Blinded by Love and Daring 2/?
Author: dettiot
Rating: T for now
Summary: Five years have passed since Oliver Queen or Felicity Smoak published anything. The world thinks it knows why-a shipwreck and an attack. But the truth is much more intense than anyone realizes . . . not unlike the connection that exists between Oliver and Felicity. Publishing/writer!AU slow burn Olicity. Third in the ink in my pen ran dry series.
Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: I know you might be disappointed by how Oliver and Felicity's paths don't cross in this chapter, but there were some pieces that had to get put into place for the rest of the story. Don't worry, there will be another meeting in chapter 3. But for now, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
XXX
Starling City Examiner, January 4, 2013
The Hood: Friend or Foe?
As the hooded vigilante fights back against the fat cats and elites who have gotten away with their crimes, Starling City is left to ask: who is the real criminal and who are the real victims here? The police and judges who can't or won't put away these criminals . . . or the guy in the hood who's responsible for a five percent drop in crime in the Glades?
Starling City Tattler, March 5, 2013
Newest Fashion Accessory: Hoods!
Eye on Starling blog, April 2, 2013
The Queen Family: From Tragedy to Triumph?
Starling City Times, April 29, 2013
Business Wire
Transfer: One quarter ownership of the nightclub Verdant from Oliver Queen to Thomas Merlyn. This makes Mr. Merlyn the majority owner of the club, as well as its manager. Mr. Queen is rumored to be focusing on other business opportunities and sought to minimize his role in Verdant.
Starling City Times, June 5, 2013
Restoring the Glades: What Next? (excerpts)
It may seem petty to be wrangling over such details, when so many lives were lost during the event called 'the Undertaking'. But in the aftermath of the destruction of several blocks of the Glades, the most pressing question is who pays for the expensive rebuilding of Starling City? Should it be the Queen family, after matriarch Moira Queen admitted to having played a part in the events that lead up to the destruction? Even though she was not found criminally responsible, there are already seventeen civil cases pending against Queen. Or should the blame be laid at the feet of Malcolm Merlyn, who was accused by Queen of being the architect of the Undertaking?
XXX
The sound of a plane flying overhead made Oliver's head jerk up. Dropping the arrow he had been sharpening, he stood and swept his eyes over the sky as his ears tried to determine where the plane was.
The engine noise meant only one thing: his ride was here.
It was time to go back to Starling. Even if he wasn't sure he was ready to go back. Ready to face everything he left behind. Ready to be a disappointment again.
But that had been the deal Diggle had made with him: he could have two months. Two months to "get your damn head on straight," in his partner's words. And then, Oliver had to come back to Starling City and pick up his life again.
Swallowing, Oliver began gathering his supplies and loading them into a knapsack. He wasn't quite sure what Digg expected him to do, how he thought Oliver would be better now. Because Oliver had failed. He hadn't been able to stop the Undertaking, hadn't been able to save the hundred people who had died in the Glades . . .
Hadn't been able to save Tommy.
His best friend. The man who was like a brother to him. One of only two people to know that Oliver Queen was also the Hood. And now Tommy only had one leg.
The night of the Undertaking, Tommy had been at Verdant. He hadn't listened when Oliver told him to get out of the Glades. A beam had fallen, crushing his leg and causing major internal bleeding. Oliver had managed to get him out in time, before another aftershock could have done even worse, but . . . but that wasn't enough.
After a week, once he knew that Tommy would live, Oliver had left. Had fled, really, back to Lian Yu, back to a place that made sense to him. Only Digg's intervention before he left had kept Oliver from leaving Starling forever.
"Oliver, you're feeling guilty right now, and I get that," Digg said, his voice low as they stood in the hallway of Starling General Hospital. "But you have to get past it. It was Tommy's choice to stay at Verdant. It's not your fault."
"It is!" he hissed. "If it wasn't for me-"
"He would have died. A lot more people woulda died, if it wasn't for you getting the earthquake machine dismantled," Digg replied. "You have to remember that."
He shook his head. "I . . . I need to go."
Digg stayed silent, but his expression said it all. There was understanding there, but also a healthy dose of disappointment and doubt. "You sure about that, Oliver? Leave Thea alone like that? Let Tommy recover on his own?"
