AN 1: Ten thousand thanks to my wonderful betas and everyone else that has been amazingly supportive about this. Hope you enjoy!
May 2006.
"Rumors of notorious heir Oliver Queen fathering a child out of wedlock are seriously impacting the public's opinion of the already scandalous political family. Inside sources at the Queen mansion hint that the Queen heir had no intention of providing for the future baby. No official declarations have been made by the family as of now," states the journalist in an even tone, while various pictures and footage of Oliver flood the screen.
Robert Queen turns off the TV, and Oliver knows he's in trouble.
If he had to rate the trouble he's probably in, he'd say somewhere between that time he and Tommy thought it'd be funny to empty Oliver's fridge in an epic battle all around the mansion, and when his convertible ended up wrapped around a tree at five in the morning with an unconscious random girl in the passenger seat.
His life for the past six months has been pretty good. He toured European nightclubs with Tommy, and then came back home around Christmas and… did about the same thing back home, in Starling. Alone. Because Tommy bailed on him and decided to try to be a 'responsible adult for once' for Laurel. Whatever the fuck that meant.
And then for a couple of weeks he'd been seeing this girl – what was her name again? Linda or Sandra or something. But then she became clingy, and he moved on. Because if there is a thing Oliver Queen doesn't do, it's committed relationships. Granted, he'd tried, once. With Laurel. And then he broke her heart. Because that's the kind of person he is.
But, back to the problem at hand. Robert is eyeing him expectedly with his patented 'disapproving father' face. As if he hadn't screwed the entirety of his female staff already. His mother, on the other hand, is standing a few feet behind Robert, eyes worriedly going back and forth between her husband and her son as if it was a tennis match and not a family meeting. Oliver looks back at his father with deliberate slowness, and that apparently turns out to be the proverbial drop of water.
"So? What do you have to say to that?" Robert snaps. (Or really, composedly enunciates, but Oliver has been around his father long enough to know when he was pissed. And he truly is, behind that permanent veneer of apparent calm politics brought him.)
"What do you expect me to say? It's been handled. Crisis averted. Just do a press conference or issue a statement or whatever it is you do, and it'll blow off. We both know everyone will forget about it with the upcoming elections." Oliver offers in response, his arm nonchalantly propped on the back of the couch.
Apparently, that wasn't the right thing to say. Moira looks up at the ceiling, as if praying God would give her the strength to deal with her only son. But it's his father's reaction that makes his heart drop. Robert just stares at him with a piercing glare, as if Oliver was his adversary in a debate and Robert was trying to size him up. Assessing him. Establishing what he was capable of. Judging the danger potential.
It's the first time Oliver stands on the receiving end of his dad's threat-reviewing stare, and that's what makes him straighten up, about to defend himself. He was in far deeper than he'd originally thought. Just as he opens his mouth, Robert cuts him off and turns towards his wife.
"We've let this charade run on long enough. You told me you could handle him, and I have given you time to do so. But you have evidently been unsuccessful. It's enough. It has to stop."
"I'm right here, you know?"
"You know as well as I do that he has no chance of becoming the second-youngest governor of California if he keeps behaving like this ridiculous Don Juan," his dad continues, unperturbed by the interruption.
"Robert, you cannot be serious." Moira's voice echoes in the living-room for the first time since his parents came barreling in.
"It's the only solution. We agreed on that."
"It was months ago! Give him more time, I'm sure-"
"What? That he'll suddenly sober up and become a respectable young man? Moira, he has dropped out of three Ivy League universities in the past two years. It's decided. We will do as planned."
"Robert-"
"I said it was decided."
Robert's tone is still as calm as before, but the ice in it could freeze all of California in the middle of summer. Moira looks defeated. This can't be good for Oliver's ass.
His dear father then decides to suddenly acknowledge his presence in the room again, and Oliver redirects all the pity he had for his mother towards himself in the blink of an eye.
"You're coming to my office tomorrow at nine sharp. I trust you not to be late for once." He then turns towards Moira and adds, "I'll go make the necessary arrangements. I'll see you tonight at dinner."
A second later, Robert Queen has exited the living-room, his phone already tapped to his ear. The silence that falls on the room is far from comfortable, and Oliver glances at his mom, his mouth open.
"Mom! What's going on?"
Her eyes leave the doorway in which her husband just left, and when they settle on him, Oliver can read weariness and lassitude in them.
