A/N: I decided I should post this over here as well, in addition to Tumblr and Ao3. In the interest of fairness and all.
This story was originally conceived and planned last summer and I got the idea from this post. Yep, that means I've been outlining, planning, writing it and ignoring it for a good nine months. I have quite a few chapters written and the lovely mersayseh has helped me with some beta work, assuring me that I've not totally gone off the deep end.
I'm taking a risk here: this story isn't completed. I know how to complete it, but its not done just yet. But I'm hoping that posting it will urge me to just go ahead and FINISH IT already. That and Mer's constant threats. ;) So here it is, in all it's terrible, cheesy glory. YES, I know this is a thin premise and it's archaic and tropey and quite possibly entirely unbelievable. But just work with me here.
A tall, handsome man in a tailored suit stepped into the Queen living room, looking every bit as though he belonged there. Moira Queen, the family matriarch, looked up from the small table set up next to the bank of windows and smiled, though no warmth met her eyes. She stood and extended a hand towards the man.
"Malcolm. So nice to see you again. I admit I was surprised when you told me you'd like to meet for coffee."
Malcolm Merlyn stepped up to her and shook her hand, his dark blue eyes glittering in the filtered light from the window. "I know you were and I apologize for the suddenness. Thank you for agreeing to see me."
Moira gestured for him to have a seat in the chair on the opposite side of the table and sat herself, smoothing her skirt with her palms. She looked to the doorway where Raisa, the family's longtime trusted maid and cook, stood waiting. The older Russian woman hurried forward, pushing a small serving cart loaded with coffee carafe, sugar and cream and various pastries. She left the cart next to the table and Moira nodded at her. "Thank you, Raisa. That will be all."
"So what is this about, Malcolm?" she asked as she lifted the carafe and poured coffee into her own cup before filling the cup in front of Malcolm as well. She watched as he added cream, no sugar.
"Can't I just want to get together with an old friend and chat?" he asked, sounding far too innocent. Moira knew better. If there was anything Malcolm wasn't, it was innocent.
"Forgive me for assuming you have an ulterior motive," she remarked dryly as she added cream and sugar to her drink, stirring with a small, silver spoon.
"I heard Oliver is returning to us."
She looked up sharply, her coffee cup poised just in front of her lips. But Malcolm just smiled blandly, no hint of agenda. Unsettled, she took a sip and then set the cup back down on the saucer. "Yes, he'll be home this evening."
"I'm sure you're very excited to see him. He's been gone for so long."
It was a pointed jab, Moira knew. She expected that Malcolm knew exactly why Oliver had had to leave the country. Most everyone in their society circle knew. Just because the Merlyn family hadn't been involved with the war between the Queens and the Bertinellis didn't mean Malcolm didn't know exactly what had gone down fourteen months ago. He knew exactly what her family had lost that terrible day when Moira's husband had been killed and her son had been forced into exile.
"Yes, it's been far too long," she agreed. "We're happy to have him back where he belongs."
Malcolm made a noise as he took another drink of his coffee. "I know Tommy is looking forward to seeing him again. And, to be perfectly honest, I'll be glad to have them back together, ripping up the town."
Moira arched an eyebrow. "Surely, you're joking. Or have you forgotten all the trouble those two used to get into together?"
He chuckled. "I haven't forgotten. But those sorts of troubles I could handle. Dealing with publicists is one thing but…"
"What's going on, Malcolm? Tommy is doing okay, isn't he?" She hadn't heard of anything, that is, but that didn't always mean anything. In the lifestyle their families led, things sometimes happened without anyone else knowing about them.
"He's dating," Malcolm ground out, his jaw tight.
Moira chuckled. "Well, that's not so bad."
"A cop's daughter. My fool of a son is dating a cop's daughter. Can you believe it?"
