Bake for a Date with Oliver Queen
Week Two

Week Two Baking Challenge: Thanksgiving Sandwich Cookies

He had to think up something.

As much as Oliver did not want to go on a date with a complete stranger, and as much as Oliver wanted to go on a date with Felicity Smoak, he wasn't sure he could survive eight weeks of Felicity's idea of 'baking.'

She had warned him. Or, more accurately, she had yelled at her mother about entering her into a baking competition when she couldn't in fact cook, and, in effect, Oliver had been prepared to push Megan forward in the competition despite her submissions perhaps not quite presenting with the same standard of success as the other contestants'.

However, nothing could have prepared Oliver for what was inside that panda mug.

While the coffee cup itself had given Oliver a little further glimpse into who Felicity was as a person, the cup's contents had literally pained him, the thick as tar… and just about as tasty… coffee giving him heartburn, not to mention the nausea from… everything else. To the eye, it had most closely resembled dirty dish water after the suds had all been used, and there were floating chunks of bloated, water soaked food swimming around the cloudy, murky liquid. Unfortunately, Megan's submission hadn't smelled much better either. But Oliver had been determined, and he had stomached far dicier food while living on Lian Yu… or so he had wrongfully assumed. The only thing that got Oliver through the entire mug of… hell? (he had no idea what he had foolishly swallowed the day before)… was picturing all of the ways the competition could end disastrously for him if he didn't make sure Megan won.

With that said, however, Oliver was determined to find a different way, a better way, to get both himself and Megan through the next seven weeks.

"You're up to something."

Having not heard his little sister come into the room, Oliver startled. After years of surviving rather than actually living, he prided himself on his awareness of his surroundings at all times, but Speedy had certainly come by her nickname honestly, and Oliver had been vulnerable, lost in his own hectic thoughts. So, despite knowing better, he just… reacted. He jumped in his seat, he slammed the laptop shut, and he barked at Thea, "don't you knock?"

"Knock?," Thea mocked him before strutting to a couch and falling backwards over one of the arms, landing in a pose of carefree sophistication. If their mother saw her treating the furniture that way…. "Ollie, this is dad's study, not your bathroom."

"Oh. Well…."

"Besides," Thea continued to tease him, "it's not like I tried to sneak up on you." She waved a hand in his general direction. "You were just lost in your own little world over there. Porn watch much, Ollie?"

"Actually, Speedy," Tommy chimed in… and when exactly did Tommy either get to the house or enter the room and conversation? "When it comes to porn, your brother prefers participating over just observing." Chuckling, Tommy flopped casually down into a side chair, crossing his legs. "I remember this one time…. There were these sisters. Twins! In fact, they claimed their profession was 'twinning,' and boy did they ever make a strong case for it in that video." Despite the fact that Thea was listening raptly to everything Tommy had to say - her expression a hybrid somewhere between repulsed and dying to know, Oliver was not impressed by his best friend's antics, and he certainly did not appreciate being confronted by the fact that his baby sister not only knew what pornography was but also felt comfortable enough with the topic to tease Oliver about his sex life… or, apparently, what she believed (correctly) to be a lack thereof. However, before Oliver could offer Tommy any censure… or a fact check, the other man was already smugly backtracking. "No, wait. That was me."

Thea groaned, collapsing back against the sofa cushions dramatically. "Of course it was, Merlyn. After all," and, here, Thea effected a lofty tone, "if I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient."

"You see, all I heard there was 'great.'"

"You mean that's the only word you understood," Thea bantered back, earning herself a grin of pride and respect from Oliver's best friend.

Mercifully, Tommy allowed the topic to drop. However, unmercifully, he did not broach a safer topic when he questioned, "so, what exactly did I walk in on… besides two West Coast siblings having a very West Virginia conversation."

"I was just questioning my dear brother on what exactly he thinks he's up to with this baking competition."

"Ooh!," Tommy cooed enthusiastically, conspiratorially. To further emphasize his eagerness, Oliver's best friend rested his elbows against the near arm of his chair and situated his chin into the cupped palms of his hands, his fingers brushing up against both sides of his jaw and cheeks. Fluttering his eyelashes, Tommy urged, "yes. That. Spill the scoop, Ollie. Inquiring minds want to know."