"They'll be better off without me," he said, the words thick in his throat. "And you'll be here for Thea."
"Oh, I will?" Digg asked, raising an eyebrow.
Oliver looked at Digg, and the other man sighed after a moment. "All right, I'll stay. But on one condition."
Even though he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like this condition, Oliver nodded. "What is it?"
Digg paused. "You get two months. Two months to figure out what you've gotta figure out, get your head on straight, and then I'm bringing you back. Hogtied, if necessary."
Two months wasn't a lot of time. He didn't think it would be enough, but he knew Digg wouldn't give him one day more.
So Oliver had only nodded and left without another word.
Stepping into the crashed plane that had been his shelter during all his stays on the island, Oliver gathered his remaining supplies. Last of all, he tucked the notebooks and pencils he had brought with him into a plastic bag and settled them on top of everything else. Lifting the strap of his quiver and settling it on his shoulder, he carried his knapsack and bow down to the beach.
Most people would think he was crazy, returning to Lian Yu. Some days, he was fairly sure he was. Yet . . . yet somehow, it made sense. Maybe it was because he knew he was here willingly, that he had the supplies he needed to survive, or the simple fact that he would only be here two months. But he had found unexpected clarity here.
He knew what he needed to do now. Tommy had called him a killer, a murderer. Was that what he wanted to be? Was that the way to save Starling City? After the Undertaking . . . it wasn't the right way. Not anymore. He had to be better. And not just as the Hood, but as Oliver, too.
For starters, he had to stop pretending to be the old Ollie. It was more trouble than it was worth. Back in the days when he didn't know what he wanted, who he was, it wasn't a big deal to act the playboy. But now-he was different. He had an identity. One that no one could know about, one that he had to keep secret. But there were better ways of keeping Oliver Queen from being linked to the Hood.
Even if he was taking on a persona that was a bit closer to who he really was.
It was risky. There would be questions asked, explanations to give. And more than that . . . it would make him vulnerable. Because the world accepted Oliver Queen as a spoiled, woman-chasing playboy. It was a useful image, one that deflected attention from him.
Would they accept Oliver Queen, writer?
A real writer. Not the shit he had thrown together and put out as The Frat Boy Way. But actual writing. Seeing if he really did have potential.
Just the word was enough to take him back to that day in December, eight months ago. Running into Felicity, listening to her talk about how she was trying to move on from her attack . . . hearing her say that she still thought he had talent.
Her words held an unexpected power over him-a magnetic pull, drawing something out of him that he didn't know he had. He'd never met anyone who could do that to him, and it made him want to get as far away from Felicity Smoak as possible-while at the same time, he wanted to move in closer and see what else she had to say.
It was why he hadn't asked for her number, or offered his own. Yet every time he stepped into Jitters, he swept his eyes over the crowd, looking for her. But he never saw her again. Not in Jitters, not around the Glades . . .
And then the Undertaking had happened, and he had run away. But her words had stuck with him, and at the last minute he had jammed some writing materials in with his supplies. And that notebook had become even more important than the one he had received from his father.
Oliver wasn't sure if he had gotten his head on straight. But the solitude of Lian Yu had let him discover that maybe Felicity could be right about him. Or maybe it was more he wanted her to be right. He wanted to think he was more than what he had been. Wanted to be more like the man Felicity saw, even if he didn't understand how she could see anything good in him at all.
It was time to find out just who he could be.
XXX
At this moment, Felicity was really wishing she was home. Surrounded by books, with her laptop and tablet keeping her company and a movie she had seen eighty million times playing on the TV. That would be awesome.
Unlike this very awkward dinner. And the sad thing was, she could only blame herself for being here, since tonight had been her idea in the first place.
But the last thing she had expected was for dinner with the Lance sisters and their father to be so . . . fraught.
In all the years that Felicity had known Laurel, she had never come back to Starling City. In Felicity's opinion, it was a real shame, because it meant Sara and Captain Lance only had each other, in good times and bad, and there were enough times that Sara and her father were on the outs that they didn't even have each other. One Christmas, Felicity thought that Captain Lance had visited Laurel in New York, but as far as Felicity knew, this was the first time the three Lances had been together in many years.
