you.”
“Same goes. I love your beautiful face and your beautiful cock and that serious line you get between your eyes,” Felicity said. “Come inside me, baby.”
Oliver always had a hard time saying “no” to her. He bent, touched his lips to hers, and kissed her thoroughly while he came.
The alarm clock rang shrilly, its protests as loud as they possibly could be. “Someone shut that thing off,” Felicity said into Oliver’s neck, pleasantly sore. “I’m serious.”
Tommy reached over, flipped the dismiss button on her phone and sighed. “This is your morning for that thing with Moira, right?”
“Ugh.” Felicity threw an arm over her eyes. “I forgot.”
“Don’t go.” Oliver was always a bit of a drunken puppy after sex. He sloppily kissed her neck. “Stay here. Fuck us some more.”
Something inside her clenched. “Ugh, that should not be as attractive as it is. And I can’t tell your mother that I can’t make it to our appointment because you have a really nice cock.”
“You should try,” Oliver said, grinning. “See what she says. Better yet, tell her Tommy has a really nice cock.”
Tommy beamed, flopping over on his back. “Thank you, baby. It also happens to be the truth.”
“Not happening,” Felicity said, summoning her inner Black Widow. If Natasha Romanov could do whatever she did, then Felicity could leave her two gorgeous boys, naked, heavy-lidded from sex, well-pleased with themselves, and head into the cold shower and get ready for her day. “I am going to be a responsible adult.”
“We could save time here,” Tommy said.
“How’s that?”
“We could all shower together.”
Felicity cocked her head to the side. “That would be time-saving. Oliver would have to be careful of his arm, though.”
“You two can sponge bathe me,” Oliver said, winking.
**
“You’re late,” Moira said, as Felicity came down the stairs.
“Sorry,” Felicity said. “Couldn’t be avoided.”
Moira pursed her lips. “Of course, I trust your judgement.”
Felicity nodded and avoided rolling her eyes. Her mother-in-law never said anything without a fine layer of subtext. The subtext here being, of course, that Felicity was irresponsible or wasting Moira’s time. It had been worth it, of course, Tommy and Oliver were both very clever, very talented… very sexy. She nearly hummed with satisfaction.
Sara opened the door, poked her head inside. “The car’s ready to go when you are, Mrs. Queens.”
Felicity chuckled. “Sara’s coming along as well?”
Moira nodded. “Oliver insisted. Ms. Lance and Mr. Diggle will be our escorts for this outing, and a car of men will follow at a safe distance.”
“Hm.” Felicity glanced up the stairs towards the bedroom, almost in reflex. “That’s a little much for a trip around town.”
“Oliver gets antsy when he’s cooped up,” Moira said, with a gentle smile. “Antsy and a touch… overprotective.”
“Perhaps,” Felicity said slowly. She took out her phone and texted Oliver a smiley face and a wink, knowing he would be mostly confused by that style of communication, unable to resist poking at him. “Still, I suppose we can indulge his paranoia.”
“The men are well trained enough they won’t get in our way,” Moira assured her, gesturing towards the front door. “After you.”
Felicity nodded, chuckling with delight when Oliver’s predictable ??? text rang through to her phone. Nothing, she typed back, I just adore you, even when you’re being a touch overprotective.
Not being overprotective. Ensuring your safety. Sara’s the best. Watch your back.
Felicity smiled. Always. Stay safe, whatever you get up to today.
She put the phone away, crossed one leg over the other after she settled into a leather seat. Diggle turned the engine over and they were away.
“My good friend Sophie is the head of the Dearden house,” Moira said, as the city sped past them, blurring into blacks and greys and greens in the car window. “Make no mistake about it, Felicity, the women we’re about to meet are paid to do whatever the men who pay for their time ask them to do. But they are well-fed, they are taken care of -- the men who attempt to abuse them, if they dare risk it, are sought after and punished. There will always be whores in the world, so long as there are men, but these women are, at the very least, safe and comfortable. We call them escorts or call girls, we tell them they’re not prostitutes or sluts.”
“But they are?” Felicity asked, leaning back in her seat.
“As much as Sara is, at her base perhaps, a murderer. Or your Mr. Diggle a mercenary. There are far kinder words. I choose to use those instead.”
Felicity nodded and bit her lip. Her phone buzzed in her hand. Hey. I forgot to tell you. I adore you right back.
For some reason, she felt tears welling up in her eyes. She pushed them back down and straightened her shoulders. Moira couldn’t see any signs of emotions in her -- she had to be just as implacable as her mother-in-law was.
“Got it,” she said brightly.
**
The mansion, and it was a mansion, was in one of the nicer districts of Starling City. Not one, Felicity noted, where high-class members of society would own a home themselves, but not one they would be embarrassed to be seen in. The lawn was immaculate -- giant rose bushes lined a paved walk, their blooms open in the light of morning, stretching up to the sky. Mr. Diggle eased the car to a stop and walked around to let Felicity out. Sara did the same for Moira.
“Sophie will be expecting us,” Moira said. “So she’ll have some sort of light refreshment waiting for us. The staff here are excellent -- nothing, of course, to compare to what we have at the Manor, but certainly more than adequate for the girls who live here and the clients who are serviced here, although that is, of course, rare.”
Felicity made a noncommittal noise and turned her mind to cataloging everything she saw, everything she felt. More times than she could count, her ability to recount small details about a place, a person, or an event, had been her saving grace. Maybe some of Oliver’s concern was wearing off on her -- but if Malcolm would so directly attack Thea, have his men take on Tommy and Oliver, then it stood to reason that perhaps she and Moira were being watched, that Malcolm was waiting for an opportune moment to attack the matriarch and her heir-in-training.
Diggle, who always had excellent instincts, and who probably had conferred with Oliver before they left for the day, kept one hand on his gun, his eyes constantly sweeping back and forth. His military training had always been self-evident, from the moment Felicity had met him while he had been searching for his brother in Russia, but now he wasn’t even bothering to hide it, making himself as broad a target as he could, walking in front of Moira.
Moira was the one who pressed the bell for entrance. Its deep tone rang for only a second before the door opened.
“Moira!” The woman who answered the bell was dressed as immaculately as the Dearden matriarch was, a single strand of pearls set against a royal blue pantsuit with a cream blouse. She had high cheekbones, charmingly dusted with freckles, and her hair was thick and white, shot through with grey.
This was no one’s grandmother, Felicity thought as she took the woman’s measure. There was steel in the woman’s gaze, iron in the handshake they exchanged as introductions were made. She had no problem with that. There was no small part of her that wondered, idly, if that would be the impression she would give off in her middle age.
“I have, of course, ordered something light for us from the kitchen,” Sophie said, indicating that the group should step inside the ornate front door. “I remembered well your enjoyment of a midmorning snack and a cup of tea from school.”
A fond smile crossed Moira’s face -- the most genuine emotion, Felicity thought with a faint tinge of surprise, she’d ever seen on the woman’s face.
“You do think of everything,” Moira said gently.
“Come this way,” Sophie said. “All of the girls live upstairs,” she said to Felicity as they walked through the corridor to a large sitting room. “They share living quarters, and no children are allowed. We consider this floor to be the main living area. There are rooms where the girls receive training in foreign languages and currencies, stock exchanges, the finer points of golf, how to tie a proper knot in a necktie… any part of their knowledge which might have been incomplete upon their hire to service our class of clientele, we try to correct as thoroughly and as quickly as possible.”
Something soured in the pit of Felicity’s stomach. Little thought was given, she noticed, to whether the women employed here actually wanted to know these things. Moira’s voice from the car, the things she’d said, washed over her.
