I cannot thank you enough for all your support. The love your sending my way is amazing. I'm delighted that you enjoy the Vegas!verse so much.

The side story is dedicated to Lazy Shinka who was interested in getting insight in Felicity's life before Oliver returned and to the wonderful perckious who asked for a glimpse into Moira's mind and how her perception of Felicity changed. Those two are to blame, but I'm grateful for the inspiration that led to this. I hope you enjoy it.

And since I never post anything not Albiona-approved: thanks to the Duchess of Awesome for her approval and sticking with me throughout this whole 'verse. It's been a lot, but it's been fun taking this trip with you. Thank you.

Happy reading, everybody. Love, Jules

[I do not own Arrow, not copyright infringement intended.]

July 17th, 2008

Moira Queen had come to MIT to keep up appearances.

It wasn't her first trip to an internationally known university to take care of an inconveniency that, if it were allowed to come to the public's attention, might damage the family's reputation.

But it was the first time Thea was inconveniencing her.

And it was the first time that Moira Queen's personal reputation was at stake.

If word ever got out that she hadn't known her thirteen year old daughter took the family jet to fly across the country to meet the woman who was, from a legal point of view and to the public eye, her daughter-in-law, the press would have a field day questioning her capability as a mother. Not to mention the scrutiny she'd have to face at the Annual Breast Cancer Awareness Breakfast scheduled for Sunday.

Moira Queen knew she didn't have the best reputation, but nobody had ever called her a 'bad mother.' And if there was one label she couldn't live with, it was that one.

She already had to live with being called many other names, a woman trying to find her footing in a male-dominated field. Behavior taken as strength and willpower if shown by a male CEO was considered bitchy or menopausal (because she was past forty) when it came to Moira Queen, acting CEO of Queen Consolidated.

Luckily, Walter Steele would soon be appointed CEO of the family's Fortune 500 company. Moira didn't have the slightest doubt that the board would unanimously vote him into the position. (Most people supported the decision to put a capable businessman like Walter in charge. The others had been paid to come to the right opinion.) The Queen matriarch was very much looking forward to stepping down. She wasn't made to navigate the rough waters of the business sector; her expertise lay in social world.

Even though, being in charge of Queen Consolidated had granted her the opportunity to disguise some very personal investments as business transactions. Her financial consultant believed she had embezzled money; the wink accompanying his goodbye after their last meeting had made that perfectly clear. As if a few millions more or less made any difference when it came to the Queens and their taxes. Moira hadn't corrected the misunderstanding. In fact, she had encouraged it with a wink of her own.

The less people knew about her search for the wreck of the Queen's Gambit, the better.

She had to keep the circle as small as possible to ensure that Malcolm Merlyn didn't find out about her try to prove his involvement in the deaths of Robert and Oliver Queen. The leftovers of the Queen's Gambit were leverage. Moira Queen needed to think about such things now, had to strategize and think ahead a few steps to win a deadly game she didn't know all the rules of.

Moira Queen needed to think of the family yacht as leverage. If she dared to acknowledge the fact that the boat had been the place her husband and her son had taken their last breaths, she wouldn't be able to get out of bed in the mornings.

Bombing the Gambit had been a statement. Malcolm Merlyn had made it perfectly clear to Moira Queen that he didn't hesitate to kill her loved ones. He had ripped the two men her world revolved around from her without any remorse. Malcolm had come to her home, looked her dead in the eye, and confessed. He had laid his actions out for her in great detail. Calmly, calculatingly, without any emotion, he had told her what type of bomb he had used, what kind of timer, and that the storm brewing that night had been nothing but a lucky coincidence. Malcolm had actually used that word when informing her about his unfathomable actions: a lucky coincidence. The man she once had a brief but passionate affair with had also told her how he had found out about Robert Queen's plan to deceive him. That was another word Moira Queen would never forget: deceit. When all her beloved Robert had tried to do was save the lives of thousands of innocents, because his (once unfaithful) wife Moira begged him to.

Ultimately, Moira Queen was to blame.

Righting her wrongs had become an obsession in the last months, especially after the unexpected and tragic death of the unborn little ray of hope they had been granted. Her grandson, the last piece left of her Oliver, died before taking his first breath, adding to the pain and mourning in the Queen household. After that faithful day in March, Moira had come to realize that she couldn't continue hoping for better times, for something good following the horror of the past months. (It had been exactly 320 days since she had last seen her husband and her son, standing on the pier waving them off as the Gambit headed toward the sunset.)

Moira Queen had to take the protection of her loved one into her own hands.

Sadly, while she had been busy doing that, that exact loved one had managed to sneak off and travel roughly 3,000 miles from Starling City to Cambridge.

