"You can't do this!"
"I'm pretty sure you'll find I can."
"Ollie… I mean, I hate him as much as anyone, but how long do you think you can keep Malcolm handcuffed to the toilet?" Thea asks uneasily from the doorway.
Oliver steps back and studies Malcolm like he's really thinking about the question seriously. He's not. He knows the answer already.
"That depends…" he says finally.
"On what?" Malcolm demands commandingly, which looks fairly absurd considering the main is literally chained to a toilet.
"On how long it takes to save Tommy and overthrow Ra's," Oliver tells him.
"You can't just leave me here, Oliver. You can't," Malcolm says more insistently.
Oliver leans forward so he's invading Malcolm's personal space before he speaks again. Truth be told, it feels good to have the decidedly upper-hand with Malcolm for once.
"I can't let Tommy kill you. I can't trust you. I can't let you escape. I can't let you out of my damned sight, but I can keep you here," Oliver tells him.
"You don't understand," Malcolm insists a little more desperately. "There's more to this than you know. I have allies, Oliver. They'll come looking for me. You can't keep me here or there will be consequences you can't even begin to dream of."
"Even if I believed you, the threat right now is my best friend torturing and killing my son and my sister before destroying the entire city and everyone in it," Oliver reminds him. "There's nothing worse than that. There's no threat you or your allies can make that tops that."
"Oliver… OLIVER," Malcolm shouts as Oliver turns to leave, but Oliver is done listening.
He stops in the doorway where Thea is standing there with her arms crossed looking up at him.
"If he keeps shouting, gag him," Oliver tells her.
Thea's eyebrows go up and she purses her lips for a moment before nodding.
"Well… okay then," she agrees with a toothy grin. "I was going to go check on Nyssa, but your idea sounds like more fun."
"You can do both," Oliver shrugs.
"Thea…" Malcolm says with a warning tone, apparently changing who to appeal to.
Oliver doesn't think Malcolm will have any more luck with Thea than he did with him. She's livid with her father, both over him exposing Connor to the League and keeping Tommy's survival a secret from her. Frankly, Oliver isn't sure his sister won't gag her father just because she can. If he'd been living for the better part of a year with Malcolm hiding on a boat, he's pretty sure he'd want to gag him, too.
"Damn it," Felicity's frustrated voice rings out from the kitchen a second before the smoke alarm starts going off.
It's somewhat satisfying to hear Malcolm's indignant shouts suddenly muffled, but Oliver doesn't dwell on that. Instead he heads toward the kitchen where there's a thin haze of smoke drifting out at the top of the doorway.
"Felicity?" he asks with some concern.
"I've got it," she shouts back.
He rounds the corner to find her standing on a chair waving a dishtowel furiously at the smoke detector. It doesn't take long for him to figure out exactly what's going on. This used to happen with some frequency, actually, back when they first moved in together and she'd decided that she should cook some of the time. Just… he sort of thought she'd learned that wasn't the best idea months ago.
"You were… cooking?" he asks hesitantly as the smoke alarm quiets down and she steps off of the chair.
"Connor woke up," she says as explanation.
"...Okay?" he says, looking past her to see a burnt mess of something in a pot.
"He's hungry, Oliver," she says sharply. "He's hungry and we have like… that spicy pork dish you made the night before last and leftover lamb and he's ten. He's not going to eat those things."
"So… you were cooking him… what exactly?" Oliver asks, looking at the pot again.
"Macaroni and cheese," she says uneasily.
"Okay," he agrees, because there's literally nothing else he can say without getting himself in trouble.
"I don't know how to do this!" she exclaims in frustration, throwing the dishtowel, her blue eyes suddenly watery.
And… alright, maybe there was nothing he could say without getting himself in trouble. He's not exactly sure what's going on with her right now, but he does know how to deal with it.
"Do what?" he asks, moving towards her and drawing her into his arms as as she starts honestly sniffling. "Hey… hey, you're amazing. You can do anything… well, except cook. Maybe leave that to me... and the Chinese place down the street."