“Sit anywhere you would like,” Sophie said, all graciousness and the perfect hostess. “Rosita will bring in a tray shortly.”
“The house is very well ordered,” Moira observed. “I don’t believe I have ever seen the floors gleam so much.”
Appreciation danced in Sophie’s eyes. “Thank you, Moira. I will admit, I had the staff put in a little extra care, knowing you and Mrs. Queen were coming to make introductions.”
“There’s no need to be nervous,” Felicity said, ignoring the offer of a seat to study a painting in the corner of the room. Done in the style of the romantics, it was all soft colors, a woman laying replete on a bed, coffee-colored hair falling in curls around her body. Something in her face intrigued Felicity. She couldn’t help but smile back at the woman -- it was an expression she knew well. Whoever had painted this woman had obviously just laid with her (or the woman had satisfied herself, Felicity thought, and entertained that fantasy for a moment). “I have no intention of fixing things that are not broken.”
“Are you a great lover of art?” Sophie asked, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other.
“Mm. Not so much myself as my Uncle Yuri,” Felicity said, leaning closer to the painting. There was a touch of white on the woman’s thighs -- not enough to be obscene, enough to be cheeky. “His home in Moscow, in particular, is something of a museum. Pieces constantly moving in and out as he acquires the things that are more to his taste. My cliche love of Monet and Degas remains a point of contention between us.”
“I remember standing in front of a Water Lily painting for almost an hour once,” Moira said unexpectedly, “trying to count all the different shades of blue.”
Felicity shot her a smile.
While they were engaging in conversation, a silent woman entered the room and laid refreshments on the coffee table. A steaming mug of tea, a carafe of coffee, the kind of insubstantial sandwiches Felicity found frustrating on principle, all arranged in a neat semi-circle on a bed of lettuce.
Such fussing, Felicity thought, for a little snack. She dared not show her amusement. It might be a little too common, or perhaps too Russian, for Moira’s taste.
She took one of the light sandwiches -- carefully crustless, and nearly flavorless, worked her mouth around eating it for politeness’ sake -- and focused more on the cup of good black tea Moira poured her. A conversation ensued about profit margins, improvements to be made in security, in background checks for potential clients.
Some of Felicity’s initial fear eased a little. In spite of her misgivings, it seemed that the safety of the girls seemed paramount in Moira and Sophie’s minds. She gleaned that none of the girls took clients without a rigorous application process and discreet, but deep background checks. For a higher fee, men could purchase “membership” and be allowed use of one of the appointment rooms downstairs. Otherwise, clients booked rooms at approved hotels or, provided they had a good track record, took the girls back to their own homes -- something much less popular with the married clients, for obvious reasons.
Felicity’s heart ached a little for some of the working women she’d known growing up in Vegas, when her mother had been doing her best to make it work without her husband’s mob connections. She’d busted her ass waiting tables, to the best of Felicity’s knowledge, she never had to do more than that, but Donna Smoak didn’t judge coworkers or customers who had to supplement their income or made their living entirely by selling themselves.
More than once, they’d found themselves awoken by the sound of someone knocking at the door in the middle of the night, hoping to escape a pimp or an overly excited john, Donna Smoak’s apartment a good enough place to stop before they fled Vegas. Felicity never knew how they knew -- maybe Donna mentioned once or twice that she knew something about leaving an undesired life behind, but the girls had come to her mother for help.
She had fond memories of them -- the way they painted their faces, the jokes they told that she didn’t yet understand. She had liked the way they seemed to understand just how wonderful her mother was, truly, down deep, not just that she was jaw-droppingly beautiful.
Felicity asked enough questions of Moira and Sophie to get a better idea of how things worked. She pulled out her tablet and made a few notes. Although it was not her intention to get into or stay in the prostitution business, there were things to be learned here.
After a time, Felicity rose to her feet, their meeting over, and was shaking hands with Sophie when one of the girls walked into the sitting room.
Immediately, she flushed red, which Felicity might have thought adorable if not for the ugly bruise covering one eye -- it was purpled and black, the skin around it freshly swollen, and Felicity hissed in sympathy. “Oh my, what happened?” she asked, crossing the room immediately.
The girl threw up her hands. “Nothing! I fell.”
Felicity whirled to face Sophie. “Did she?” Her voice was cold. Diggle got to his feet, one hand on his gun, ready to mete out whatever justice Felicity demanded.
“This is Diane,” Sophie said calmly. “She’s something of a klutz.”
“Sophie would never tolerate the girls being hit under her watch,” Moira said, confidence in her long-time friend evident in her voice.
“I really did fall. Off of a jetski, actually,” the girl said, chittering nervously. “I’m sorry to worry you, Mrs. Queen. I saw the pictures of your wedding, by the way. Your dress was total excellence.”
Felicity’s mouth curved in a smile. “I’m glad you think so.”
“You can be dismissed, Diane,” Sophie said cooly. “We will speak later this evening. You damage that beautiful face of yours, you damage company property. The loss of revenue will, of course, come directly out of your paycheck. We have discussed this before.”
To her credit, Diane’s chin never wavered, though Felicity could see the blow of not receiving all of her pay was hitting the girl hard. “Yes, ma’am, of course,” she said meekly.
As she left the room, Sophie turned to Moira and sighed. “It is one of the more troublesome aspects of managing this place. The girls are forever wanting this or that pierced, wanting tattoos removed or added, skipping classes, skipping meals or sneaking food in…” She shook her head. “It quite reminds me of being Head Girl to be honest with you.”
She and Moira had a hearty laugh at that, and Felicity’s stomach twisted in her gut. Diggle laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’ll have the car ready for you in just a moment, Mrs. Queen.”
“Thank you, Mr. Diggle,” she said softly. “You are, as always, a solid treasure.”
Diggle’s mouth twitched with amusement as he left the room.
Goodbyes were given, compliments exchanged over trivial matters, and soon they were on their way, Diggle opening the car door for Felicity so that she could arrange herself in the cabin of the car.
“I appreciate your concern for the girls,” Moira said, as they pulled away from the house.
Felicity weighed what to say. Expressing feeling akin to them -- their lives and bodies owned by other parties, controlled and weighed and measured like cattle -- that was bound to offend Moira. She went with a slightly different version of the truth. “I find myself more easily moved to concern for women than for men.”
“Indeed,” Moira agreed. “The world does everything it can to keep our sex fairer and weaker, politically, physically, financially -- and then it scorns us for the weakness it engenders in us. I feel no pity for men.”
Felicity nodded once.
“There is, of course, as I said before, no need to worry about the girls under Sophie’s care. She is… exacting, strict, as she must be. There are a few older girls there, but for the most part, our clients’ tastes runs to women in their twenties. However, by the time the girls have aged out or retired, they have acquired an education, job skills, and a generous compensation package. I daresay they leave the lifestyle far better than when they entered it.” Moira tapped her leg. “I confess, this was my pet project when I took over the Family.”
Felicity lifted shocked eyes to meet Moira’s.
“I never could stomach the way my mother ran the business,” Moira said softly. “Of course, by the time of her death, we’d had many such disagreements. She had no problem despising the women of the world, particularly those who felt prostitution was their only way out of the hole life had thrown them in. Before I was matriarch, there was little to distinguish a Dearden brothel from any other den of ill repute -- beatings, trafficking…” Moira shook her head. “I cleaned it up.” Her teeth flashed. Shark’s teeth in a warrior’s mouth. “Much to the chagrin of some of the old guard.”
“You don’t strike me as one who tolerates dissent.”