Standing up from what had once been his dad's desk, Oliver tucked his laptop under his left arm and against his side. "I don't know what the two of you are talking about. There's no scoop. I'm not 'up to' anything."

"The laddie doth protest too much, methinks," Tommy snarked.

"Give it a rest, Merlyn," Thea fired back. "Ollie doesn't do Shakespeare."

"No one does Shakespeare, Speedy; he's dead."

"Are you claiming to be above necrophilism?"

Sighing in exasperation, Oliver started to head towards the door. All it took was thirty seconds, and then his baby sister and best friend were once more back to talking about sex. What was with the two of them? If Oliver wasn't so desperate to just get away, he might have been more worried.

Just before Oliver managed to escape and duck out into the hallway, Tommy realized he was slipping away and asked, "but, no. Seriously, Ollie. What gives? We saw that mug and what was inside of it."

"Yeah. It looked like the panda ate its own poop," Thea offered.

"Actually, it looked like the water after Pilar - you remember her, right, Ollie? She had a stripper booty with a rack like wow." Despite the fact that he could hear Thea singing softly under her breath which made Oliver realize Tommy had just quoted some song he didn't recognize or care to know, Oliver still threw a glare over his shoulder at his best friend. "Anyway, whatever was in that cup, it looked like the water after my dad's housekeeper hand-washed my gym socks."

"Ha! Nice try. You mean your tighty-whities, Merlyn."

"And how would you know what kind of underwear I prefer, Thea?"

"Panty-lines don't lie.

Tommy sighed wistfully. "I think that'll be the name of my autobiography someday." Shaking his head in frustration and annoyance, Oliver resumed walking out of the room. "Hey, where do you think you're going, buddy?"

"I have things I need to do," was the only explanation Oliver offered his sister and best friend.

"Fine. Go. Run away," Thea playfully ordered. "While you enjoy your porn, Tommy and I will figure out what you're up to without you."

While the two of them together had quickly proven to be a dangerous combination, Oliver decided to risk Speedy's threat, because, despite their suspicions, there was no way Tommy or Thea would be able to learn of his plan, especially not Felicity Smoak's role in it. And, even if he was worried about their mistrust, he had his own figuring out to do.

Following the familiar paths and passageways of his youth, Oliver wove his steps through his family's home towards the one place in the house where he knew he'd be able to find help. Even as a child, whenever Oliver had been upset, or scared, or confused, he never sought out his parents, Thea, or Tommy; instead, he had always gone to Raisa, and Raisa had never once let him down. Oliver had complete faith that, even now as an adult, she would be the same allie she had always been for him as a kid.

Using his right shoulder to push open the swinging kitchen door, Oliver was already talking before fully entering the large, warm room. "Raisa, you don't by chance know where Mr…? Digg, you're here." The bodyguard Oliver's mother had insisted upon after his return merely lifted his brows in recognition before calmly taking a silent sip from the healthy-sized coffee cup that was made to look small in the former soldier's sure hands. "Good." Swiveling his head towards the island where Raisa was cutting up vegetables, Oliver explained both his sudden presence there in the kitchen and his need for an audience with both the housekeeper and the bodyguard. "I need your help."

"With what, man," Diggle easily asked.

But Oliver wasn't ready to just… spell it out for them yet. "It has to deal with the baking competition."

John immediately protested, "I'm not eating Megan's entries for you, Oliver."

He exhaled loudly, feeling antagonized all over again. "That's not… I don't… Look, I've already gotten my fill of jokes from Tommy and Thea. Could you just… despite how ridiculous this whole competition is, I'm being serious right now, alright?"

"Of course, Mr. Oliver," Raisa spoke evenly, soothing him. While Diggle didn't verbally recognize Oliver's request, he did put his mug down and meet Oliver's eyes with his own steady, serious gaze.

"If it was just up to me, I wouldn't be participating in Bake for a Date with Oliver Queen. But it's not just me, and it hasn't been easy for anybody, particularly my family, since I've been home, so, when my mom first presented the idea of the competition to me, it seemed like a small sacrifice to make for her. But then reality set in."

