AN: Hi! I've been MIA, I know. Apparently, working two jobs, looking for a new full-time job, and moving over the holidays is not the greatest way to be a productive writer? I make super life decisions. Anyway, here's Chapter 1, enjoy and please leave a comment with your thoughts!
CHAPTER 1: Have You Heard?
Present Day
"Still, rumors of a man with an accent aboard the yacht at the time of the attack persist."
"-It's not a rumor." Oliver Queen mumbled to himself, scrubbing a hand down his face in the flickering light of his laptop.
The ominous music swelled. "When E! True Hollywood Story: Investigates 'The Nightmare of the Anastasia' returns, we'll explore the juiciest mystery of all:" The voice-over accompanied quickly changing images of the Orlovs in a formal family portrait- then the boat, the funerals, and finally focusing on a personal photo of a young blonde girl smiling up at the camera, holding a scruffy grey pup. "The missing body of little Cecily, could she have survived the massacre that killed her family at sea? Plus, the staggering reward for the return of her youngest granddaughter from last Orlov herself; and the incredible story of a dangerous, tragic escape. Stay tuned."
A frown marred Oliver's brow as he muted the playback on the laptop he may or may not have stolen. The sudden cut off the narrator's voice in the echoing, industrial basement revealed the familiar whine-hum-jerk of a technically hot 3-D printer working away. He jotted a quick note on the pad of paper he was balancing on his legs, his feet propped on the desk next to a stack of blank driver's licenses. He'd totally paid for the notepad.
His shoulder twinged as he glanced up at the girl on the screen. He remembered her, remembered that night- vividly. He didn't need to shut his eyes to call up the memory of lying in the rain, the tossing of the boat sliding him a little in his own puddle of blood, a killer spraying the rolling ocean with a deadly hail of bullets not three feet from him. He couldn't stop the guy, couldn't do a thing with one of those bullets lodged in the bone of his shoulder blade.
He un-muted the video as it faded-in to a finely decorated room, where a petite, white-haired woman sat with steel in her spine. The footage was dated, the interview given years before this program was put together for the 10th anniversary of the attack. Judith Orlov focused to the right, as if she were speaking directly to the interviewer. Someone famous, Oliver thought, though for the life of him he couldn't remember who. The woman turned directly toward the camera, which caught the splash of a tear onto her powdered cheek.
"Man, how many times you gonna watch that?" John Diggle quick-stepped down the stairs to the basement the called home with a giant dufflebag slung over one powerful shoulder. When his partner just turned up the volume, John shook his head. "Not healthy."
"Please," the elderly woman's voiced echoed off the sub-level walls, "I cannot help but hold on to my hope that my granddaughter is alive. I am offering a substantial reward, and my lifetime of gratitude, for any information that leads to the recovery of my precious girl. She is my family. Please."
Oliver paused the video, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
"20 million dollars, Digg," he tossed over his shoulder. "That's the reward- 20 million."
Diggle let out a low whistle as he removed stacks of holographic plastic from the duffle. "Not chump change- must be nice to be able to throw that around," he said.
"Can you imagine?" Oliver huffed out a laugh.
Digg paused, turning. "White beach, teal water," he raised his voice over the 3-D printer, "a little peace and quiet." His smile crinkled the corners of his dark eyes.
Oliver let his feet drop to the floor, swiveled the chair to face his partner with a grin on his face, "Your only worry whether you'll take a swim, or flirt your way into drinks with the girl down the beach?"
"Yeah, man. That would be the life." Digg's smile fell a little as Oliver's got wider. Too wide.
Oliver shook his head ruefully, grin never faltering. "Your millionaire fantasy is so much nicer than mine," Oliver said, "I'd probably end up on your doorstep again after blowing it all on something stupid…"
Diggle's head snapped up, recognizing that tone. The smile, the "yes", trying to make him feel superior- bastard was trying to con him.
He sobered as he folded his arms over his chest, thoughtfully taking stock of his younger counterpart.
Years ago, Oliver was a skinny kid who really did show up on his doorstep. After his Uncle Joe was murdered aboard the Anastasia, Oliver had ended up on the streets, a forgotten kid. But he'd gotten by, quickly figuring out that between his good looks and cleverness, he could get people to want to do things for him.