Moira’s eyes flashed over Felicity’s. LIke she had so many times before, Felicity felt she was being assessed against some standard she did not have access to. “I am not,” Moira admitted. “Those who were bold enough to admit their feelings publicly died quickly. Those who sought to hide it… they were driven out of corners like the rats they were, and exterminated.” She leveled her gaze at Felicity. “You might have to do the same thing here.”
“You know about what happened in Russia,” Felicity said, her eyebrows raised.
“Hm, as much as Yuri does, perhaps more,” Moira said. “Bratva men are not as close-mouthed as they would like you to believe.”
“Then you ought to know I have no doubts about my ability to clean house,” Felicity said evenly.
“I have no doubts about your ability to ask Oliver to do so for you,” Moira returned.
A flash of anger, so quick and deep she couldn’t tamp down on it in time. “You made him into a weapon,” Felicity said, her tone almost sweet, “you can hardly blame me if I use him the way you intended him to be used.”
She sent him a silent apology. She only thought of him as a weapon in her coldest, most logical moments, the ones she wasn’t entirely proud of.
“Of course, now you’ve made it so Thomas will walk on hot coals for you as well,” Moira said, her tone conspiratorial.
Felicity shrugged, doing her best to fight back the anger and the self-loathing. It was clear Moira was congratulating her on her manipulation of the situation she found herself in, as though they were similar people. That comparison had been a source of enough strife in her relationship that she found it repulsive. She ignored the bile in her throat. “They were both a little love-starved. I sometimes get my Russian and English idioms mixed, but there is one about flies and honey, isn’t there?”
Moira inclined her head, a regent gracefully acknowledging a hit. “It seems there is.” She took in a deep breath. “I will not lie to you, Felicity. Malcolm’s practices in this area were repugnant to me at the time of our first alliance. It was a point of the agreement that he dismantle his operations.” She shook her head. “The things I saw, I vowed never to see again. Obviously,” she continue, “Malcolm must die.”
Felicity blinked.
“Not because he violated some trade agreement, although that would be sufficient enough for me. He laid his hands on my daughter. He cannot be allowed to live. The trip this afternoon only determines how long he suffers before he dies.”
Felicity nearly came out of her seat. She wanted to scream. It wasn’t enough, she thought, that Malcolm called Tommy a faggot, wasn’t enough that he beat him, scarred him, rejected him. Wasn’t enough that he’d had Oliver shot.
Pairings: Felicity Smoak/Oliver Queen/Tommy Merlyn, all the permutations thereof
Rated: Explicit
Summary: There’s nothing Oliver Queen won’t do to change his sister’s fate. Living his life under the thumb of his mob-boss mother, he’s sacrificed his soul for the Family name. To protect his sister’s innocence, he travels to Russia to enlist the help of Felicity Smoak. With her by his side, and long-time friend and past-lover Tommy Merlyn at his back, Oliver will seek to dismantle the criminal empire that has plagued his city, and maybe rediscover love along the way.
Read on AO3 or follow the cut
Previous Chapters on Tumblr: One | Two | Three|Four|Five|Six|Seven|Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen|Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen
Warning: This chapter has a graphic description of child abuse.
Excerpt: Diggle opened the door, one hour, forty-two minutes, thirteen seconds later. “Hey man,” he said tiredly. “Think we’ve got him stabilized.”
Tommy nodded. “Good.” He pushed off the wall and ran his hands through his hair. He took a full, deep breath for the first time, felt some of the tension in his shoulders relax. “That’s… more than good. Thank you. Thank you for your help.”
Diggle shrugged. “It’s the least I could do.”
“It really wasn’t,” Tommy said firmly. “You could have chosen not to show up, so. Thank you.”
Diggle nodded. “All right. Then you’re welcome. Lyla would let you in there now, if you wanted to go.”
“Probably ought to wait on Felicity,” Tommy said, sticking his hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but the perceptive ex-soldier in front of him. “He’ll want to see his wife first.”
Chapter 18: Growing Pains
Tommy paced the hallway outside of Oliver’s room, back and forth until his vision swam and he felt a bit dizzy, exhaustion beating at his every nerve. He checked his watch, though he couldn’t say that he was really paying attention to the time, only that he was constantly doing the math in his head -- forty-five minutes since he left Oliver, an hour, an hour and a half… Waiting for word from the doctor was endless.
Felicity and Moira still hadn’t returned. Tommy, as much as he longed for Felicity’s presence, someone he could lean on, was grateful for the reprieve from Moira. He wasn’t certain he would be able to hide how he felt from the eagle-eyed Dearden matriarch. Not when his emotions were already stretched so thin. And Moira would find some way to poke at that exposed weakness, kick him when he was down. Or she would store it in her quick and cruel brain, and use the information that his heart was still wrapped around Oliver Queen later on.
Diggle opened the door, one hour, forty-two minutes, thirteen seconds later. “Hey man,” he said tiredly. “Think we’ve got him stabilized.”
Tommy nodded. “Good.” He pushed off the wall and ran his hands through his hair. He took a full, deep breath for the first time, felt some of the tension in his shoulders relax. “That’s… more than good. Thank you. Thank you for your help.”
Diggle shrugged. “It’s the least I could do.”
“It really wasn’t,” Tommy said firmly. “You could have chosen not to show up, so. Thank you.”
Diggle nodded. “All right. Then you’re welcome. Lyla would let you in there now, if you wanted to go.”
“Probably ought to wait on Felicity,” Tommy said, sticking his hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but the perceptive ex-soldier in front of him. “He’ll want to see his wife first.”
“The way I understand things, I really don’t think it’s going to matter which one of you comes through that door first,” Diggle said evenly, “so long as he doesn’t wake up alone, and it seems like Felicity has got other things she’s taking care of at the moment. She won’t mind you going in, either. I think, in fact, she’d insist on it.”
Tommy nodded. “Yeah, all right.”
“If you don’t want people to think something’s going on, you should stop acting so squirrely,” Diggle said, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “The only thing that’s going to get folks talking is if all of a sudden you’re refusing to act like you’ve always acted.”
Tommy shook his head. “You’re right of... “ He blinked. “What do you know?”
“I know nothing,” Diggle said. “I’ve inferred enough. And I don’t want to know anything. Please, dear God, no details. Ever.”
Tommy nodded slowly, amusement and something like relief coursing through him. “All right.”
Diggle clapped him on the shoulder. “Go in there, Merlyn. You’ll kick yourself in the ass later if you don’t.”
Tommy agreed and pushed through the open master suite door. Lyla was finishing up, returning her supplies to a hefty medical bag. She didn’t look up before she greeted him. “Hey there, Donatello. How’re the ribs?”
“Healed just fine. They tell me part of that’s thanks to you, so.” Tommy shrugged. “Thanks. How’s Oliver?”
“Oh, he’ll live, although it’s a mystery how. Not necessarily from this set of injuries. It’s just that I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a man take so much punishment who wasn’t a professional MMA fighter,” Lyla said. “And given how much of his skin is scar tissue already…”
“Yeah, Oliver doesn’t like to talk about that,” Tommy said, shutting that line of questioning down real quick. What little he knew of what had happened to Oliver, he wouldn’t share without permission, and what he didn’t know, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“That makes sense.” Lyla nodded, tilted her head to the side. “Must have been… traumatic.”
Tommy lifted one corner of his mouth. “What are you hoping to find on this little archaeological dig?”
“Just making conversation, trying to know my patients.” Lyla lifted her hands. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Mmm.” Tommy walked over to the bed, took a seat next to Oliver in an armchair that had been pulled up for that purpose. “He’s going to wake up soon, I imagine, and what he would do to both of us if he thought we were discussing his private business is not worth mentioning. You said you want to know your patients? All you need to know about Oliver is that he’s a dangerous man.”