"And you realized that, at the end of these eight weeks, you're going to have to go on a date with a stranger," Digg filled in the rest for him.

"Exactly."

"While I understand your predicament, Mr. Oliver, and while I never thought this contest was a good idea - not that I would ever say anything, mind you, I can't see how we could be of help now."

Taking a deep, bracing breath, Oliver revealed, "I need your help in… replacing someone's baked goods, in switching them out with others."

Shaking his head in amusement and chuckling, Diggle said, "you've got yourself a ringer."

Raisa inquired, " a ringer?"

"A fake, a phony," John supplied. "Someone who is a plant in the competition so that Oliver has someone safe he can choose as the winner."

As Raisa was nodding in understanding, Oliver corrected his bodyguard. "Actually, she's not a plant. She just…. Look, it's a long story, and, yes, while I do think she's a safe winner, that's not why I want - why I need - your help."

"Oh, I get it," Digg acknowledged, smirked. "This is about a girl."

Even Raisa joined in on the 'isn't it fun to pile on Oliver' routine. "It's always about a girl, Mr. Diggle."

He ignored them both. "Felicity… she didn't enter the competition willingly. Her mother entered her, using her middle name, and she can't cook. At all."

"Ah. Panda mug," Diggle realized.

Oliver continued without admitting his guard was right. "When I started to get nervous about this whole thing, I went to her for help, wanting her to research the contestants beforehand so that I might pick someone who wouldn't sell me out to the highest tabloid bidder. However, I realized that it wouldn't be necessary, because Felicity isn't like that."

"You got all that from one meeting," John asked. Despite avoiding his gaze, Oliver must have flinched, or flushed, or perhaps the avoidance itself was a giveaway, because the other man discerned, "you never actually talked to her, did you, and this girl has no idea what you're up to, does she?"

At that point, the answers to Diggle's questions seemed obvious enough, so Oliver simply moved on with the conversation. "She actually works at QC, so it's a… delicate situation, and Felicity intends to throw the contest on purpose."

"But you can't let her do that, and you can't allow it to appear as obvious as it was this week that you're pushing her through no matter what she submits," Raisa concluded.

"So, who is going to stand-in bake for this girl," Digg questioned.

Despite the fact that Oliver was asking his bodyguard for a favor, Diggle's tone was starting to wear thin. "She's not just some girl. I told you: her name is Felicity."

"Look, man, I meant no disrespect," John told him calmly, holding up his hands in defense. "And I get it. You like her; you like this Felicity."

Oliver was certainly not ready to confront what Diggle was implicating, let alone discuss it. "I think that she is a smart, independent woman who won't judge me for my… past. I think she could be a friend. Besides, despite what the public has been led to believe, no one thinks anything will actually come from this silly PR charade."

"You know," Digg mentioned thoughtfully, "there was once a girl for me, too - back when I was still in the military. I said the same things about her: that she was intelligent, fierce, a damn good soldier. Because we came from the same place professionally, we understood each other. When we started to talk and the other guys started to harass me about her, I blew them off and said that she was just a friend. Six months later, I married that girl."

"And what happened to this wife of yours, Mr. Diggle," Raisa wanted to know.

"After we returned to civilian life, Lyla and I… we divorced." Oliver found himself recoiling, and John must have caught the tell, because he looked him directly in the eye when he said, "it had nothing to do with the girl, Oliver, and everything to do with everything else."

After several beats of silence, Raisa - thank god for compassionate, sweet Raisa - spoke up, diverting all of their attentions back to the initial matter at hand: Oliver's request. "So, you will bake the desserts, and you want Mr. Diggle and I to switch them for your Felicity's?

Thankfully, Digg seemed to ignore the way Raisa referred to Felicity as Oliver's and, instead, focused right in on, "you can bake?"

"Mr. Oliver is a man of many talents, Mr. Diggle."

"Apparently," Digg chuckled.

He rolled his eyes at both of them. "I'd do it myself, but I'm not supposed to go down to the first floor until 5:00. If someone spotted me beforehand, I'd raise suspicions. If anyone witnessed me messing with Megan's submissions, they might become suspicious of her. And if I got caught…."