"Oh, Malcolm." Moira's heart genuinely went out to the man, despite the troubles their families had had in the past. She knew the sort of headache that situation presented, having dealt with the issue herself when Oliver briefly dated Laurel Lance when they were in high school. Laurel was the daughter of one of Starling City's most prominent detectives. Moira had made her displeasure clear and had urged Oliver to end things with her. She needn't have bothered; Oliver always tended to do his own thing and was stubborn as an ox. He was also as unfaithful as a wild horse sowing his oats. Laurel caught him cheating just weeks after they'd begun their relationship and that had been that.
"I know you've dealt with this before," Malcolm said, echoing her thoughts and fixing her with a level look. "Laurel Lance?"
"Yes, that was her name. Oliver chased her away, thank goodness, before any trouble could brew."
"If only I were so lucky. Tommy has fallen in love with her and they've been dating for six months now. I blame my concentration on the deal with the Triad, otherwise I would have noticed sooner."
"Wait, are you saying that Tommy is dating Laurel Lance?" Hell, that was a problem.
"I am indeed saying that. He wants to move in with her."
"Good lord, Malcolm. And you've tried talking to him?"
"Of course I've tried! He insists they're in love. I'm hoping that Oliver being back in town will encourage Tommy to… stray."
Ah. It all made sense now. "You're hoping my son's philandering ways will rub off on yours?"
"More or less."
This wouldn't do at all. Moira had very different plans for her son. Plans that involved him becoming the leader of the Queen family, as her husband had wished. The fourteen months in Russia had been necessary to avoid prosecution for the murder Oliver had committed, but now that his exile was over, he had responsibilities. And those responsibilities did not include peeing on cop cars with Tommy Merlyn. Which is exactly what she told Malcolm.
The other man was unfazed by her declaration. "If you recall, Tommy wasn't the one doing the peeing. He was the one video-taping the whole thing."
Moira waved an impatient hand. "They were both high as kites and they both were charged by the police. The point is, Malcolm, Oliver will not be participating in such antics any longer. He is the head of this family now. He needs to start acting like it."
Malcolm snorted derisively. "Next thing you'll be telling me is he's going to get married." He chuckled before finishing off his coffee and setting the cup down with a thunk.
Married. The word flashed through her mind and her first instinct was to deny it as foolishness. Oliver, married? No doubt he'd grown up quite a bit in the last fourteen months but she highly doubted her son was the sort to be pinned down to marriage. At least not for several years yet.
However… if she were to find just the right sort of girl… It would have to be someone innocent, respectable and easily groomed. Moira pictured a sweet, timid girl that she could easily steer and direct and influence. She would make her the perfect society wife; the sort of woman who turned a blind eye to her husband's infidelities, who looked good on his arm and said yes to everything the family required of her… It was the perfect plan. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before. During the months after Oliver had left the country, nameless woman after nameless woman had come to the door, claiming to be pregnant with the Queen family scion. All lies, of course, but the gold diggers had sensed a vulnerability, blood in the water, and were quick to exploit it. Marrying Oliver off would afford the family certain protections from situations like that. If he was married (to a woman of her own choosing of course), at least she wouldn't have to worry about some money-hungry vixen luring her son into marriage.
The best part was that Moira already knew just the girl. There was a man who owed a great debt to the Queen family. He was a drug addict and a gambler and had lost a veritable fortune in the Queen family casinos located up the river. There was no way this man could ever repay them the debt he owed so she'd been trying to come up with a way to deal with the situation, aside from having him fitted with cement boots and tossed off the docks.
It just so happened Jerry Smoak had a lovely young daughter. Moira had seen her once, at the Queen Consolidated offices downtown, actually. The girl worked in the IT department, didn't seem to have much social life and though Moira had only spoken to her once, she'd had the impression of an awkward and shy young woman.
Perfect.
Moira beamed at Malcolm and told him she was sorry for his troubles but that he'd have to try to find a way to rid his son of Laurel Lance other than using her son. As of tonight, Oliver Queen was going to find himself off the market.