“I gathered as much,” Lyla said dryly. “And I quite like dangerous men. You know, I married one.”
Tommy nodded. “Well, he’s likeable. So there’s that.”
“So are you.”
Tommy flashed a grin at her. “Oh, it’s all an act.”
There might have been too much of the truth in his expression because Lyla faltered a little. “I doubt that,” she said.
“I’ll just wait here with Oliver,” Tommy said, crossing one leg over the other and pulling out his phone. “Do you need to do anything else?”
“No. He should wake up shortly.”
Tommy nodded, but didn’t look up. He’d learned how to be dismissive from the best -- no one could communicate utter disinterest in humanity like Malcolm Merlyn, and as much as he hated his father, that little personality quirk came in handy from time to time.
Lyla was clearly off-balance. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Tommy nodded, pretending to be fascinated with whatever was happening on his screen. After several minutes, he looked up. He’d done played a few rounds of Tetris, and sent a quick text message to Felicity to update her on Oliver’s progress (he was still asleep), and had done some fiddling with some of his accounts, moved money around, bought stock in a few different companies. The beginning of an idea, an inkling of a move he could make against his father was tickling at the back of his mind. He made a note on his phone and then rose smoothly to his feet.
There were voices outside the doorway -- voices he recognized.
Stiffly, he got out of the chair. His clothes were soaked in sweat, and Oliver’s blood. He should change. Whenever he snapped out of the fog surrounding his brain, he would very much regret not showering and putting on clean clothes. He knew that much.
A group of four footsoldiers were arranged in a semi-circle outside of Oliver’s door. They’d each cleaned up, had their wounds tended to. Danny, Mike, Joey, and Stephen… good boys, each of them, and each of them legacies in the Dearden family. They’d had fathers that served, grandfathers that served.
These were the kinds of kids Tommy had worked extra hard to remain in favor with. He never forgot, not for a moment, that he was an interloper here, a newcomer. Without his connection to Oliver, which had been largely happenstance, he would not have risen quickly in the ranks.
“Tommy,” Joey said -- and of course it was Joey, he was the leader of this particular pack. “Any news on Ollie?”
Tommy nodded. “Seems like he’ll live.”
The boys chuckled, and shifted, looks exchanged between each of them. “That’s good to hear,” Joey said. “Very good to hear. Where’s his wife?”
The hackles on the back of Tommy’s neck slowly began to rise. “Well, she’s got some phone calls to make, boys. So I’m sitting in until she can get here.”
“Doesn’t seem very Family-oriented, this Felicity girl.”
“Mrs. Queen,” Tommy said firmly, reestablishing a boundary Joey had just tripped all over, “is incredibly Family-oriented. Oliver’s injury isn’t life-threatening. When he wakes up he’s going to be annoyed that there was any fuss over it at all, you know he will. Knowing that, she chose to call the families of the four boys we lost today with the elder Mrs. Queen rather than sitting here, playing nursemaid to someone who really doesn’t need it.”
“You know, when Mrs. Queen, the first Mrs. Queen, was running things, we didn’t lose four men on an operation,” Stephen blurted out. “I mean, a guy here or there, sure, but… four guys?”
Tommy grit his teeth. “We lost four men today because of my father.”
Each of the boys standing there dropped his head. Danny cleared his throat. “Nah, man, that douchebag’s not your father. You signed papers and shit, didn’t you?”
Tommy chuckled. “All right. We lost four men today because of Malcolm Merlyn. And -- all of our combined inability to see that Malcolm was this type of a threat -- none of us imagined that this is what he would do, that this is the shipment he would risk. And now we know. Let me tell you something, boys. If Felicity Smoak didn’t see it coming -- there’s no way anyone could have seen it coming.”
“Yeah, right,” Stephen said, snorting.
“You know that story? The one the Russians like to tell whenever you go drinking? About how one of theirs figured out how to bring the entire credit card industry in Russia to its knees?”
“Yeah?”
“That was Felicity.” Tommy tapped the door way with his knuckles. “She’s a certified genius. But she’s not omniscient, and you wouldn’t expect Moira to be, either.”
“But I am sorry,” Felicity said, softly, from the other end of the hallway. Tommy had no idea how long she’d been listening, but it was clear it was long enough. “I am very, very sorry.”
The group turned to look at her.
“Obviously, I didn’t know them well. I don’t know any of you well, yet, but…” Felicity shook her head. “I don’t want to make another phone call like that ever. And I certainly refuse to make another one because of Malcolm Merlyn. Moira and I are working together to put a plan in motion that will neutralize him.”
Her eyes flew to Tommy. He nodded, imperceptibly. Whatever information he had about his father’s organization, he would give to her freely.
“Yeah, all right then,” Joey said, and with a nod, the boys shuffled off down the hallway.
Felicity stood as close to Tommy as she could without drawing suspicion, and laid a palm on his shoulder. “I don’t think they believed me.”
“It takes a while to develop trust,” Tommy said. “They’ll see, eventually.”
Felicity’s eyes flickered towards the master suite. Her nerves only showed in the slight shaking of her hands, the way she paused before she asked. “Is Oliver…”
“Still passed out,” Tommy said, pushing the door of the bedroom open for her and letting her precede him in. “Lyla must have gone heavy with the pain meds.”
“Oh, he’s going to hate that,” Felicity said softly. Then she shut the door behind them and wrapped her arms around Tommy’s neck. “I just need a hug, okay?”
“Yeah, of course.” Tommy let himself sink into the affection, the summer-scent of Felicity filling his nostrils and erasing the faint vestiges of gunpowder and blood that he’d been inhaling since the fight had broken out.
“You should take a shower,” Felicity said, but she didn’t move to leave his arms. If anything, she pulled herself even closer.
“I know,” Tommy agreed.
“Soon.” Felicity sighed. “Just not yet.”
Tommy started to sway, his hand moving to the small of her back. “Someday, when I’m awfully low,” he sang softly. “When the world is cold…”
Felicity’s breath caught on a sob but she sang the next phrase. “I will feel a glow just thinking of you… and the way you look tonight.”
A rustling from the bed drew both of their attention, and they stopped swaying to meet Oliver’s alert eyes.
“Oliver!” Felicity said, rushing from Tommy’s arms to Oliver’s side. “How are you? Oh, that’s a stupid question, you were shot. I mean, are you feeling any pain? I mean, more pain than you should be feeling?”
“Oh, I was feeling fine,” Oliver said, drugs coloring his tone, his voice higher than usual. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows. “I’m sad you stopped, actually. You can both sing to me anytime you want. Or to each other. I’ll listen.”
Felicity laughed and pressed a fierce kiss to his cheek. “You’re high as a kite.”
“Won’t last long,” Oliver said, taking her hand, and reaching out his other. “Tommy, what are you doing all the way over there?”
Tommy’s heart swelled. For one terrifying minute, before he’d been able to assess Oliver’s condition for himself, he’d been worried that one errant bullet had taken out his best friend. Despite what he and Oliver let the foot soldiers think -- the island hadn’t given Oliver super powers or made him any less vulnerable to projectiles. He crossed the room and took Oliver’s other hand.
“This is good,” Oliver said, relaxing even more. “I love you guys. I missed you. Getting shot sucks. I wanted to have sex. Probably not gonna happen tonight.”
“Probably not,” Tommy agreed.
“We missed you too,” Felicity choked out. “No more getting shot before you say hello, okay?”
Oliver chuckled. “All right.”