Moira hadn't noticed her daughter Thea was gone and hadn't been able to hide that fact from the woman her Oliver (whom she loved despite his outrageous indecencies) had married in a drunken frenzy. Felicity had called her and told her not to worry, because Thea was with her, realizing full well that Moira hadn't worried at all before receiving that call.

The humiliation left the Queen Matriarch seething.

There was only one thing Moira could do once she and Thea were back in Starling: she had to fire the pilot. How could that man think she would approve of her teenage daughter travelling alone across the country? Sometimes the idiocy of subordinates baffled her.

But nobody knew about it except for Moira, Thea, Felicity, and the pilot. The circle wouldn't grow beyond that. Her employee had signed a non-disclosure agreement. And if the last months had proven one thing, it was that her unwanted daughter-in-law was discrete—a character trait Moira greatly approved of.

The taxi stopped in front of the apartment building Moira had accepted as suitable for somebody carrying the Queen name. Living in—let alone sharing—a dorm room was unthinkable with her family's social standing. The massive stone building housed four spacious apartments, which might be big for a college student but were actually quite small for a Queen. ("Understated" had been the word used in Starling City's gossip pages, a description never before associated with the Queen-family.)

Moira Queen paid the driver and—realizing that he didn't make a move to round the car and open the door for her—got out of the taxi. Her purse in the crook of her elbow, Moira crossed the sidewalk and walked up the five massive stone stairs leading to the building. MIT's campus was only a short walk away. The young people passing by on the sidewalk, huge bags slung around their shoulders, folders or books pressed to their chests, showed its proximity. Moira was aware that the students studied her and she noted them out of the corner of her eyes. One young woman was even brazen enough to take a picture as Moira pressed the only doorbell without a name.

Judging from the amount of gossip on Felicity Queen, photographing, stalking, and selling unfounded speculations as truth had turned into a quite popular hobby among MIT's students. Moira Queen's EA kept her boss updated about all rumors circulating involving the Queen-name, more than 90 percent of them about Felicity Queen.

Moira Queen had consulted her lawyers to appraise the chances of winning a libel suit. The most likely case regarded the abortion rumor going around, because there was clear evidence to refute it. Moira longed to do that, to shut up Tommy Merlyn, her deceased son's best friend, who had invented that horrible lie, who befouled the memory of her grandson, a Queen heir, in the most despicable way.

That boy was a true Merlyn.

Which was the only reason Moira didn't dare to challenge him. Who knew what his father would do? Or his son. Tommy Merlyn had been there in Las Vegas during that fateful night her Oliver had made yet another poor, inebriated decision. Tommy knew the truth and could set fire to the web of lies Moira had spun to save her own son's reputation, to turn her grandson into a child created by love (and not by whatever had made her son look like a drunken fool on those pictures she hadn't been able to buy out before they were published.)

She had never told Felicity about that consultation, because Moira had decided against suing a Merlyn—and all other legal actions were futile. According to her legal team, MIT's campus was a public place and taking pictures there wasn't breaking any laws. Felicity would have to deal with it until graduation. Even if, experiencing the offhandedness of those student-paparazzi, Moira had to admit that it was fairly unpleasant.

"Yes?" Finally, Felicity's voice came out of the speaker.

Aware of the people walking behind her, Moira added a happy ease to her voice she didn't feel and said, with a smile. "Felicity, dear, it's Moira."

The buzzer hummed instantly. Moira fought to keep the smile in place. Felicity should have added at least a pleasant greeting to keep up appearances! With more force than suitable for her played ease, Moira pushed the door open and walked up the stairs to the second floor. (The lack of an elevator was probably part of the understatement of this building.)

Felicity waited for her mother-in-law in the opened door to her apartment. "Moira," she said, calmly.

"Felicity," Moira answered.

The younger woman stepped out of the way, gesturing for Moira to enter, pointing down the hall. "Thea's in the living room."

Walking past her daughter-in-law without slowing down, Moira headed past walls painted in an off-white bordering on yellow. A huge mirror hung on the right wall, a chair next to it, jackets draped over it. The rug placed on white tiles dimmed the clicking of Moira's heels. Her steps were fast, quickened by the annoyance at having to fly across the country in a rented private jet. The living room was colored in equally soft tones, and mismatched seats—one red, one green, adding more color than Moira believed reasonable—plus a huge, gray couch centered the room. The big windows let the afternoon summer sun in, even if the floaty drapes were closed, preventing curious eyes from looking in. Her daughter sat in the red seat, a magazine in hand, looking somewhat relieved to see her mother.

"Thea," Moira said, stopping a few steps away from her, "what were you thinking?"

"I wanted to visit Felicity." Thea's voice was small. She bowed her head, causing her long, brunette hair to fall down, hiding her face. "I'm sorry if I made you worry."