She sort of half laughs and half sobs at that before burying her face in his chest and holding on to him like she's clinging on to home.
"I want him to like me," she mumbles into Oliver's chest finally. "I really want him to like me."
"He does like you," Oliver tells her immediately. "I'm pretty sure he likes you more than he likes me right now."
She stares up at him with an unimpressed look on her face. They're both well aware that Connor isn't exactly Oliver's biggest fan at the moment. It's sort of undeniable.
"He likes Nyssa better than either of us," she points out.
"Right, well… she is a ninja who saved him from being kidnapped and defended him with a sword. That probably that earned her some points," Oliver reminds her.
"I just… there's so much right now," she says, her lower lip shaking some and her eyes still watering up. "I have Malcolm Merlyn chained to my toilet. You have a son and he's here. Tommy's alive but, like, Imperiused. The former heir to the demon is doped up on pain medicine and asleep in our guest room. Your son's mother is on her way and I just… I just wanted to make him macaroni and cheese, okay?"
"Okay," he agrees easily.
He gets it. He does. There's so much out of their control right now and she's been his rock through this whole thing, but even she has her breaking point. She can't do anything about Malcolm or Tommy or Nyssa or Sandra, but Connor… Connor at least she can help.
"How about we make it together?" he offers her.
"You mean you want me to stand here and watch while you make macaroni and cheese, don't you?" she asks, eyes narrowing slightly in accusation.
"Well… I mean, you'd be there for moral support," he tells her.
She huffs a laugh and shakes her head.
"It's a really important part of cooking," he assures her.
"Sure it is," she scoffs.
"It is!" he insists. "You make everything better just by being there."
It's cheesy as hell, but it gets her smiling so it's a victory in his head. He doesn't care if he sounds like a love-sick sap with her. Because he is. It's genuine. He'll be a sappy fool to make her smile any day.
"Fine," she agrees, rolling her eyes, rising to her toes to kiss him lightly and resting her hands on his chest.
"So… is there really a fire?" Connor asks suddenly from the doorway, drawing both of their attention.
"No just… a cooking accident. It's taken care of now," Oliver tells him.
"I shouldn't be allowed near burners, is what Oliver's trying to say," Felicity admits.
"Oh…" Connor says uneasily, shuffling his feet.
"It's okay," Felicity says hurriedly. "Oliver's a good cook. He can whip up some macaroni and cheese for you in no time, okay?"
"I'm allergic to milk," Connor replies.
Felicity's shoulders droop immediately.
"Right," she sighs, glancing back at her epicly failed cooking venture. "Of course you are."
"You couldn't have known that," Oliver reminds her, his hand resting reassuringly against her shoulder.
"I could have asked!" she points out.
"It's okay," Connor tells her with a one-shouldered shrug. "I should've told you. I know it's my job to bring it up. My mom taught me by kindergarten. I always tell people if I'm eating at their house but I just… there's a lot going on. I forgot."
"I'm allergic to peanuts," Felicity offers up.
"So… no macaroni and cheese and no peanut butter and jelly. Okay…" Connor says. "Is there… uh… anything? Cause Nyssa and I didn't exactly stop for breakfast and I'm kinda really hungry."
"How about a ham sandwich?" Oliver offers.
"Yeah, okay," Connor agrees.
"Oh my God, I can make that," Felicity says, looking more delighted than is really warranted.
"No burners involved," Oliver smiles at her.
"Give me five minutes," Felicity says. "Go wash your hands."
Connor gives her a strange look but wanders off to do as she says.
"So can I be your cooking moral support then?" Oliver asks her as she scurries to the fridge and starts pulling things out.
"No…" she tells him, digging through the meat drawer. "You can go wash your hands."
He blinks at her in surprise.
"You're going to have lunch with your son, Oliver," she informs him. "Bond."