Tommy didn’t say anything. He couldn’t, not when Felicity reached for his other hand, and they all sat there in silence, listening to Oliver draw deep breaths. This was one of those moments, Tommy thought, that if he could freeze, he would, and return to it whenever it seemed like he was alone, this moment with both of his lovers’ hands in his, and the space to feel like they could be comfortable together.
This was the last time, Tommy told himself, that he would watch Felicity’s face fall, that he would have to watch Oliver suffer pain like this -- no matter what -- the next bullet headed Oliver’s way, he would be right in front of it.
**
Thea woke the next morning to a knock on her bedroom door. She’d been sleeping lightly these days, so she rolled out of bed and rubbed at her eyes as soon as she heard the sound. A knock first thing in the morning either meant that breakfast was coming to her, which only happened on special occasions, or something had happened to her brother… brothers. She had two now. She steeled herself for the worst.
Felicity was on the other side of of the door, dressed in one of her trademark knee-length dresses, stylish and tailored, although her eyes were weary and red-rimmed behind her glasses.
“Is everyone okay?” Thea asked, before Felicity could even speak.
“A mission went bad last night,” Felicity said.
Thea nodded, stepping aside and gesturing inside her bedroom in an open invitation. Her insides were screaming, but she tried to be calm. Tried to behave as rationally as possible. “Oliver or Tommy this time?”
“Oliver.” Felicity stepped into the bedroom, took a seat on one of the chairs when Thea pushed it in her direction. “He took a bullet in the shoulder. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, except he’s been injured there before, apparently. There were also four other casualties, all fatalities.”
“He has?” Thea’s brow scrunched. “Not that I remember.”
“On the island,” Felicity said gently.
“Oh.” Thea sat on the bed. She studied her hands, worried at the cuticles of her fingers, searched for something to say. “Oliver doesn’t talk about the island with me.”
“He doesn’t talk about it much with me, either,” Felicity said. She crossed one leg over the other and came as close to slouching as Felicity ever did. “So don’t feel alone there. I think it’s just one of those things where… he doesn’t like to think about it, let alone talk about it.”
“When he got back, I was all obsessed with trying to make him talk to me about it,” Thea said. “I wanted to know everything about what he went through -- like, I don’t know, I thought maybe somehow that would save our relationship, you know? Cause I thought he was dead, and I mourned him… but he was just… walking around some island somewhere, working for the Russian mob, and… everyone just let me believe he was dead for a long time. Eventually, you know -- they told me he was coming back, but I wasn’t going to believe he was alive until I saw it with my own eyes.”
Felicity reached for her hand. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m not sorry, obviously, that Oliver ended up in Russia, but…”
Thea squeezed Felicity’s hand in her own. “It just feels like there’s whole parts of my brother I’ll never understand because he won’t let me.”
“Give him time, and he might,” Felicity said. “I can’t make any promises of course, and Oliver’s stories are his own to tell, or to keep to himself. I think he’s got that urge, you know, to keep the ugly stuff from you, the way he always has.”
“I wish he wouldn’t,” Thea said, dropping her head to stare at the carpet. “I wish that he and Tommy would have been honest with me from the start.”
Felicity nodded. “Well, I can understand that. I can also understand their urge to try and keep you safe.”
Thea sighed. “Is Ollie… I mean… obviously he’s okay, but…”
“He’s going to be out of commission for a couple of weeks, perhaps more,” Felicity said, and drew in a huge yawn. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re all right. You’ve probably been up for a while,” Thea said. “You should get some sleep.”
Felicity nodded. “I grabbed a few hours late last night, but I think I’m still exhausted.”
Thea drew her into a hug. “You should go, get some more rest. I’ll stop by your room and keep Ollie company this afternoon. Maybe I can kick his ass in Parcheesi or something. That ought to annoy him into getting better quicker. And Felicity?”
“Hm?”
Thea released her, and took in a deep breath. “Can you get me the names of the four men who died? I… I know I’m not the matriarch, but I did grow up around these men, and it’s very likely that I… I will want to pass on my respects.”
Felicity nodded, a sad smile crossing her face. “I absolutely will do that.”
“Thanks.” Thea watched Felicity leave, and then shut her door behind her sister-in-law. A quick check of her phone told her that it was an acceptable time to be awake, for most human beings, and she decided to get her day started.
She sent a quick text to Roy, letting him know that she wanted to go out and about in Starling that morning, and that he should be ready, if he was still on bodyguard duty. She went about her morning routine, smiling faintly when she got the expected naughty text in reply, about how guarding her body was the least he wanted to do to her, and Thea rolled her eyes.
Boys.
She splashed water on her face, reaching for the expensive face cream she liked so much, and tried not to think too hard about how her brother had been shot last night, and she hadn’t even known. No one had bothered to tell her that Oliver was being sent out, or that he’d been injured.
Her hands shook. A little with fury, a little with fear. Felicity had come to tell her, herself, and that was nice enough, but… surely someone should have come and got her last night?
Maybe life was changing. Maybe she would just -- quietly and firmly be pushed aside. She hadn’t wanted the life, she told herself, but she didn’t want to give up her family, didn’t want to be left out of what was happening.
She felt a rolling wave of nausea sweep through her, but she ignored it. Allowing herself to wallow in these emotions would do nobody any good. It felt like the house was pushing in on her, making it harder to breathe.
She needed to get out. Another text to Roy, and she was heading out her bedroom door. Having her life together was a bit too much to ask, she thought, but she could sure put together a killer outfit, and her hips swayed with confidence as she left the family corridor for the grand staircase that led down to the main foyer.
As she passed Oliver and Felicity’s door, Tommy’s opened. “Hey, there,” he said softly. “Where are you going so early in the morning?”
“Out,” Thea said brightly. “This place is a little… oppressive today. Need to breathe some freer air.”
Tommy smiled in faint amusement, and the slight condescension of that expression annoyed her more than it might usually. She grit her teeth, frustrated.
“Well,” Tommy said. “Be sure you take Roy with you. Tell him I said to be on high alert. It’s getting dangerous out there.”
“Oh, you mean cause Ollie got shot?” Thea said sweetly. “By Malcolm Merlyn’s men, right?”
“Yes,” Tommy said, drawing out the word ever-so-slowly. “That would be why.”
“Good to know,” Thea said, and she turned and headed down the staircase.
“Wait. Thea, wait. Are you mad at me?” Tommy’s voice was incredulous.
“Nope. You acted exactly how I expect you to act. You just… met expectations, that’s all.”
Tommy ran down the stairs until he was in front of her. “Hey, whoa. I can’t do teenage passive-aggression right now, Thea. Come on.”
“I’m not being passive-aggressive,” Thea insisted, brushing past him. “And I’m not mad at you. I’ll bring Roy with me, but not because I’m so scared, but because he’s my boyfriend and he’s the only man in this building that doesn’t treat me like I’m some… some kid.”
“People died last night, Thea,” Tommy said, his voice quiet and his eyes cold. “I can’t let you walk out of this house unless I know you’re going to take your safety seriously.”
“I have my gun,” Thea tossed back. “I think I’ll be okay. It’s just to the coffee shop for some breakfast, and then to the mall for a new pair of shoes. Do you think that’s okay? Or should I start asking for your permission now, since you’re so hell-bent on pretending to be my father when we both know…”
Tommy’s eyes flashed. “Thea.”
“Get out of my way,” Thea said. “Unless you want to apologize to me.”
Tommy crossed his arms. “For what?”
“Ugh. Move.” Thea ran past him to find Roy waiting for her in the entrance way. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Harper!” Tommy’s voice froze them both in their tracks, but Thea tugged insistently on Roy’s arm.
“Ignore him,” she said. “He’s just being a dick.”