Oliver Queen stepped out of the jetway and into the Starling City International Airport. The last time he'd been in this airport had been fourteen months earlier when he was nearly sick with grief over the death of his father and the blood of his killing on his soul. The blood was still on his soul, but at least the heat had died down back home. Legally speaking. The last time he'd spoken to his mother before arranging to return home, she'd assured him that not only were the police no longer searching for him in connection with the murder of Frank Bertinelli, but that the Queen family had made peace with the Bertinelli family and no retribution would be sought.
Shouldering his knapsack, Oliver headed to the baggage claim. He only had a duffle with him in addition to the knapsack and that was all he'd owned in the world while he was in Russia, living in a safe house. The last time he'd been in Starling City he'd been scared and naive. It felt as thought it'd been longer than fourteen months since he'd been in his hometown. He felt like he'd aged five years. No longer was he the naive, self-absorbed and feckless playboy he'd been before the war with the Bertinellis. He'd done a lot of growing up, not just in the long five days of that terrible war, but in the long months in Russia.
It was lucky that Raisa, the woman who'd virtually raised him, had family back in Russia, just outside of Moscow, who were willing to take him in. Oliver had done his best to earn his keep on the small farm and spent all this spare time training, reading, training some more and learning whatever he could about anything at all. Back home, he'd failed out of five universities in his youth and after that, he'd spent his days sleeping off his hangover from the night before. What a waste. For years, his father had hoped for him to take a position at Queen Consolidated and begin to learn the family business. Both the legitimate front and the… not-so-legitimate backend. Oliver had continually put him off, believing he had years left for all of that boring stuff.
How wrong he had been.
At the age of twenty eight, Oliver had finally gotten involved in the dirtier side of the family business when the war with the Bertinellis had escalated to the terrible point where Frank, head of the Bertinellis, had shot down Robert Queen right on the street in front of the Queen Consolidated building. Oliver had arrived just in time to hold his father in his arms as he bled out and died. The strike on Frank Bertinelli had been calculated and swift and Oliver had taken a perverse enjoyment out of shooting that man and watching the life fade from his eyes.
Fourteen months in Russia had been a small price to pay for that vengeance.
Oliver was now ready to take the responsibility he'd avoided before. The thought of returning to his former lifestyle held no appeal to him anymore. What had been so thrilling before now seemed pointless and dull. The women had been nice, of course, but the drinking and drugs and endless partying had long lost their luster. Considering what had instigated the war in the first place, as nice as women were, he felt he was better off without one in his life.
His duffle bag came off the baggage carousel and he grabbed it up before heading out the sliding glass doors. Parked right out front, as expected, was the long, sleek limousine his mother had sent to pick him up. The chauffeur, a new guy from the looks of it, took his bags and put them in the trunk while Oliver slid into the backseat.
Already seated across from him was his mother. "Mom! I wasn't expecting you to come to the airport," he said.
Moira Queen smiled. "It's good to see you too, Oliver. How was the trip?"
"Way too many hours in a tin can flying over the half the world," he admitted. "It's good to see you, mom. How's Thea?" His sister, now twenty years old, had sent him letters fairly regularly the first few months he'd been gone but news from her had tapered off. He missed her, in spite of himself. She'd been a pest to him when she was younger but, as with just about everything else in his life, Oliver hadn't fully appreciated her until he'd lost just about everything.
"She's fine. Busy with this and that. We have her managing the nightclub, actually. She's done really great things with it."
"Verdant?" Oliver asked incredulously. He still thought of the club as "his" even though that was an entirely laughable concept. Verdant had been his father's last-ditch effort to pull Oliver towards doing something professional. He'd had the club built in one of the family's old abandoned steel factories and had put Oliver in charge. "In charge" was a broad concept in this case, however. He'd parade through the club, picking up women and drinking and leave the actual running of the club to various staff his father had hired. Essentially, Robert Queen's plan had backfired and Oliver hadn't honestly given much thought to the club during his exile. He was surprised to hear his baby sister was running it now. "Isn't she too young?"
Moira waved a manicured hand. "Too young to serve, not too young to sell. We have the proper city officials on a payroll, I remind you. Besides, her birthday is in a few months and then it'll be moot. Thea enjoys the work and like I said, she's done a great job."