"Okay…" Oliver says slowly. "Then we both are."
"What? No. You two need to have a moment or three hundred of father-son time. I'll just… go check on Nyssa or make sure Malcolm hasn't chewed through his handcuffs or something," Felicity says.
"We're a team, Felicity," Oliver points out. "He's my son, but you're my partner. I want him to understand that."
She pauses to look at him, mustard in one hand and a head of lettuce in the other.
"There is… literally no other part of my life that can offer him stability," Oliver points out. "He's in danger because of me. He might always be, honestly. I am pissed as hell at Sandra and I have no idea how we'll deal with this. The media is going to be all over him and they're not going to let up. But you and me? We're solid. I want him to see that. He needs to see that."
"Okay," she says, biting back a smile and pulling out six slices of bread. "Okay… then… let's have lunch."
Perhaps predictably, lunch proves an incredibly awkward affair. Felicity apparently feels like she needs to set a good example for Connor or something because there's a pile of baby carrots on everyone's plates where she'd definitely normally have potato chips and they all get fruit cups. It's not fresh fruit either. Oliver wouldn't mind it if it were fresh fruit. It's not. It's the canned stuff Felicity likes to mix with her cottage cheese for breakfast. He can't stand this stuff. But, Felicity shoots him a look when he makes a face at it and he realizes very quickly that it's in his own best interests to just eat the syrupy peach, pear and cherry mixture masquerading as fruit.
"Thank you," Connor says when they first sit down.
"You're welcome," Felicity beams proudly back at him.
There's a whole lot of quiet chewing after that. Connor keeps surreptitiously stealing glances in Oliver's direction and Oliver can't think of a single thing to say, but Felicity keeps nudging his knee with hers and raising her eyebrows as she tilts her head toward Connor. He manages a stilted, half-formed question about school, which Connor just shrugs at, and another about sports, which gets a one-line response.
It's terrible, basically.
Oliver's never sat through quite so awkward a meal in his life and that's saying something considering the double date he once had with Helena, Laurel and Tommy.
"So…" Connor starts off uneasily, pushing crumbs around his plate like they might form the words he wants to say. "I'm not saying you're my dad, cause you're not. But… if you were… would that make Felicity my step-mom… or something?"
He hears Felicity's breath catch and he can feel her looking at him. This really, really is a question he should have realized Connor would ask. And, really, if he'd been less distracted by the mass murderer in his bathroom and his recently-resurrected, newly-evil best friend, probably he would have.
"Or something," Oliver agrees. "Felicity and I aren't married, but she is an incredibly important part of my life. She's my partner. We live together."
"Good. 'Cause I have a mom. She's awesome. I don't need another one," Connor says firmly. "I don't need a dad either. I know earlier maybe it sounded like I did, but I don't. I'm fine the way I am. My mom and me, we're fine."
That… hurts. It hurts more than it probably should, but his son is saying he doesn't need him and he's dismissing Felicity and it opens up something raw in Oliver's gut that he hadn't realized could ache so badly.
"I think… I think family isn't about needing someone," Felicity says slowly. "It's about relying on each other and making each other's lives better. I'm not trying to replace your mom, Connor. I wouldn't want to and I wouldn't know how to. But, title or not, I'd like to choose for you to be a part of my family, if you'll let me."
It's a toss-up who is more surprised at Felicity's words, Oliver or Connor. The boy has the grace to at least look a little bit uncomfortable about his earlier statements, but Oliver just finds himself staring at Felicity. How she managed to find exactly the right thing to say to Connor when Oliver has barely been able to string together a full sentence to talk to his son, he has no idea. But he's utterly enchanted by her.
His hand seeks out hers under the table and he squeezes it a little, earning himself a brief, nervous glance from her. He wants to tell her that she's amazing, that she's handing all of this so much better than she thinks she is, that he'd very much like to give her that stepmother title officially, even if she doesn't feel equipped for it. But this isn't the time for any of that. Not with Connor across the table.