So why didn't they seem happier? Why weren't they talking more? Was it because of Felicity's presence?
Taking a sip of her wine, Felicity once again wished she was at home. She'd take staring at her computer screen, trying to figure out what she was going to write now and wondering if Oliver Queen had magical powers that let him help blocked writers figure out how to write. Like an author whisperer or something.
Her cheeks went a bit pink and she swapped her wine glass for some water, then focused on finishing her plate of angel hair pasta.
Part of the reason for tonight's dinner, other than the Lance family reunion, was to celebrate the forthcoming publication of Felicity's new book. Not that it was really new; it was mostly the articles she had written over the years. The only thing that was really new was the foreword she had written. The foreword that had only seemed possible thanks to Oliver.
Something about talking to him, that day in Jitters, had removed the stopper from her words. Gave her the insight to talk about herself in a way she never had before-to have herself be the subject of her writing. She couldn't claim to be an expert on healing or living your life, but she thought that she had put together some words that could help people like her. People that found themselves in a dark place but who wanted to find the light again. Wanted to be positive that good things could happen-that people could be good, more often than not.
She couldn't explain how that one conversation with Oliver had changed things. Whatever it was, it had been fleeting and ephemeral, because now that she was attempting to start a new book, she was back at square one again.
It wasn't like there weren't topics that interested her: there was the e-reader wars, something that could easily turn into a bigger discussion about similar tech battles like Beta vs. VHS and Blu-Ray vs. DVD-HD. Or there was social media and how it was shaping culture, or the mainstreaming of geek culture, or the Kickstarter effect on new technology development . . . Laurel and Ex Astris were begging her to choose anything, to give them something that they could use to start publicizing her return, but she just had . . . nothing.
"So, Felicity, how's the writing coming? Since you said this new book isn't really new."
Captain Lance sounded a bit strained, like he was trying to take the pressure off his attempts at conversation with his daughters-the attempts that kept dying. But his question made Felicity want to crawl under the table. Especially when Laurel looked at her, her lips pursed.
"Yeah, I'd like to know that, too, since you've been tap-dancing around the subject ever since I arrived in town," Laurel said.
While Felicity had tried to balance her wine with glasses of water, Laurel hadn't done the same. It made Captain Lance worry, Felicity knew, based on the looks he had been throwing his oldest daughter.
Pasting a smile on her face, Felicity focused on Captain Lance. "It's good. I'm doing research right now, trying to figure out how to top Treehouse."
"You'll find something," Sara said, patting Felicity's shoulder. "You've got so many ideas."
"That's kind of the problem," Felicity said, trying to laugh and make it sound like a joke. Like she wasn't worrying as much as-or more than-Laurel. "There's just so many different directions I could take."
"You're gonna have to pick something soon," Laurel said before draining her wine. "I told you what Martha said."
It was hard not to wince, but she managed to hold it back. Yes, Laurel had told her what Martha Ellis, the publisher in charge of Ex Astris, had said. She didn't like to think about it, but it was clear that Ex Astris was feeling the pressure and they weren't willing to carry an author who wasn't producing.
Felicity had always thought that she responded well to pressure. But maybe that was a quality she had lost over the last five years, something she just couldn't do anymore.
Captain Lance leaned over towards Laurel, resting his hand on her shoulder and speaking quietly in her ear. Laurel frowned and looked down at the table, then took a deep breath and picked up her glass of water, sipping it slowly.
"How about dessert?" Sara asked, her voice hopeful. "Laurel, they've got tiramisu on the menu. It's still your favorite, right?"
Seeing Laurel nod and manage a weak smile made Felicity feel hopeful, too. Perhaps things would be okay with the Lances. All three of them were important to her, and she wanted them to be happy. To be a family.
In the meanwhile, Felicity resolved that she would make a decision about her next book. It was the least she could do. And if taking some of the pressure off Laurel helped her enjoy her visit to Starling City more, so much the better.
So with that resolve, Felicity made her excuses and let the Lances enjoy dessert together. And while she walked home, she sorted through her ideas and tried to tell herself that one of them could actually work for her next book.