There it was: the main sore spot. Moira brushed right past it. "Sweetheart, you can't take the jet without my permission. You can't just leave like that."

"I know. I'm sorry," Thea mumbled, suddenly looking younger than her thirteen years, fumbling with the seam of her bright pink t-shirt. "But I knew if I asked if I could visit Felicity, you'd say 'no.'"

"Yes," Moira confirmed. "I would have declined. For your own good. This isn't an environment I want you subjected to."

Thea's mumbled "I get it now" was barely audible.

Moira glanced at her daughter. The girl was unusually quiet and subdued. Yesterday (Moira had agreed to let Thea stay the night with Felicity to hide the fact that Thea's visit was neither scheduled nor welcome) seemed to have left an impression on her. Good, her mother decided and felt like it was punishment enough.

"We stayed in last night," Felicity entered the conversation, standing a few steps behind her mother-in-law, "but I had an important class today. Thea accompanied me."

Moira had a pretty clear idea what that meant: the percentage of gossip involving her daughter would increase significantly in the next few days. Thank God, it was only temporary. If her reaction was any indication, Thea wouldn't make a habit out of appearing in the gossip pages. Moira nodded more to herself than at Felicity's last statement. At least her daughter was seen at a well-respected college with a family member. That was better than Oliver's first tabloid-appearance, which involved too much alcohol and vomiting on a sidewalk at the age of sixteen.

"We should get back to Starling," Moira stated. "Pack your things."

Her brunette hair flowing behind her, the girl hurried out of the living room, smiling at Felicity in a slightly awkward manner.

Slowly Moira turned around to face the woman legally married to her deceased son. Felicity Smoak. Moira preferred to think of herself as the only Mrs. Queen around. Even if, legally speaking, the woman meeting her gaze coldly was Felicity Queen—as unedifying as it was.

Her beautiful boy always had a thing for girls below his own social standing.

First, it had been that policeman's daughter. How Laurel Lance had become part of her son's group of friends when everybody else came from one of Starling City's leading families was still a mystery to Moira Queen. But the mother had never minded that particular liaison. The Lance-girl knew her place, worshipped the ground Oliver walked on, and forgave his wandering eye (and hands).

All were good qualities for a wife of a successful and powerful man. Moira knew; she had been married to a successful and powerful man—and she had often looked the other way.

Moira Queen had made her peace with welcoming Laurel Lance into the family one day.

And then her son had gone and married the daughter of a cocktail waitress and an absentee father.

How was Moira supposed to make her peace with that?

Turning Felicity into somebody worthy of carrying the last name 'Queen' had been a piece of work. Stylists, etiquette lessons, posing and posture training. All had been necessary, along with the constant reminder to mind her words. That girl had the unfortunate habit of rambling, which was unbecoming for anyone, most certainly for a Queen.

But Moira had to admit that Felicity was handling the constant attention at MIT quite well. Until now there hadn't been any photographs requiring damage control, nothing but Felicity going to class, walking across campus, getting coffee.

The biggest fault the public found in her was the lack of a smile.

For once, Moira couldn't fault the girl. Felicity had lost her son 124 days ago. Moira had lost hers 320 days ago and she didn't feel like smiling much either.

Felicity looked tired, Moira noticed, but decided against questioning Felicity's sleep patterns or reminding her that concealer was an easy way to hide dark shadows under tired eyes. Instead, she straightened up. "I apologize, Felicity. We'll be out of your hair soon."

"Don't worry, Moira. I didn't mind Thea being here, but I think all the people staring freaked her out." Felicity's voice was even. "It can be a lot."

Matching her tone, Moira answered, "I can imagine."

The women looked at it each other for several long seconds. Moira contemplated complimenting Felicity's blue dress to fill the silence. Her choice of wardrobe was appropriate, proof that Moira's work had paid off. Even if the black cardigan she wore with it was too casual for Moira's taste, the outfit fit a college student, Moira supposed.

The Queen matriarch also approved of Felicity's new hair color. The blonde suited her. She had dyed it after burying Jonas. Moira sensed the life change coming with the different hair color and could accept that thinking, as well as the outcome. It wasn't a cheap whorish blonde (in fact Felicity's color was very similar to Moira's own) and it made Felicity's blue eyes pop.

Many things could be said about Moira's late son, but he knew how to pick beautiful girls.

"Oh," Felicity cut into Moira's thoughts, "I got a letter from a lawyer I'd like you to have a look at. I planned on scanning and emailing it to you, but since you are here…." She turned around and headed into the adjoining room.

Moira followed her just as Thea returned with her packed bag, Yves Saint Laurent's initials freckled all over the brown leather. "A lawyer?" Moira asked, entering the huge kitchen. It was spotless in a way that it looked unused. There was a huge table by the window, filled with computer parts of some kind, wires, and tools. Her daughter-in-law was into technology. Moira couldn't even start fathoming that fascination and had elected to ignore it. The interest felt unbecoming for a woman, but part of Moira simultaneously rejected that thought.