"Okay," Connor says finally. "Just… maybe no more carrots, okay? Vegetables with lunch is totally a mom thing to do."
"I hate them too," Felicity confesses with a scrunched nose.
"It's your house. Why do you even have them if you hate them?" Connor asks bewildered.
"Oliver uses them in smoothies," she confides in a conspiratorial tone.
"Oh that's gross, Oliver," Connor says, pulling a face.
"It doesn't taste like carrots! There are other things in it!" Oliver insists in a tone that is slightly exasperated because he and Felicity have had this conversation a dozen times before and she still won't even try the smoothie.
"Super gross," Felicity agrees with Connor, nodding along with him. "There's kale in it. It's green."
"That's just disgusting," Connor shudders, his little nose scrunched up in distaste.
"I'm feeling a little ganged up on here, guys," Oliver says, even though he not-so-secretly loves it.
"We're ganging up on your taste buds, mister. They need to be overthrown," Felicity tells him.
"Which one of us does the cooking again?" Oliver asks her.
"So not the point," Felicity snorts.
"I'm… pretty sure it is, actually," Oliver tells her.
"Not when I'm the one doing the shopping, it's not. Or, well… the ordering of the groceries online, anyhow," she reminds him. "Maybe after lunch Connor can help me and we can have a shopping order that includes neither kale nor carrots."
"Can there be potato chips?" Connor asks with great gravity.
"On my shopping list? Totally," Felicity tells him. "Come on. Help me clear the plates and then we'll-"
There's a solid knock on the door that cuts Felicity off. She and Oliver trade a quick look. There's been absolutely nothing good that has come from someone showing up at their door for days now and neither one is exactly at ease at the moment.
"In the kitchen," Oliver orders the pair, his tone inviting no argument.
That's okay. Neither one looks like they want to contest that idea anyhow. Connor's learned very quickly to be wary, which is something Oliver is both grateful and sorry for in equal measure.
It's not bad news at the door this time, though. Not exactly, anyhow. As soon as Felicity and Connor are out of sight in the kitchen, Oliver opens the door to find a very anxious looking Sandra Hawke standing on the other side.
He hasn't seen her in over ten years, has only rarely thought of her in that time, but he finds she looks very much the same as he remembers. And, now that he's face-to-face with her, he can see bits of her in Connor, too. The boy's nose has the same sharp line as her's, his lips are fuller, like hers. The resemblance only serves to drive home that Connor is their son. That she intentionally hid the boy's existence from him. That she lied and said he'd died. And, quite suddenly, Oliver is incredibly, hugely livid with his one-time lover.
"Where is he?" Sandra says, sounding both nervous and a little frantic at the same time.
Her tone actually takes the edge off of Oliver's anger for the moment. He has every right to be incredibly pissed off at her, but he also knows she's a mother whose child was kidnapped in the middle of the night by assassins. Her terror is palpable.
"Where's my son, Ollie?" she asks.
"You mean our son?" he shoots back, his voice tight and anger barely reigned in.
She freezes at that, turns a few shades paler and he can see her gulp. She opens her mouth like she's going to say something, but can't find the words. There's a strangled little noise in her throat instead of words and he knows, knows that this is pretty much her worst nightmare come to life.
"MOM!" Connor shouts, barrelling out of the kitchen and past Oliver to throw himself into his mother's arms.
She clings to him immediately, crying into her son's hair and kissing him over and over on the crown of his head. In a lot of ways, Sandra has failed their son. Oliver knows that. But in this way… at least it's obvious that she loves the boy madly. And that's something. It's a lot, in fact.
"You're okay?" she's asking, pulling back to look Connor over and stroke the sides of his face. "Con? You're not hurt, right? God, I was so scared, baby."
"I'm fine, mom," Connor assures her, not fighting at all as she tugs him back into her arms. "Nyssa saved me from the other guy. She's badass."