"Say no more, Oliver. Raisa and I, we've got your back."

"Yes, we will help you," his family's housekeeper agreed. "But I'm not sure how you will be able to bake these sweets here without your mother and sister finding out."

"And that brings us to the second thing I wanted to ask for your help with: I'm moving out, and I'd like your support."

"I think that's the best idea you've had since you got back, man," Diggle told him earnestly. While they weren't ones to talk about personal matters with each other, Digg, due to his background and his job description, was an observant man. He was also a kind, compassionate man as well. So, he had covertly dropped hints during their time together that perhaps the Queen estate wasn't the healthiest place for Oliver given that he was still adjusting after his five years away. And, though Oliver didn't ask for Digg's advice, he respected it, because he knew it came from an honest, genuine place. Plus, ever since the night Oliver woke up with his hands around his mom's throat, he knew that moving out was the best course of action for everyone involved. It was difficult, though, leaving so soon after just returning home, and he had procrastinated. He still wasn't sure how he was going to tell his family, but the situation with Bake for a Date with Oliver Queen had forced his hand.

"Your mother will not like this, Mr. Oliver."

"I know," he breathed out, suddenly unbelievably tired. "But I'm hoping that, when everything is all said and done, she'll at least respect my decision and me all the more for it."

"Speaking of respect, you know you should read Felicity in on this plan of yours, don't you?"

"I'm going to tell her everything," Oliver addressed John's concerns. When the guard tilted his head in doubt, Oliver added, "after the competition."

While he could see that neither of his co-conspirators approved of this caveat, Oliver felt like it was his safest option, because what in the hell would he do if, after being told of his idea, Felicity refused to go along with it?

!

The ironic thing was that Oliver didn't even particularly like sweets.

Even before, even as a child, he'd always preferred savory snacks, salty treats: popcorn, cheese curls, salt and vinegar chips - all foods Moira Queen would not approve of and made all the more delectable because of that distinction. As he grew older, indulgence became about sex and booze, drugs, but certainly not food. And, now - after, his body simply couldn't handle the richness that was baked goods.

So, at least he could consider his own likes and dislikes when concocting one of the many desserts he had to taste on a weekly basis. Yet, he also had to keep in mind that everyone else had to believe that it was Megan who made the desserts Oliver created, so they couldn't be too complicated or too unique either.

For Megan's Thanksgiving sandwich cookie, Oliver went with very traditional pumpkin, substituting no-sugar-added applesauce for the butter and omitting some of the other liquids from the recipe, because he used honey to supplement some of the sugar. For the filling, Oliver made one of cream cheese and, again, skimped on the sugar. He wanted the natural tartness of the cream cheese to shine through and help alleviate some of the other sweetness that was unavoidable in the recipe. As for the presentation, Oliver kept it simple again. He chose a deep burgundy plate and dusted powdered sugar over and around various cookie cutters in the shapes of leaves and acorns. (Raisa had helped him thoroughly stock his new kitchen, the lone part of the apartment that actually felt lived in and complete.)

The one thing that he did regret was that he didn't get to see what Felicity came up with. No matter how much he was depending upon her to win the date, and no matter how much the little he knew about her intrigued him, the bottom line was that they had yet to even share a conversation. The small glimpse into who Felicity Megan Smoak was that Oliver was able to get from her week one dessert was more than anything else he had to go on (besides his eavesdropping). It told him that she was resourceful, liked pandas, and obviously believed in the power of coffee. When he asked Digg for Megan's actual entry, Oliver had been disappointed to learn that his guard had immediately trashed it. He could have gone dumpster-diving, Oliver supposed, but the point of asking for Diggle and Raisa's help was to avoid suspicion, not arouse it. In the end, his pumpkin sandwich cookies were the only baked goodshe actually didn't immediately feel the need to brush his teeth after consuming, and, more importantly, Megan advanced on to the third round.

Standing alone in his empty, loft apartment that Wednesday night, Oliver closed his eyes in relief. Another week down, another week closer to escaping Bake for a Date with Oliver Queen with his peace of mind and privacy intact. So, then, why did he feel like, somewhere along the line, he had made a massive miscalculation with his plan?