“I can’t ignore him,” Roy said. “He already kind of wants to kill me. And Oliver definitely wants to kill me, so I feel like I’ve got to save face where I can, you know.”
Thea huffed. “Would you like to have sex again, ever?”
“Come on, baby, that’s such a kid move,” Roy said. “You know you won’t do that to me.”
Thea nearly screamed. “Go,” she said instead, her voice cold. “Go get your marching orders like a good little soldier.”
Roy nodded. “Wait here.”
Thea crossed her arms, checked her phone, and when more than a couple of minutes had passed, turned and left the building without Roy. His slick little bike was parked out front, she noticed, so he would have plenty of time to catch up, and she had no interest at all in spending one more minute in the Queen manor.
She turned the engine over in the BMW and backed out of the massive family garage, whipping down the drive and around the curves that led into the city. Tommy had taught her to drive on this road, told her stories about the things he and Oliver got up to in high school in the cars they bought, sold, wrecked and repaired.
She didn’t want to think about either of her brothers right now. She lifted her eyes to the rearview mirror, and sure enough, Roy on his deathtrap of a bike was right behind her.
“Make sure you keep a safe distance, asshole,” Thea muttered under her breath, and punched the gas.
The bass in the stereo system she had custom installed was fantastic, and it rocked the seats as she drove through town. More than one person stopped and stared at her, but she didn’t care. The music was loud enough that it shut down the thoughts she couldn’t keep from swirling in her brain. That meant it was the right volume.
She turned into the coffee shop’s parking lot to grab her favorite vanilla latte, Roy still right behind her. For a moment, it looked like he might try to get off his bike and follow her but she shook her head firmly. “Stay, boy,” she muttered.
Coffee in hand, she returned to her car and headed to her favorite mall. Killing the engine on her car, she sorted herself out, bag, coffee, sunglasses, and stepped out of the car.
Roy pulled into the stall next to her, his bike jerking to a stop. “Jesus, Thea!” He shouted as he took his helmet off.
“Let’s go shopping,” Thea said, striding away from him. She was mildly surprised when Roy caught her arm.
“Don’t,” he said, through clenched teeth, “ever do that to me again. Tommy almost killed me. Then he almost killed you.”
“Get your hand off of me,” Thea hissed. “Aren’t you supposed to be my bodyguard, not my man-handler?”
“Tommy said you were pissy. Listen, you’ve got to stick close by me today, okay? We’re like, at Defcon four or some shit.”
“Fine, I’ll stick close by you, but I don’t want to talk,” Thea said, and she took off, Roy easily catching up with her.
They walked in silence to the mall, Roy’s eyes sweeping back and forth, every motion communicating that he was on high alert. Whatever Tommy had said to him had scared him into a more overt level of seriousness than Thea was used to. She couldn’t decide whether she was annoyed by or attracted to this version of her boyfriend that gave her curt instructions and expected her to follow them.
More likely annoyed.
They were almost inside the building when Roy snapped. “Run!” he shouted, turning around.
“What?” Thea’s eyes widened. A man in a suit of black, his face obscured by a mask, attacked Roy. It was fast and fierce, but somehow quick and efficient. Thea could see that Roy tried to defend himself, tried to launch a counterattack, but he was clearly overpowered.
A quick series of punches -- one to the gut, one to Roy’s perfect face, and a well placed kick, a sickening crunch that Thea could hear from ten feet away that announced a broken bone somewhere, and Roy fell to the ground, unconscious.
Thea turned to run just as Roy went down -- for a split second, she considered running towards him, but the man was clearly coming after her, so… She fumbled with the catch on her bag. The gun was there, where she’d kept it every day since Oliver and Felicity had given it to her.
It was loaded. Not many bullets, but…
Suddenly, she was flung up against the wall of the building. The wind rushed out of her lungs and she saw stars as her head cracked against the cement.
Her gun hit the ground, and the assailant kicked it away from her, one of his large hands holding her against the wall by her neck. “Guns are not very useful in close-quarter combat, Ms. Queen,” the man said, and his voice, though being modified, was oddly familiar. “You would think one of your brothers would have told you that.”
He was pressing on her windpipe. He was pressing on her windpipe and it was painful, the kind of pain she hadn’t ever experienced. She kicked her feet, trying anything to get him to let her loose, prying at his hands with hers.
“Let me go,” she hissed with what air she had left. “Let me…”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t do that, Ms. Queen. Or should I say… Ms. Merlyn.”
“That… idiot…” Thea gasped for breath, “is not my father.”
Her assailant reached up with one hand and pulled the mask down off of his face. “You can run, you can hide, but the truth will always be there, Thea. I will always be your father.”
Seeing Malcolm’s face only enraged Thea. “If you gave a shit at all about me, you would let go.”
His voice was all fatherly concern, patronizing. “I do give a shit about you. That’s why I’m demonstrating… to you, to your family, that having you walking about unprotected is… unwise.”
Malcolm pressed harder on her windpipe and she choked.
“This is the problem with Moira. She takes my children, and she allows them to become weak. If you had grown up with me, this wouldn’t even be an issue for you,” Malcolm said, scowling.
“I am not yours,” Thea said, kicking even harder. She finally managed to land one on Malcolm’s shin, but he didn’t even flinch, and Thea found herself, despite her intentions, deflating a little.
“Let her go!” Roy shouted, limping on his good leg, the other all… oddly bent, at such a weird angle that it seemed impossible that he could stand.
He had her gun in his hands. It almost shook, but he held it steadily at Malcolm’s head.
“Oh good,” Merlyn drawled. “The idiot boyfriend has a gun.”
“Please,” Thea said. “If all you wanted to do was scare me straight… all right, I’m scared, okay?”
“I wanted to send a message,” Malcolm said, and he drew his knife.
“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Roy shouted, and he cocked the gun.
“To your brothers,” Malcolm continued, as though Roy hadn’t even spoken. “To your sister-in-law. To your mother. I want them to know that no one is safe.”
“Don’t hurt me,” Thea begged, some part of her instantly, profoundly ashamed. Oliver would never have begged. Tommy wouldn’t have begged. Felicity and Moira, with their matching rod-of-steel spines, wouldn’t have begged. Thea couldn’t find it in herself not to.
“I don’t think hurting you will be necessary,” Malcolm said, and he flipped the knife in his hand so the handle was pointing to Thea. He dropped her, letting her hit the ground. Her hands went instantly to her throat and she took deep, gasping breaths. “Take this.”
“What are you, psycho?” Thea asked, her eyebrows scrunched together.
“No,” Malcolm said. “I had a point to make, and I made it. Take the knife, Thea. Learn how to use it, to protect yourself.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Thea said, backing up against the wall.
“Very unlikely, princess,” Malcolm said, smiling condescendingly, and Thea’s stomach turned. “This is a gift for you.”
“I don’t want gifts from you.” Thea’s eyes flashed. “I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“You see how easily I got to you, don’t you?” Malcolm said softly, stepping closer to her. Thea’s hand flew to her neck immediately. “You see how easily I got through the protection they gave you? You might want out of this life, but you can’t escape it. Your brothers can’t save you. The only thing you can do is prepare yourself for what’s about to come. And when you want to do that -- you can come to me.”
Thea dug down deep, tried to find her spine. Tried to sound convincing. “I will never, ever, take your help.”
Malcolm smirked. “Strong words from someone who begged, not even five minutes ago, for me not to hurt her.”
“Fuck you,” Thea spat. “And take your fucking knife, I don’t want you or your… anything… near me.”
