Bake for a Date with Oliver Queen
Week Four

Week Four Baking Challenge: A Blinged Out and Non-Traditional Yule Log

It was late.

It was late, Oliver was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was hide away from the rest of the world. That evening had marked the halfway point of the competition. Oliver had thought that benchmark would prove reassuring. If he made it halfway without anyone discovering Megan's true identity or Oliver's plan to guarantee her the win, then he'd feel more confident in their chances to both make it to the end unscathed. Halfway through meant only half as many contestants, and halfway through meant his mother, Thea, Walter, and Tommy would all be that much busier with their own lives. With parties to attend and plan and holiday shopping to complete, they'd be otherwise distracted and perhaps not as attentive to the contest as they had been when it was fresh and new, when it was just starting off and they were unsure of its success. Plus, by moving out, he had hoped to not only secure a little more freedom and provide his family with a little more security, but he also thought physical distance might inspire some emotional distance as well.

Oliver had been wrong.

So very wrong.

"Digg, when you get this, call me back… or, better yet, stop by, so you can drop off Felicity's entry for this week." After not getting to see (just see, for there would be no more tasting) Megan's week three baked good, Oliver had reluctantly asked Diggle and Raisa to not throw out the desserts they replaced on his behalf. Looking forward to examining Felicity's idea of a yule log had been the only thing that helped Oliver get through his evening after the tasting. Pinching the bridge of his nose as the elevator doors opened to the top floor of his apartment building, Oliver exited the lift and continued, "we're going to have to rethink our plan a little bit. My mom just read me the riot act for giving you the afternoon off to go to the dentist. It looks like Raisa's going to have to… Tommy?"

Without finishing his thought, explaining his abrupt topic change, or even offering his guard a salutation, Oliver ended the call. Confused at what he was seeing and slightly nervous as to what his best friend might have just overheard, Oliver came to a complete halt. He just stood there, watching as Tommy climbed up from the floor where he had been sitting against Oliver's door. As Tommy dusted off the seat of his pants, he complained, "see, this is why I should have a key to your place."

He said nothing about the competition, nothing about a plan, and he asked no questions. Oliver sighed in relief. Resuming his walk towards his loft, from his left front pants pocket, Oliver pulled out said key. "If I gave you a key, Speedy would have a copy within 24 hours. Besides, the point of getting my own place was so that nobody - not even you, Tommy - could just walk in whenever they please… like at the mansion."

"Well, I'm not a nobody, and you underestimate your sister. It'd be less like 24 hours and more like 24 minutes." Rather than verbally responding, Oliver just quirked his eyebrows in an 'I told you so manner' before unlocking the door. Without invitation to follow, Tommy dogged his steps. However, his best friend could not go far, because they lights were off, and it was long past dark. Tommy certainly did not have the night vision Oliver now had after five years of living in nature. "Besides, I'd respect your need for privacy more if I knew you were doing something private with it." Oliver flipped several switches to turn on the loft's overhead lighting, and Tommy gazed about the space he had never seen before. "Dude, you left your mom's… where I know for a fact you scored countless times… to move into your own place and live like a monk."

The best way to distract Tommy Merlyn was to ignore him. And change the subject. "So, what brings you by, Tommy?" Glancing into his kitchen, Oliver was relieved to see that no evidence of his duplicity was within sight. Once reassured, he spun back around on the heels of his feet to face his childhood friend. "Judging by your sit-in on my doorstep, I'm guessing this isn't just a social call." Prompting him further, Oliver asked, "what's up," while folding his hands into the front pockets of his dress pants.

And that was all it took. Dramatically, Tommy collapsed into the nearest chair - an armless, leather piece that Thea had picked out. Well, really, besides Oliver's bed… and his kitchen, Thea was responsible for everything. While he liked how large and open the loft was, everything that filled it was just… stuff. It took up space, and it gave the appearance that he lived a life just like everyone else, but Oliver didn't actually use or appreciate any of the furniture or accessories Speedy had purchased on his behalf. "Man, I'm being… I don't know? - stalked? Yeah." Tommy nodded emphatically to agree with his own conclusion. "I'm being financially stalked."

"Your dad is checking your credit card statements?"

Tommy snorted. "I wish! If this was the work of Malcolm Merlyn…? Well, let's just say it wouldn't be happening at all, because my dad would never donate this much of his own money to charities he can't manipulate and/or exploit. No, for once in my life, something terrible is happening to me, and my dad isn't to blame."