Moira Queen would never consider herself a feminist, but she could appreciate Felicity being a smart woman—although that realization had been unexpected. It was something to be wary of. The negotiations drawing up the contract to regularize Felicity's integration (and that of the baby they had all been expecting) into the Queen family, settling rights and duties of each party, had shown Moira that Felicity was more than a pretty face. She was a quick-thinking young woman and not as easily bullied as Moira had expected her to be.

Not the ideal daughter-in-law, in Moira's opinion.

Felicity picked an envelope out of a stack of mail resting on the kitchen counter. "Somebody I don't know claims that I punched her at a party last week."

Moira huffed, reaching for the envelope. "Let me guess, he wants damages for his pain and suffering."

"She. And—yes—she wants money." Felicity shifted her weight uneasily on her naked feet. "I've never punched anybody, ever. Okay, once I slapped that guy that thought it was okay to grab my ass while I waited in line for coffee, but that could count as self-defense. Plus, my hand hurt, too. I might need take up self-defense, working on protecting myself. … In physical situations. … Not sexual. Even though, I'm planning on becoming better with using protecting in that sense, too, after—" Felicity bit her lip to top talking.

Moira appreciated that greatly. She had told the girl many times to think before she talks, to speak slower, to enunciate better. Why did Moira even bother? It felt like a lost cause. She sighed, disappointed.

The sound made Felicity gather herself. She swallowed and said, slower this time, "I wasn't even at that party."

Moira nodded. People trying to make money with untenable accusations was a regular occurrence for Queens. She scanned the letter and her eyes lit upon the number in the middle. "One million dollars."

"I know," Felicity threw her hands up. "It's outrageous."

Actually, it was a comparatively small amount. Girls claiming to be pregnant with Oliver's baby had mostly demanded ten times as much—girls claiming to be pregnant with Oliver's baby, excluding Felicity. Moira folded the letter back up. "I'll pass it on to our lawyers. It will be handled."

"Thank you, I—" The ringing of the doorbell startled Felicity, her posture tightened, a certain suspicion crept into the younger woman's voice. "I'm not expecting anybody." She hesitated before leaving the kitchen.

Moira slowly followed her, putting the letter into her purse still resting in the crook of her elbow. Thea waited in the living room. Moira scanned her daughter, "Are you ready to leave?"

Thea nodded. She glanced down the hall where Felicity was talking into the door's speaker. "Mom," Thea whispered, "people hate Felicity. It's awful."

Moira sensed that her daughter needed assurance. "Felicity's strong," she dismissed, "She can handle it." Thea didn't look convinced but ready to leave the apartment, Cambridge, and everything it entailed. Moira placed her hand on the young girl's shoulder, leading her down the hall to the door. "Don't worry," she told her daughter, "Felicity knows she can always come to us. She just asked me for help and I offered her our resources." They took the last steps just as Felicity pressed the buzzer and opened her apartment door. "Thank Felicity for having you," Moira told her daughter.

"Thanks for letting me stay."

"Of course!" Felicity glanced at Moira and by the look in the other woman's eyes Moira knew she wouldn't like what her daughter-in-law would say next. But Felicity had never cared too much about Moira's (dis)approval. "You can come by any time you want. Just ask your mom first, okay?"

Thea's answer of "okay" sounded like a 'most likely not' to her mother. Her girl hugged Felicity, who pulled her closely to her body, whispering, "Thank you for coming."

They just let go when a young man appeared in the doorframe—all Moira could see were the ridiculous yellow pants he wore.

"Yongtak," Felicity greeted and there was a certain appreciating softness in her voice that Moira had never heard from her daughter-in-law.

"Fe," the man answered, "hey." His eyes jumped to the two other Queens present. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all," Moira said, not in the mood to prolong this unnecessarily, even if it wasn't the best manners. "We were just leaving." She placed her hand on Thea's shoulder, guiding her to the door. "Felicity, I or a lawyer will contact you soon."

"Yes, thank you."

"Goodbye, Felicity."

Thea added her own "bye" and with one last nod to this Yongtak, mother and daughter left the apartment and headed down the stairs. From above them Moira heard the strange man say, "Man, Fe, I thought of the perfect first sentence to break the ice, but now I gotta tell you: you're rocking the blonde hair like nobody's business."

A chuckle followed and a breathed, "God, Tak, I missed you." The door shut above them.

"See," Moira said, glancing down at her daughter walking next to her. "Felicity is going to be fine." Because, really, beyond handling unfounded lawsuits to clear the family name, Moira Queen couldn't worry about that woman. She had more than enough to worry about already.