“We’ll see about that,” Malcolm said, and he threw the knife forcefully so it whizzed past her ear and embedded itself in the wall behind her. Thea let out a sob and covered her mouth. “I’m going to win this war, Thea. Are you going to be ready?”
Malcolm moved like lightning, sweeping down on Roy and disarmed him. Then, laughing, he walked away, shaking his head.
“Roy!” Thea pushed herself off of the wall and ran towards him.
“Yeah, babe?” His face was going increasingly white.
Thea pushed up off of the ground and ran to him, helping him to a bench. “Thanks for playing big damn hero. I appreciate it.”
Roy hissed in pain. “That’s what they pay me for.”
“We’re calling an ambulance,” Thea said firmly.
Roy nodded. “Okay. I think he broke my leg, the fucker.”
“Yeah.” Thea shook her head, and dialed 911.
The next few hours passed in a rush -- the ambulance wailing, rushing them to the nearest hospital, filling out forms, following Roy from room to room. Eventually, finally, he was settled, and he was asleep.
And it occurred to Thea that she was completely alone. And completely without protection. She panicked. Her hands were shaking as she dialed Felicity’s number.
“Hey, I need to borrow a bodyguard,” Thea said, and then she broke down in tears.
Felicity and Diggle must have flown, Thea decided, from the Queen Manor to the hospital, because they were there within ten minutes. Felicity had her arms open halfway down the hallway and Thea ran to them, wrapping the other woman in a hug.
“Are you okay?” Felicity demanded, pulling away to inspect Thea. “Oh my God, your neck…”
“I had someone look at it,” Thea rasped. “I’m fine.”
Felicity nodded and used her thumbs to wipe away some of the tears from Thea’s cheeks. “Okay. I’m so glad. Diggle is just going to do a sweep of the area, and then we’re going to go back to the manor, okay?”
“But Roy…”
“Is coming with us,” Felicity said firmly. “Lyla’s on her way to sign the papers. We’ll get him home where he can rest and not be constantly poked and bothered.”
Thea sniffled, and then hated herself for doing so. “He’ll like that,” she said, trying to straighten her shoulders. “He’s a big baby about needles.”
“Aren’t we all,” Felicity said dryly.
“Thanks for coming,” Thea said softly. “You’re the only one I could trust not to shout and act… ridiculously.”
Felicity nodded. “Well -- if it makes you feel better, I decided to wait and tell Oliver and Tommy until we get back,” she said. “They can shout at you in the privacy of your own home, then.” But she smiled to soften the blow.
“I didn’t realize, I guess… I was completely helpless. I wasn’t… I wasn’t ready at all, and it all happened so fast, he was right there and he could have killed me.” She started to shake, and wrapped her arms around herself. Felicity drew her to a chair in the waiting room, and made them both sit down.
“He didn’t,” Felicity said softly. “The only thing you can do now is -- decide what you want to do with this experience.”
“I don’t want to be scared,” Thea said. “I don’t want to -- see him coming around every corner or see his face when I close my eyes.”
Felicity pursed her lips. “Some of that might happen, no matter what you choose to do,” she said carefully. “I don’t know of any way to stop your brain from -- processing something like this.”
“I want to be ready, though,” Thea said firmly. “The next time that he comes for me, I want to be ready. I want to at least have a shot.”
“We could speak to Sara,” Felicity said, tapping the arm rest of the chair she was sitting in. “I’m sure that she would be willing to teach you.”
Thea thought for a moment. “Do you think so?”
“Yes,” Felicity said. “She’s got strong opinions about women being able to take care of themselves. As do I, really. Sara already works with me, helps me stay sharp.”
“Mrs. Queen?” The always-professional and utterly calm John Diggle appeared. “We’re ready to go now.”
“Thank you, John,” Felicity said. “Let’s go.”
Thea found herself pulled up, Felicity’s arm around her shoulders as they left the hospital. Roy slept in the backseat of one of the Queen family’s dark SUVs (Thea’s car, she was informed, would be picked up later) all the way back to the manor. When they arrived, several footsoldiers left the house to help retrieve Roy from the back seat and get him settled on one of the family’s wheelchairs.
As soon as they entered the house, Thea could feel eyes on her. She swept her gaze up the stairs and saw Tommy standing at the top of them, his face a mask of calm that obviously covered up his anger.
Her stomach sank to her shoes as he came down the stairs. “You want to yell at me, don't you?”
Tommy shook his head. “Get your boyfriend settled and then come see me.”
Thea shot a look at Felicity, who nodded in support. “Moira had Raisa prep the guest room on the ground floor for him,” she said. “Take your time.”
Thea nodded and brushed past both of them to take control of Roy’s wheelchair from Diggle. It might be said that she dragged her feet, took extra time helping Roy out of his wrecked clothes and into the softest pajamas Thea could find. She fetched him a glass of water, read all the information on his prescriptions, and tucked him into bed.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the attention,” Roy said sleepily, “but I can’t help feeling like you are using me to avoid a difficult conversation."
"I’m sorry." Thea crawled in bed next to Roy, tucking herself into his side and laying her head on his shoulder. “I was kind of a bitch to you today. I was upset with Tommy and Oliver and I took it out on you. And then your leg got all fucked because of me. Your job sucks.”
“Happy to do it. And I didn’t take it personally,” Roy said, closing his eyes. Thea inhaled. He smelled like the hospital, and faintly like the cheap fabric softener he used on all of his clothes. “I know you’re having a rough time these days.”
“You should be upset when I'm being rude to you.” Thea buried her head nose in his shoulder. “You shouldn’t run after maniacs who already broke your leg for me after I acted like that.”
“Hey. There’s nothing you could do that would make me leave you to Malcolm Merlyn. You know I... you know how I feel about you.”
“You scared me, you idiot.”
Roy snorted. “Yeah, well, you scared me, too. But we’re going to be okay. I promise.”
Thea let him hold her while she cried, his arms sure around her.
A soft knock had Thea lifting her head. Oliver stepped inside the room, his eyes tight with the pain of moving. Thea sat up straight. “Ollie, what are you doing here?”
“Felicity tells me that you two had an adventure this afternoon," Oliver said. "I just wanted to come down here and make sure you were okay for myself.”
Thea launched herself off of the bed and ran to Oliver, wrapping her arms around his neck. Oliver grunted a little with the impact against his injury, but refused to let her move. If she didn't know better, she would have thought Oliver was crying, moisture brushing her cheek where he brushed his against hers.
“What happened to your neck?” Oliver asked. Of course he would notice. Of course that would be the first thing he asked.
“He uh…” Thea thought she was probably about out of tears. She hoped, anyway, because her eyes were dry and blinking was starting to be painful. “Malcolm choked me against a wall.”
Oliver grimaced. “Thea, I…”
“It's okay, Oliver. I will be okay.” She tried to straighten her spine, stand up straight under the weight of his gaze.
“You don't have to be okay right now,” Oliver said softly. “You were attacked. It’s okay to need some time.”
“You wouldn’t,” Thea said. “Tommy wouldn’t. Felicity and Mom wouldn’t.”
“Yes, we would. Each of us would,” Oliver responded. “Tommy wants to talk to you.”
Thea felt all of twelve. But it had to be said. The reason for her reluctance. “He’s going to yell.” She didn’t want anyone yelling at her. She didn’t think she could take it.
“No, he won’t,” Oliver said. “He just needs to talk to you. And I want to talk to Roy.”
“It’s not his fault.”
“No.” Oliver agreed. “I owe him an apology. Tommy and I... and Felicity... we asked him to walk into into a dangerous situation and we didn't provide adequate back-up. We’re lucky that things went the way they did. Roy needs to know we aren’t going to let it happen that way again.”