So… this wasn't going to be a quick chat. Stripping off his jacket and tie, Oliver chose the sofa across from his best friend, keeping a comfortable distance between them. As he talked, he undid the wrist closures of his dress shirt and rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. "Tommy, I don't understand. Is someone else watching your spending on your…?"

Just as Oliver had taken a seat, Tommy popped back up and started pacing, interrupting Oliver. "Every time I buy something that possibly could be connected to a date or sex - condoms, fancy dinners, booze, clothes, cologne, hair gel, my credit cards are making donations - large donations - to Planned Parenthood, the International AIDS Vaccine Initiative, RAINN, Women's Funding Network, Girls Not Brides, Days for Girls, the Center for Reproductive Rights. You name it, if it has something to do with women, women's health, or the prevention and/or treatment of sexually transmitted diseases, I'm donating to it." Tommy was talking rapidly, gesticulating wildly. "Every time Tommy Merlyn buys a condom, a lady gets free birth control. Which is fine. Which is great. I love birth control! But I can't pay for everyone in the world to have safe sex, because then my father will cut me off, and I'll be the only person not having sex at all."

Oliver couldn't help himself. Tommy opened himself up to the shot, and Oliver took it. "So, what you're saying is that women only have sex with you for your money?"

Tommy threw up his hands in exasperation. "I don't know. Maybe! I'd like to think it's also sometimes about my devilish good looks, perhaps my charm, but I'd rather not risk it just the same. Besides, that's not the point, Ollie!"

Except… Oliver was starting to wonder if maybe it was kind of the point. Or at least some of it. However, he did not say as much - partly because it might put his childhood friend on a trail Oliver did not want him to find let alone pursue and partly because, before he could say anything, his front door was opening, and John Diggle was walking into the apartment, already talking.

"So, I got your voicemail, but what if Raisa's not always…."

Cutting him off and rushing towards the door despite trying to look like he was doing neither, Oliver exclaimed, "Diggle! Tommy's here, and he needs our help, so you have great timing."

"Wait, so your body man has a key but I don't?"

"It's bodyguard, Tommy," Oliver was quick to contradict his best friend.

But the correction did nothing to ease the immediate irritation that flooded Diggle's posture. "So, help me, Merlyn, if you call me Benson…."

"Don't worry," Tommy reassured. But Oliver took that as anything but reassurance. Physically, he felt his shoulders becoming stiff with tension. "I'm diggin' the scene, diggin' on you, diggin' on me."

"Clever. Original. I've never heard that one before. And not disturbing at all. Sir."

"Tommy here," Oliver attempted to redirect the conversation back towards safer ground. Meanwhile, he was grateful to see that Digg must have left Felicity's yule log in the car. Perhaps he heard him say Tommy's name before hanging up and took the precaution to be on the safe side. "He was just telling me that he's become extremely charitable recently."

"Well, tis' the season," John remarked drily.

"Except it's completely unwittingly and unwillingly," Tommy groused.

Under his breath, Digg commented, "why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Apparently, something has happened to his credit cards so that, every time he purchases something that could be used… in the company of a date, he makes a sizable donation to a charity that helps women."

"Sounds like you've been hacked, Merlyn."

"But who hacks a billionaire…."

"A billionaire's son," Diggle oh so helpfully supplied via an interjection.

But Tommy, if he heard him, didn't pay him any mind. " … and then pretends they're Mother flipping Teresa?!"

"Well, I don't know," John mused sarcastically. "Have you insulted any women lately?" Oliver shot him a dark look… which was promptly and precisely ignored. Apparently, he and his guard had the same suspicion: Felicity was the mysterious benefactor. Or attacker… depending upon one's point of view. She had the skills. That's why this competition had become so complicated in the first place - because Oliver had gone to her with a request to use her computer skills in order to look into the contestants. Due to her disgust towards the entire PR strategy, he had assumed she'd stay as far away from Bake for a Date with Oliver Queen as she could, including skipping the broadcast and only finding out if she was eliminated when she stopped receiving the next week's baking challenge. Except… what if he was wrong? What if she was watching, witnessed Tommy's performance from the week before, and was now putting those very same computer skills to use in teaching Oliver's childhood friend a well-earned and well-payed for lesson. "Hurt any women lately?"

"Hey," Tommy held his hands up in self-defense. "I don't do that."

"He didn't mean physically, Tommy."

"Look, I've never claimed to be Prince Charming, but I also don't make promises to the women I… date... either. When they go out with me, they know exactly what they're going to get: a good time. For both of us. There's no insult in that, no hurt." Chuckling ostentatiously, Tommy shared, "let's just say I've never heard any complaints… if you know what I mean."