But Felicity couldn't help thinking that she was fooling herself.
XXX
Publisher's Weekly, August 26, 2013
Forthcoming: Stray Wires by Felicity Smoak
This collection of previously-published essays and articles by Smoak, the tech evangelist, features only one piece of new writing: a foreword that's reputed to discuss the brutal attack that's kept her from publishing for five years. Early buzz is mixed on the collection as a whole, but those few who have seen this new work says that it's a remarkable change for Smoak.
Star City Books, September newsletter
Coming Next Month . . .
-Signings with Liane Moriarty (The Husband's Secret), Ian Doescher (William Shakespeare's Star Wars) and Starling City's own Felicity Smoak (Stray Wires)
XXX
As he stepped into the lounge, Oliver felt the tension in his shoulders twist a little tighter. His mother had always claimed they were a family, with the same traditions and rituals as any other group of people related by blood. But Oliver had never agreed with that. His family, even before the island . . . they weren't much of a family. He loved his mother, and he'd do anything for Thea, but something had always seemed to be missing.
So having Moira tell him they were having a family dinner tonight, to celebrate his return to Starling, just made him nervous. Especially when she said she had invited Tommy.
Oliver had been back for a week and he still hadn't seen Tommy. They had texted, of course, but it definitely wasn't the same thing. Because it was easy to hide how you really felt in texts. And he knew his mother had noticed that he wasn't spending time with Tommy. Thea had noticed, too, going by the ass-chewing she had given him last night.
Heading over to the drinks table, Oliver poured himself a whisky and took a deep breath. This last year hadn't been good. He'd made mistakes. A lot of them. All the ways he was broken kept finding new ways to come out, new ways to mess up all that he was trying to build. But he could fix things. Be better.
At least he knew Tommy hadn't told anyone about Oliver's other identity. His best friend might be angry at him-he was furious, most likely. But Tommy wasn't spiteful enough to reveal a secret that wasn't his to tell.
"Drinking already, Ollie? It's tough being back in the bosom of your family, I guess."
Thea's voice was mocking, the sarcasm laid on thick. While he had used a playboy facade to hide what he really felt, Thea had always used sarcasm and a flippant attitude. In a twelve-year-old, it had been amusing. In an eighteen-year-old, it wasn't so amusing. Because Thea had spent the years while he was gone building those defenses and making them strong-particularly over the two months he had been gone.
He understood it. But he didn't like it.
"I'm just nervous about tonight," he said quietly, looking at his little sister. "Seeing Tommy again . . . having to explain myself."
"This is gonna be a night of firsts, then," Thea said, folding her arms across her chest. "I wish I had popcorn."
"I don't. You'd just throw it at me," Oliver said. He smiled a little, trying to break down her walls a little. "You always did that during movies."
She rolled her eyes. "I was a kid then."
Moving closer to her, Oliver looked down at Thea. "I know. But if you want to prove that, there's only one solution."
"And what's that, Ollie?" Thea asked, her eyebrow quirking up.
"Go to a movie with me and eat the popcorn instead of throwing it at me."
There was something about seeing his sister's face light up for a split second, getting a glimpse of the Thea he remembered, that made his heart soften. Made him feel for a moment that maybe having hope wasn't a stupid idea. That it was possible to fix the mistakes he had made.
"I guess so," Thea said, acting casual.
But Oliver could see right through her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. "This weekend, okay?"
She nodded, leaning against him a little. "Okay." They both turned as the familiar click-clack of heels heralded the approach of their mother.
"I've missed seeing this," Moira said, smiling at them. "Both my children, looking happy."
"Enjoy it, because I'm sure I'll do something that pisses Thea off sooner or later," Oliver joked, feeling his spirits as high as they had been since his second return to Starling.
Thea nodded and Moira chuckled softly, only for her smile to fade as she looked at Oliver. "I was expecting Tommy by now . . ."
Oliver tried not to stiffen. "Oh. Let me just-" He pulled out his phone and saw he had received a text message. His stomach sank as he read the message from Tommy.