"Language, Con," Sandra says automatically, but there's no weight to her words and Connor disregards them entirely .
"And Oliver and Felicity helped keep me safe, too. They're pretty cool, I guess," Connor says, pulling away from his mother slightly to look her in the eye. "I mean, Oliver can fight with a sword. That's kind of awesome… Right?"
He's working his way up to asking her something. It's painfully obvious. Oliver knows it. Sandra knows it. Even standing on the opposite side of the room, Felicity probably knows it, too.
"Why don't you come in and sit down," Oliver offers them.
"Yes, that's… probably better than lingering in your doorway," Sandra agrees, looking up at Oliver with no small measure of nervousness. "Thank you."
Oliver can't quite get himself to say 'you're welcome,' but he does nod back with thinned lips before shutting the door behind Sandra and Connor.
"Sandra, this is Felicity Smoak, my girlfriend," Oliver introduces, gesturing towards Felicity, who crosses the room to shake Sandra's hand.
"Yes, I've… seen you on television occasionally," Sandra says, anxious smile firmly in place. "It's nice to meet you."
"You, too," Felicity says kindly, an awkward silence filling the space as she steps back. "Can I… get you anything? Water or… I dunno, some wine? Because, wow, I'd really like a glass of wine if I were in your shoes. Actually, I kind of want one in my shoes, too. Do you like cabernet sauvignon? Or merlot? I mean, I know that's sort of cliche these days, but so what, right?"
"Felicity, honey," Oliver smiles at her, shaking his head affectionately.
"It's five o'clock somewhere, Oliver," she tells him. "It's five o'clock somewhere and if ever there were a time for day-drinking, I'm going to go out on a limb and say this is it."
"I'll have a glass if you are," Sandra jumps in. "That actually… that sounds nice."
Rambles and borderline inappropriateness aside, Felicity might have had the right idea, Oliver realizes. Sandra's hands are shaking with nerves and she's looking a little bit wild-eyed, like a cornered animal. They're not going to have any kind of meaningful conversation until she's a little more at ease. Luckily, putting people at ease is something Felicity is spectacularly good at.
"The cab or…?" Felicity asks, question dangling in the air.
"That's fine," Sandra answers.
"I guess I'll have one, too," Oliver says.
"After your criticism of our day-drinking? I dunno, Oliver. That seems a little hypocritical of you," Felicity admonishes.
"Do you want an apology or something?" he asks, blinking at her.
"I mean… I wouldn't say no," Felicity replies, mulling it over.
"Felicity," Oliver says, raising his eyebrows at her.
"Fine, fine… I'll be right back," she tells him. "Connor, you want to help me carry a glass? That's legal, right? I mean, he's not drinking it. That's not contributing to the delinquency of a minor or anything, right? Maybe I'll just pour in here and he can carry empty glasses."
"It's fine," Sandra assures her. "Con, why don't you go give Felicity a hand, okay?"
Connor still has a question on the tip of his tongue, but he's not quite ready to ask it, apparently, because he nods and follows Felicity back into the kitchen, leaving Sandra and Oliver alone in uneasy silence.
"Never thought I'd see the day you objected to day-drinking, Ollie," Sandra says with an uneven laugh.
He doesn't laugh. He can't. There are already words on his tongue that he needs to ask and there's no room for laughter right now.
"How could you lie to me like that?" he asks.
She freezes, looks to the side and swallows hard.
"He's my son, Sandra, and you lied to me. You told me that he died," Oliver presses.
"I know," she says after a moment, her voice quiet, barely audible. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Did you think… did you think that was what I wanted? Did you think I'd be a bad father to him?" Oliver asks.
"God, no, Ollie, that's not…" Sandra starts, sighing hard. "I didn't know what to think."
"Then how could you?!" he demands. "I don't understand, so I'm going to need you to explain it to me. What the hell made you decide it was in his best interests to hide his existence from me!"