"We are going to get you married."
"Married? What do you mean, married? I don't even have a girlfriend? How can I get married if I don't have anybody to marry?" Oliver pleads after the minute it took him to digest the abrupt news.
Sensing his near-breakdown, Moira comes to sit next to him, placing her hand on his back and rubbing it in a soothing gesture.
"We need to bury that playboy image the media are giving you before you start going into politics. And getting you settled is the most efficient way to do so," she explains, her tone even and calming.
"But what-"
And that's when it dawns on him. Oh, they're gonna marry him off alright, only just not to someone he loves. No, his dear parents are going to stage a-
"Political marriage."
He had been right. He really is in trouble.
...
He calls Tommy on his way to the garage and is mildly surprised he answers on the first ring (or answers at all, really. They don't call, they just crash wherever the other is, no questions asked. Or at least, used to. Oliver doesn't really feel like walking on Tommy and Laurel, if he can help it. Ever.).
"Hey Oliver buddy listen-" he hears his best friend say, in his usual cheerful voice. He can tell what Tommy was going to say, so he cuts him.
"My parents are marrying me off."
"-it's probably not a- woah hold up, what?"
"My parents are going to marry me off," Oliver repeats more slowly, as he reaches to fish his car keys out of his back pocket.
Tommy pauses for a second, before Oliver hears him shuffling on the other end of the phone.
"I'll gather the booze. See you in fifteen," Tommy says before hanging up, as Oliver lowers himself into the charcoal Porsche he got for his eighteenth birthday.
The drive to the Merlyns' house passes in a blur. Oliver is pretty sure he must have driven through at least four red lights, but he can't be bothered to care. It's a semi-regular occurrence for his dad to get him out of paying fines (not to mention various other arrests), because that's bad for the public image of this family. Oh, how many times has Robert uttered those words to him, as if the public imagewas all that mattered.
The public image means nothing.
If only his dad could see that.
After pulling up in Tommy's driveway, Oliver gets out of the car and into the house in a haze. As he expected, his best friend is sitting in his father's study, back to the wall, blinds closed and half a dozen bottles of varying substances lying around him like sentinels. Upon seeing Oliver's arrival, Tommy raises the closest bottle (tequila, from what Oliver can see in the semi-darkness) and takes a sip. Wordlessly, Oliver flops down on his left, and grabs a random bottle. They drink in silence for a few minutes that feel like centuries, before Tommy breaks it.
"Laurel doesn't want me to meet her family."
Oliver casts him a sideways glance.
"What d'you mean, we used to spend entire afternoons at her place? Sara even babysits Thea from time to time."
"No," Tommy all but drawls before raising the half empty bottle to his lips again. "I mean, some second cousin of hers or something is getting married, and she doesn't want me to meet her family. As in, the entire family. She doesn't want me there."
"Oh," is all Oliver can reply, because what is he supposed to say, really? 'Sorry your girlfriend has commitment issues from the time I kept cheating on her when we were together'? Yeah, not gonna do.
"Well, if it makes you feel better, your dad isn't forcing you to marry some stranger for God knows how long to salvage your public image." is what Oliver settles for, before letting the vodka burn down his throat once more.
Tommy chuckles, and Oliver wants to smack him over the head with his bottle. The situation is so far from funny, Oliver wishes he could replace all the water in his body by alcohol and forget about everything, if only for a while. But his father is awaiting him at nine in his office and God knows what he'd do if Oliver showed up with a hangover from hell. Cut him off, probably.
"Well, at least make sure she's hot." Tommy replies before winking at him, and Oliver can't help but smile.
Maybe it won't be so terrible in the end.
AN 2:
Couple of things concerning this AU: 1. Sandra actually lost the baby, 2. Queen Consolidated doesn't exist but Merlyn Global Group does, and 3. character ages and birthdays are same as in canon.
I really hope you enjoyed this prologue and I'll probably post the second chapter tomorrow. English isn't my native language and if mistakes managed to sneak through betaing, just let me know?
Constructive criticism is always appreciated, and just know that I'm usually going to be writing three chapters ahead of what I'm posting. So stuff that doesn't make sense in a chapter will most likely be explained later on. If not, I'll add it in the notes!
Anyways, I dearly wish you appreciated this and am looking forward to posting the rest!