"He said he's not feeling very well this evening," Oliver said, sliding his phone into his pocket. "I guess it'll just be the three of us."
Moira turned to make herself a drink. "I can't say I'm terribly upset by that . . . even though I love Tommy as much as you both."
Taking a breath, Oliver nodded. "I'll catch up with him later. Tell him what I'm telling you both tonight."
His mother looked curious, and Thea pulled away from him. "What's going on, Ollie?"
He lifted his glass and finished his whisky, then set aside the empty glass, knowing that he was stalling but needing the time. "Mom, I know you've been wanting me to take more of a role in Queen Consolidated . . ."
His mother sighed heavily. "It's getting beyond a matter of wanting and becoming a near-necessity, Oliver. It was by mere luck alone that Malcolm Merlyn's earthquake machine failed and there wasn't a higher death toll in the Glades. And I still have the blame for those deaths, even if the grand jury didn't agree," she said, her voice sounding tight and worried. "The last thing the shareholders want is for me to run Queen Consolidated."
"I know, Mom," Oliver said, reaching out to touch her arm. "But having me as CEO . . . that would be throwing gasoline on a fire. I don't have any experience, I don't have the instincts. Anyone could do a better job than me-and there's a lot of people who could be excellent CEOs." He paused. "People like Walter."
"Oliver," Moira said, closing her eyes at the mention of her soon-to-be-ex-husband.
"He turned down the job, so I've already asked him to put together a search committee to find a new CEO," Oliver said. "He agreed without reservations-he's just waiting for my word to get started." He waited for her to open her eyes and he did his best to smile at her. "I know this isn't what you wanted, but-"
Moira shook her head. "All I've ever wanted was for you and Thea to be happy."
"That's why I can't be CEO, Mom," he said quietly, trying not to reveal his reaction to the concern and worry he saw in her eyes. "It wouldn't make me happy. Not when I know what I want to do."
"You do?" Moira asked, looking pleasantly surprised.
Thea literally blinked and put her hands on her hips. "You want to do something different from what you've been doing, right? I mean, you wouldn't be doing all this if you're just gonna keep being the Tattler's favorite subject, right?"
The moment of levity made Oliver relax for a moment, shooting Thea a small grin. "I know it's a lot for you to live up to-"
The slug in the shoulder he got from Thea was surprisingly strong and he lifted his eyebrows at her. She shrugged and said, "So? What's going on?"
This was it. The nerves that had been a low-level hum within him suddenly became a crashing orchestra. It was time for him to reveal the only part of himself that he could share with his family . . . and the importance of this moment made his hands feel a bit clammy.
And then the image of Felicity, sitting across from him in Jitters and saying that she still thought he had potential, popped into his mind. And Oliver found that the words fell from his lips as easy as raindrops from a cloud.
"Mom, Thea . . . I'm going to be a writer."
XXX
With a sniff, Felicity turned the last page in her book and snuggled down in her couch. There were few things she loved more than those moments right after she had finished reading a book, when she could savor the emotions that the book produced within her. Especially when she was left crying happy tears.
As a way to take her mind off her own research, Felicity had gone through a small stack of books that had been sent for blurbing. To her surprise, she had found a novel in the pile, and something had made her dive into it. It was nice to read a novel-she didn't read nearly enough fiction. And it took her back to when she was little and had devoured the story books and novels she had checked out from the library.
The ringing of her phone cut through her happy moment, making her scramble to find her cell. To her surprise, it was her mother.
It was hard for Felicity to understand her mother. Especially in the first few years after the attack. Because Donna Smoak had seen heartbreak, but . . . she had never let it break her completely. She had just kept smiling, kept acting like the same giddy, happy person that she had always been, never minding that she totally embodied the stereotype of a Vegas cocktail waitress. As a mother, she wasn't much for rules or structure; Felicity had come up with those on her own. So whenever the Smoak women saw each other, it usually turned into Donna encouraging Felicity to shorten her skirts, raise her heels, and 'live a little!'
Yet her mother had been someone she had been thinking about a lot in the last year. Ever since the end of the trial, ever since Felicity had decided she didn't want what had happened to her to define her. Ever since she had decided to actually take her mother's advice and live a little.