"Do you… do you have any idea how terrifying your mother was, Ollie?" she ventures. "I was eighteen, my mother kicked me out the second she realized I was pregnant, you had a girlfriend and we weren't… we weren't anything."
"I'd told you," Oliver insists. "I'd told you that didn't matter. That I'd be there for my child."
"And what would you have done if your family hadn't been there for you?" Sandra insists. "Your mother… your mother paid me two million dollars to disappear with Connor. If I'd turned that down… what would she have done? Would she have cut you off, like my family did to me? Could you have stood by me and Connor then? And if you had, we'd have been broke and you would have hated me for destroying your relationships with your girlfriend and your family!"
"That wasn't your choice to make," Oliver snaps at her. "I deserved to know I had a son. I deserved a chance to be a part of his life and he deserved that, too, Sandra."
"I did what I thought was in all of our best interests at the time," Sandra insists. "Was I wrong? Looking back… yes, probably I was. But I was young and terrified and alone and your mother gave me a way out. I took it. I can't change that now."
"So you told my son that his father was dead?" Oliver asks, face twisting in disbelief and pain even as he says the words.
"You were!" She reminds him. "To the whole world, you were. For years, Ollie, I thought you were dead just like everyone else."
"And when I came back? When you found out I wasn't?" Oliver prods.
"Then I had no idea who you were anymore!" she shouts. "You'd been marooned on an island for half a decade! Were you sane? Were you stable? I had no idea. And your mother was still there and you had enough to deal with and Connor was seven and he already knew his father was dead so how was I supposed to tell him any differently?"
"You did what was easier for you," Oliver decides, his eyes pinning her in place. "You didn't want to admit that you'd lied. To me or to him. So you kept lying because it was the easy way out."
"That's not fair!" Sandra insists.
"No. You know what's not fair? Telling me and my son both that the other one is dead," Oliver snaps at her.
It's only because of the increasingly ashen look on Sandra's face and her gaze fixed steadily past him that Oliver realizes Connor is back. When he turns, Connor's standing in the kitchen doorway with Felicity at his side, two empty wine glasses in his hands and a look of so much excruciating pain on his face that it physically hurts Oliver to see it.
"Connor… baby, it's not-" Sandra starts, taking a stilted step towards him.
"You lied to me?" Connor asks, looking younger than he really is for all the pain and vulnerability on his face.
"It's… it's complicated, honey," Sandra tells him.
"Either you lied to me or you didn't, mom. That's not so complicated," he tells her. "Is… is Oliver my dad?"
It takes a beat or two but Sandra nods, softly first, then firmer, her voice choking out a quiet 'yes' in a sound that's scarcely more than a whisper. Connor's brow knits and his eyes dart to Oliver, his expression something Oliver can't quite decipher. He's not sure what he's supposed to do here, what he's supposed to say. So he smiles, a tight-lipped nervous gesture that Connor mirrors before blinking hard and looking away for a moment.
"I can explain, Con," Sandra starts.
But Connor's having none of it. He shoves the two glasses he's holding to Felicity, who manages somehow to grab hold of them.
"I'm gonna go sit with Nyssa and Thea," he mumbles, not looking at anyone as he hurries away.
And this, too, Oliver thinks, is something Connor got from him. He had a long history of running from his problems, once.
"God damn it," Sandra says, sitting heavily on the couch and covering her face with her hands.
As mad as he at her - and he is - Oliver can't help but feel a little bit sorry for Sandra. Because… yes, his mother had been scary. And yes, they had been young and he'd been anything but reliable. He's nowhere near ready to forgive Sandra. He might never be. But he can understand why she did what she did. And he's definitely able to muster some sympathy towards her for Connor's reaction.
"It's going to take time," Oliver tells her and Felicity pours some wine.
Sandra lets out a wet laugh, humorless and pained.
"His whole life it's just been me and him," she tells Oliver. "And he's always had this notion that… that we tell each other everything. I have no idea where he got that from, but he did. And I'm… I'm a fraud to him now. I don't know how time makes that better."