Cynically, John challenged, "never?"

"What can I say? I've got mad skillz, Mr. Diggle."

Luckily, a snort of derision, of doubt, was the only objection Digg offered before shifting gears and trying to refocus Oliver's best friend. "What about embarrassment?"

"I don't see how mutually assured orgasms could ever be embarrassing."

"Perhaps it's someone you're not sleeping with," Oliver suggested. If the words came out slightly clipped, he felt it was justified. Tommy was being an insensitive ass. He used Megan and humiliated her in order to get under Oliver's skin. After his week three antics, Tommy had confessed that he altered Megan's bio, because he thought Oliver had cheated, looked the women up, and was pushing Megan through, because she was the hottest. If Tommy made her seem like a gold digger, then Oliver would either cop to his scheme in order to continue with it, or he'd eliminate her when Tommy labeled her a social climber. When, instead, Oliver confronted Tommy with Megan's real profile, his best friend spilled the truth. Even though Oliver had intended to research the women beforehand, his reasons had been far less superficial than looks, and it had been with everyone's best interests in mind, including the women who were his potential date, so he felt no guilt for his annoyance towards Tommy. And, now, not only was Tommy dismissing Felicity by so easily forgetting what he had done to Megan the week prior, but also, by claiming that the woman who was targeting him had to be someone he had slept with, he, in a way, was implying that he had slept with Felicity… which just added insult to injury. "Perhaps it's a woman who wouldn't sleep with you."

"Well, that certainly narrows the pool down," Tommy chuckled, "and leaves us with… your mother and sister."

Ignoring Tommy, Diggle turned to Oliver and complained, "this is pointless. If the man wants to be a damn fool, let him. He deserves everything this woman can do to him."

"Why do I get the feeling you know something I don't, Mr. Diggle?"

"Because if I knew even just one thing, then your 'feeling' would be accurate."

"Look, Tommy, it's been a really long day, and I'm sorry that you're afraid of what your dad might do once he learns about the hack, but computers are not exactly my area of expertise. Just… stop going out for a few days, stop buying the items that trigger the donations."

"That's youradvice," Tommy asked him incredulously. "That's all my best friend has to offer me?"

Oliver just shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I'm sorry, but… yeah."

Shaking his head in frustration, Tommy pointed at both Oliver and Digg. "There's something going on here, something more than just judgement," he glanced at Oliver's guard, "and avoidance," he finished towards Oliver himself. "And it has something to do with your reality competition and my credit card situation. I will figure it out." While the proclamation was made as a promise, it felt more like a threat.

"Just… give it time. Stay out of the contest, Tommy," Oliver advised him. "And everything will eventually return to normal."

"Including you," his childhood friend asked. The question was voiced only part in jest.

It was Digg, though, who diffused the situation, snorting, "this one," while hooking a thumb in Oliver's direction. "He's rich, so he's never been normal."

"So, it's on like that, huh, Mr. Diggle?"

"If you quote that damn song one more time…." Turning to Oliver, John asked, "just how much time did he spend obsessing over girl pop groups while you were growing up?" Tommy was still chuckling even as the door to Oliver's apartment closed behind him. As soon as he was gone, Digg turned serious once more. "We have a problem."

"I'd say take your pick at this point, Digg."

"No. It's something else, something you don't already know about."

"Can you just… give me a few minutes before springing something else on me," Oliver requested. "While you run down to the car to grab Felicity's yule log, I'm going to change, and then we can talk."

"But that's just it, man. There is no yule log."

While Oliver had made a salted dulce de leche buche de noel and then painted it with edible, gold lustre dust, tucking metallic tissue paper twisted to resemble the ends of a piece of candy into his cake at both sides, all he really wanted was to see what Felicity came up with to meet the week's challenge. He had been inspired by those hard, caramel candies his Grandfather Dearden had been partial to - the ones he'd keep in his pockets and then would sneak to Oliver when the women weren't looking and were busy cooking (supervising) Christmas dinner in the kitchen, but Oliver was more interested in what childhood memories Felicity's submission might reveal about her and her past than he was in remembering his own. "Wait? You threw it out again? Why, Digg? I asked you to save it and bring it to me no matter…."

Cutting him off, John clarified, "no, man, you're not getting it. There is no yule long, because there never was one."

"So, you're saying…?"

"Felicity didn't submit anything this week."