So she didn't mind her post-novel savoring being interrupted. "Hi, Mom," she said, hearing the fading remains of tears in her voice.
"Oh, Felicity, are you getting a cold? I saw on the news that Starling City is having a very cold summer."
"No, I'm fine. I just finished reading a book and I got a little sniffly," Felicity said, leaning back against the couch cushions. "It was just so good that I couldn't help crying."
Through the phone, the sound of cars and an occasional burst of louder electronic beeps, bells and whistles came through. Felicity guessed her mother was on a break and had stepped outside of the casino, but was still close enough to the entrance for the slot machine noises to drift towards her whenever the doors opened. Closing her eyes, Felicity pictured her mother in her mind: the blonde hair, the short tight dress, the perfectly-applied makeup.
"You never cried at movies or TV shows-just books," Donna said. "I never understood that. I was bawling during Titanic and you were nitpicking the way the boat was sinking."
"Oh, don't remind me, Mom," Felicity said, trying to smile. "How are you doing? How are tips lately?"
"Lousy-the only big convention right now is some comic book thing and although they drink a lot, they're not exactly high rollers," Donna said, blowing out a breath. "I hate Vegas in August."
Biting her lip, Felicity considered the thought that just popped into her mind. "You . . . you could go on vacation," she said, not sure she was ready to necessarily invite her mother to visit her. But she was sure that with how hard her mother worked, Donna deserved a vacation.
"I wish I could, but the rent just went up and my car's making a lot of funny noises," Donna said, sounding reluctant.
Felicity knew Donna didn't want her to feel guilty, but it was hard not to. Her mother had dropped everything to come help in the aftermath of Felicity's attack-and had gotten fired for it. It had taken six months before she had found another job. And there was no way Felicity could help her mother, like she had done occasionally back in the days when she had more than enough money for herself.
"Let's talk about something else," Donna said. "What's going on with you? You never post anything interesting on your Facebook page."
"You read my Facebook page?" Felicity asked in surprise. "I mean, it's more for professional networking and connecting with my fans, not for sharing personal photos and talking about myself . . ."
Donna let out a noise that sounded frustrated. "Felicity, sometimes it feels like the only things I know about you are whatever's in your books! And I don't understand all your techy-tech stuff, but I've still read every one of them because I want to know you."
Blinking, Felicity sat up straight, feeling the stirrings of all her insecurities, both old and new. "What are you saying, Mom?" Her voice sounded cold and hard, and she didn't like that. Giving her head a shake, she tried to make herself sound less icy. "I just mean, what do you want to know?"
There was a long pause. It wasn't often that Felicity asked her mother for advice, and the fact that Donna didn't have an immediate response made her think that her mother was weighing her words carefully.
"I just . . . I think you're more than what you've done so far. That treehouse book, that was pretty close. But the best thing you've ever written was that bit from that book of articles, talking about how you're trying to move on. That-that made me so proud of you."
Felicity could hear a small sniff as her mother finished speaking. Her own throat had closed up and it took her swallowing hard to be able to talk. "Really?"
"Really. You should do more things like that." Donna paused. "And you should open up more and tell people stuff about yourself. Let them in."
She pulled a leg in against her chest, wrapping an arm around it. "I'll think about it." That was all she could say, really. Because . . . because she didn't want to reveal just how scared she was at the thought of letting strangers in like that. People who would criticize and mock the smallest decision or most insignificant aspect of her life, as well as the important things. She wasn't sure she had healed enough for that.
But . . . but really, her mother was saying all this because she wanted to know what was going on in Felicity's life. She could do that. Without having to post it on Facebook or tweet or anything.
"Guess what, Mom?" Felicity asked, hoping she sounded more upbeat. "You're not the only blonde Smoak anymore."
A squeal that was practically super-sonic made Felicity pull the phone away from her ear with a laugh. "You dyed your hair?! You need to send me a picture! And then post it so everyone can see how gorgeous you look!"
Smiling, Felicity ducked her head and listened as her mother talked, and she promised to send Donna a picture as soon as they got off the phone, and through it all . . . she wondered if she should take this latest piece of her mother's advice.
End, Chapter 2