"I'm glad for her," Oliver admitted. In all truth, he wouldn't have had time for Verdant now anyhow, now that he was taking over his father's position. Queen Consolidated alone was going to monopolize a lot of his time and attention. "Any other news I need to know about?"
Moira rearranged herself on the leather seat and Oliver glanced at her appearance. He'd never known his mother to look anything but cool, calm and collected. Her blonde hair was styled perfectly, her makeup flawless, her suit pressed and perfectly complimenting her skin tone… he expected no less. Oliver wondered why she insisted on him running the family when he knew for a fact that she was more than capable of handling the job herself.
"Tommy is dating Laurel Lance. Apparently, it's quite serious."
"Seriously?" That surprised Oliver. He'd dated Laurel for about a month ten years ago. Tommy hadn't ever seemed to give her a second thought, even at the time. Now they were dating? He made a mental note to reconnect with his best friend as soon as possible and find out what was going on in his life.
"Indeed. It has Malcolm very worried, for obvious reasons. He wants you to lure Tommy back to a life of debauchery so his family can be rid of her."
That didn't surprise Oliver. If anyone was more heartless than his mother about matters such as these, it was Malcolm Merlyn. "You told him I wasn't into all that anymore, right?"
"I did. But the conversation gave me an idea. We need to establish you as different from the boy you used to be. We need to cultivate a responsible, capable image for you now."
"I know that." The hairs on the back of his neck raised. "What do you have in mind?"
"I think you need to get married."
If she'd told him he needed to jump off the State Street Bridge, he couldn't have been more surprised. Oliver gaped at his mother. "Married? You can't be serious."
"I am completely serious. A nice, docile wife will be just the thing to project the image we need."
"No. Absolutely not. Mom, I—" He broke off, not sure how to tell her all the thoughts and guilt that had plagued him for the last fourteen months. "I'm not cut out for that sort of relationship."
"I know you have issues with fidelity, Oliver. That's why I am suggesting a docile, understanding wife."
He clenched his jaw. "That's not what I mean. I'm not cut out for a relationship, especially not something as permanent as that. Jesus, I think everything that happened before I had to leave town confirmed that, don't you?"
"Oliver," his mother began, sitting forward so she could place her hand over his where it rested on his knee. "This would have nothing to do with that. I've already picked out the perfect girl and we'd be sure to avoid any issues you've had before, including what happened fourteen months ago."
"You're not getting me, mom. I'm not cut out for marriage. I would ruin her life."
"Nonsense! You're an excellent catch, one of Starling City's most eligible bachelors! She would have prestige as your wife, access to money, clothes, security and anything she could probably ever want…"
"You're describing a gold digger, mom. I thought you were all about warning me away from them."
"Aren't you listening to me? I've already found the perfect woman. I've spoken to her father just this evening and he's very motivated to set up a meeting between you and his daughter. This girl is no gold digger, I assure you. Even better, she's certain to have no agenda of her own."
Oliver drew his hand out from under his mother's and used his fingers to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache and he hadn't even been home a half an hour yet. "I can't do this. You can't ask me to do this. I'm not ready for this."
"You might think you're not ready now but—"
"I will never be ready. Marriage isn't for me, mom."
"Oliver." Moira sat up straight in her seat and fixed him with a level gaze. Oliver recognized the look; this was her Steel Queen persona, the one she was known throughout the city for. "I'm not asking you. You are back home to take your father's place. That position comes with responsibilities and this is just one of those responsibilities. What you want is now secondary and I'm sorry for that but this is what being a Queen means. You know that. You were raised knowing this."
Shit. She had him there. As soon as he'd been old enough to understand, he'd known the truth of what being a Queen meant. His parents' marriage had been a business arrangement and he was expected to follow that same path. So was Thea. He'd never cared when he was younger, thinking that fate was years away. Oliver breathed deep and turned his head to look out the window, at the cityscape passing by as the limo whisked them away to the Queen compound located on the outskirts of town.
"Fine. Set up the meeting. I can at least meet her."
"That's the spirit."