From Thea, Oliver thinks immediately. Connor gets his obsession with the truth from his aunt. Somehow. It's fascinating to him, these little bits of people he's loved showing themselves in his son. His sister's value for the truth, his mother's jaw, his father's expressions - they're all there in Connor.
"Here," Felicity says, handing the other woman a glass of wine.
"Thank you," Sandra says shakily.
"You make it better by promising him you won't lie to him anymore," Oliver tells her. "And then you keep that promise."
Sandra looks at him, eyes red and cheeks wet. It is, he thinks, the first time she's really looked at him since she walked in the door. She's not seeing Ollie. Not now. She's seeing Oliver. And she's realizing she doesn't know him at all.
"And you're not going to… you're not going to remind him how I lied to him and tell him what a horrible person I am for the rest of his life?" she asks, vulnerable and scared all at once.
"We're family, Sandra. I'm angry with you, yes, but you're his mother," Oliver reminds her, settling into the seat next to her. "And, in spite everything, he seems like a really great, happy kid. I don't want to do anything to come between the two of you. I just want to find space for me to be a part of his life, too."
She's wary. Rightly so, probably. If he wanted full custody, Oliver is almost positive he could get it with little problem. His resources undoubtedly far outstrip hers. But he doesn't want full custody. He's not sure what he wants, exactly, but not that.
"Okay," Sandra says, nodding at him.
"Okay?" Oliver asks.
"Okay, we'll work something out," she clarifies.
A surge of relief runs through him at that. Sandra could have made this very difficult had she wanted to. It lessens tension he hadn't even realized he'd had to know that she intends to be reasonable about everything.
A hand settles on his shoulder and Oliver looks up to see Felicity with a pride-filled smile and a glass of wine in her other hand. He takes it and smiles back.
"I'm going to go see if Connor wants to talk, if that's okay with you two?" Felicity ventures. "Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who's not your parent, you know?"
"Thank you," Oliver says, resting his hand on top of hers and giving it a little squeeze.
"Let him know that if he does want to talk to me, I'm here?" Sandra requests.
"You got it," Felicity agrees easily before heading back toward the guest room.
Oliver can't help watching her go.
"So…" Sandra starts, pulling his attention back to her. "You two are the real deal then, huh?"
He smiles at that. He can't not. His eyes crinkle and he pins his lips together to hold in his delight because… yes… they are and even just thinking about that fact brings more joy to his life than he'd have thought possible.
"Good for you," Sandra nods, sounding fully sincere. "Who would've thought… Ollie Queen would end up here."
"Not me," Oliver admits, eyebrows raised as he laughs a little. "But then I didn't exactly take the easy path through life the last eight years or so."
"No… no you didn't," she agrees. "And that's something we should talk about."
"How so?" Oliver asks, not quite sure where she's going with this.
"You're right. I have to be done lying to Connor," Sandra tells him. "But if we're going to do this - really do this - we need to be on the same page about everything. Whether it's just… occasional visits on holidays or if you want to arrange for Connor to come up on weekends or whatever, if we're going to both be his parents, we need to be a team about it."
"Okay," Oliver agrees.
"Honestly, from where I'm sitting, Felicity should probably be a part of this conversation, too. You live together right?" Sandra asks, coughing a little at the end.
"Yes," Oliver tells her. "Actually, over lunch Connor asked-"
Sandra interrupts by coughing harder.
"I'm sorry, I just-" she says, breaking out into another coughing fit. "Asthma. I'm really sensitive to smells. Is something burning?"
"Earlier, Felicity tried to…" Oliver starts before his voice trails off.
Because he does smell something and it doesn't smell like Felicity's cooking disaster from earlier. It's smoky and vaguely smells of ammonia and it takes Oliver just a couple of seconds to realize what it is.
"Get down!" he shouts just before the front door explodes inwards.