Thea’s eyes widened while her heart softened. “Oh.”
“Go talk to Tommy. He’s kind of a wreck. Needs one of your killer hugs.” Oliver gave a wink, obviously dismissing her. Thea left her brother and her boyfriend to talk and went to find Tommy.
**
Tommy waited in the library, a single glass of bourbon in his hand -- and it would be one glass, no more, no matter how much he longed to get lost in the bottle -- gathering his thoughts. He’d almost lost Oliver, and then Thea, to his father in the space of a couple of days. He hadn’t thought that he could hate Malcolm any more than he already did, but where the relationship had once cooled, new rage had settled in its place.
His eyes were transfixed by the amber liquid, its smooth heat warming his throat as he took a sip at a time. It wouldn’t have been that long ago that he would have tossed back the alcohol in a single gulp and drank the whole bottle. He couldn’t afford to do that now. Not with Oliver out of commission and the Family at war.
But, oh, it was tempting...
The door opened and Thea, her eyes red-rimmed and blown wide with the remnants of fear, entered the room, letting the door close behind her.
“Before you say anything, you should know that I’m sorry.” Thea held her hands up. “You tried to make me listen this morning, and I wasn’t hearing you because I was upset about something else with Oliver, and I’ve learned my lesson. You really, really don’t have to yell. I promise, I’m sorry.”
Tommy set the glass down carefully, moved it several inches away from his hand. His heart ached in his chest. He closed his eyes, thought about what he wanted to say.
“It’s going to be hard, sometimes,” Tommy said, “me and Oliver realizing that you’re growing up, figuring out how to treat you. I realize that you were hurt because no one told you about Oliver as it was happening.”
“It was kind of shitty.” Thea said, suddenly uncertain of the turn the conversation had taken. “He might be married now, but he’s still my brother.”
“On the other hand,” Tommy said, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair he was sitting in. “There was a lot going on -- Felicity had to deal with making difficult phone calls, we would have had to explain to you what was going on, and there were already people moving in and out of Oliver’s room, and it wasn’t a life-threatening injury. You see? It was… complex.”
“I still feel like I should have known,” Thea said. “I… I always want to know, when you guys are hurt. I want to know when I should be worrying.”
“I can understand that. We’ll work on that, okay? But -- you.” Tommy sighed. “You’ve got to work on not -- not storming out of here when you don’t get your way or you’re a little upset with me. At least until things settle.”
Thea nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “I am sorry, Tommy.”
Tommy lifted his eyes, and for the first time, caught sight of the ugly bruise that was developing along Thea’s neck, in the distinct shape of a man’s hands.
“He had his hands on your neck?” Tommy asked, standing quickly and crossing the room, lifting her chin gently.
“He was choking me,” Thea said, and her voice wavered. “Against… against a wall. I couldn’t catch my breath. I remembered you told me once that if someone grabbed me I was supposed to kick them as hard as I could and I tried that, but it didn’t work on him.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Tommy said, with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Thea.”
“He told me he just -- he just wanted to send a message,” Thea said, the edge of her voice going from frightened to pissed. “He said he wanted to show me how weak I was, he said that… that Mom takes his children and makes them weak.”
“You’re not weak,” Tommy said firmly.
Thea refused to meet his eyes. “I begged for my life. I asked him not to hurt me. I cried.”
“Thea, a man who is more than twice your size was squeezing your windpipe. You did what anybody would do in that situation. You’re not weak.”
Thea shook her head. “Ollie tried to tell me that too, but you guys forget, I watch you all the time. I know it’s possible to… not.”
Oh, but they had. Tommy’s fist clenched. They’d simply had that instinct, the instinct that their lives were worth something, worth preserving, pounded, kicked, choked out of them. Tommy longed to go back to the days when he would have begged for his life.
“I was eleven… yeah, I must have been about eleven, the first time Dad tried to choke me,” Tommy said flatly. “I begged then.”
“Oh my God,” Thea said, her hands going to her mouth.
Tommy fidgeted with his cufflinks. Then, impatient with himself, he sighed and forced himself still. “See, I wanted to play at Ollie’s house, not spend the day with him in our boring house. And by that time, you know, I’d kind of gotten used to just keeping my mouth shut, not making waves. You couldn’t make him happy, either way, but I hoped just -- being a non-entity would be enough to keep me out of harm’s way. Except this day. This day Ollie and Robert were going fishing and I… I so wanted to go.”
“Tommy.” Thea gripped his forearm.
Tommy looked her right in the eye, a quiver in his voice he couldn’t get rid of. He hadn’t ever let her see the damaged child he’d been. Maybe that had been a mistake -- she needed to know that it wasn’t weakness to beg. “I begged and begged until he snapped. I thought he was going to kill me. There was such rage in his eyes. Then they went dead right about the time I lost the strength in my limbs to kick him and fight back. He let me go and I… I cried. I begged him to let me go. I swore I’d never ask him for anything again. I didn’t get to go fishing that day, because you could see the bruise.”
Thea’s lips quivered. “Tommy, I never knew. I mean, I knew he was an ass, but…”
“The point is, he can’t make you stronger,” Tommy said, pushing aside her concern. “He’s an ass who beats children, who thinks the way to control his children is to terrify them. Because he’s not strong. Nobody that’s got real strength strangles their child.”
“No, I know,” Thea said. “I would never -- I told him I didn’t want anything to do with him.”
“This is -- this is why you’ve got to…” Tommy took in a deep breath. “I don’t trust him. He wants you under his thumb or he wants you dead. And what little sanity he had, he’s slowly lost over the years. I can see it in his eyes, now, when I look at him. So that means, we’ve got to start taking everybody’s security a lot more seriously. No more day trips with the undertrained boyfriend. From now on, you don’t go anywhere without Diggle or Sara with you, or both.”
“Felicity said Sara would train me to do some hand-to-hand stuff. Help me maybe get to the point where, if it happened again, I wouldn’t feel so helpless.” Thea’s voice caught. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared, Tommy.”
He hugged her close and rocked her back and forth. “It’s okay. It’s okay that you were scared.”
Thea sniffled. “What happens now?”
Tommy pulled himself together, framed Thea’s face with his hands and kissed the top of her head gently before he moved on, his tone business-like. Thea wanted to be treated like an adult, to have information. This piece at least, he could give her. “Well -- now Felicity and I try to convince Oliver that he’s not well enough to track Malcolm down and kill him himself, slowly, by hand. And then we come up with a plan. Because we can’t let this go unanswered.”
Tommy could feel the shudder move up and down Thea’s spine while he held her. “Nobody else is going to get hurt because of me, right?”
Tommy sighed. This was another one of those situations where he had to weigh whether he should tell the truth or not. “Not because of you, Thea,” he finally landed on, “because of Malcolm’s actions. A lot of these footsoldiers, you know, they think of you like a sister, you’ve been around them since you were little, and we can’t… no one would stand for us letting him put his hands on you, even if Felicity and Oliver and I wanted to ignore this happening, which we don’t. But when we go after Malcolm, it’s likely that someone will get hurt. He trains his men well, and… things happen.”
“I hate this,” Thea confessed. “I hate all of it. I don’t want him to touch me. But I don’t want you and Oliver or even Felicity to get hurt. I don’t want us to be at war.”
“I know,” Tommy said. “It’s not… ideal. But we will be okay.”
Thea sighed and snuggled into his arms. “Do you really think that, or are you just trying to make me feel better?”
He tightened his arms around her, laying his cheek flat against her shoulder and breathing deeply, taking in her scent, holding onto this moment of holding his sister with that breath. He was only going to get so many of these. “Maybe a little of both.”