Nothing if not pragmatic, Digg bounced back from losing his job as security detail for the Orlovs after the attack. In fact, everyone seemed to lose their jobs in the Glades around that time, and a bustling underground black market sprung up in the vacuum. Luckily, he had a hobby, one that had made him useful to his former employers, and one he quickly decided to go pro with once the dust settled.
John Diggle was the greatest document forger west of the Mississippi.
Passports and driver's licenses were his specialty; his hologram work was flawless; and he never passed up a good opportunity. So when a tall, baby-faced teen showed up at his door, making a superb effort at conning him out of a free driver's license- he'd decided right then and there he needed a partner. They'd worked well together for nearly the last decade- Oliver greasing palms and scheming big, and Diggle constantly improving his art while keeping them grounded.
He knew Oliver like the back of his hand. Knew he had spent way too much time fleecing people, to the point where the showmanship had become his default state. Knew that the real Oliver showed through in the quiet moments, that his younger friend grew up broken and the scars will still there, just out of sight.
So he knew, if Oliver was trying to con him, it had to be something huge.
Digg leaned back against the work table, taking in the confidence man sprawled out in a desk chair before him: body relaxed, that stupid smile still lighting his whole face, the suit jacket he preferred unbuttoned, and his collar carefully loosened. Every inch of him nonthreatening, every inch selling something. Yeah, it was something big.
Before he could even furrow his brow in thought, Digg's eye caught the still glowing laptop over Oliver's shoulder. Suddenly, the last three years of that stupid E! Special on constant repeat while he was trying to work clicked into place. No way. They weren't seriously talking about the reward money. Of all the fool-
He shook his head, digging back into the duffle bag for more holograms, "Nope. Don't even think about it."
The false sense of relaxation immediately dissipated like the smoke screen it was, Oliver's body coiling and launching himself out of the chair in a split second. Tossing the pad of paper onto the desk, Oliver approached Digg's workspace with placating hands open, "Hear me out-"
"No, Oliver. You hear me- that's a fool's game. And my guess is, with reward money that tempting, it's been done." Digg zipped the bag closed and tossed it over to the makeshift supply cabinet. "And still, no Cecily Orlov. If they thought they'd found her it'd be all over the news."
"Okay, but Digg, think about it. It didn't work for anyone else because it couldn't," he placed a hand on his mentor's shoulder. "Who else could pull it off but you and me?"
Digg just gave him a look, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him the idiot had a point.
"You know it's true," Oliver lowered his hand, but continued. "We just have to find a girl. Forge her documents- your specialty. Get her trained up and to New York- my specialty. And get her in to see Judith- which will…" he paused and tilted his head for effect, "require both of us."
Digg sighed.
"Then," Oliver pushed on, "the stage is set for a joyous, convincing reunion and that's it. Everyone's happy, everyone wins. Especially us- we walk away with 10 mill a piece. Ten million dollars, Digg. We finally get out."
Oliver waited, but Diggle remained unmoved. "I know what you're thinking, and you're right- the key here is the girl. Right build, right age-"
"Clever, Cecily was always clever for her age." When Oliver raised an eyebrow, Digg just shrugged. "I'm not saying I'm in."
A smirk ghosted across Oliver's face, and Digg thought that might be the only genuine smile the kid had.
"Alright, clever. She'll need to be a good actress. We could hold auditions-"
Digg snorted. "There it is. I wondered when we'd get to the parade of blondes."
"Funny."
"Tell me," Digg leaned back against the table again, looking at Oliver down his nose. "What is with this obsession with getting out?"
He watched the blood drain from Oliver's face. Clearly, Digg had asked the one question about this proposal he hadn't expected.
Catching the scent of blood, Digg pressed on. "Chasing a last score is dangerous business, and I don't know if I'm convinced you really want out." He gestured around the basement, "You love this. You'd be bored without it, so… what's this really about? And don't hand me some bullshit about the helping the Orlovs, Oliver. We both know you didn't really know them from Adam."
Wrong, Oliver did know the Orlovs. Or at least, he'd met the two that mattered. He pressed his lips together, the fingers of his right hand chaffing a nervous rhythm against his thumb. But as usual, Digg was right in the larger sense- there was more to this than he'd necessarily cared to let on. Leave it to Digg to cut right through his smoke, to force the truth out of him. He took a deep breath through his nose.
"I'm just- I'm meant for something better. To be better. Than this." His chin came up, and he met Diggle's gaze directly. It was one of the last things he can remember his Uncle telling him before he died, and he had always held it as absolute truth.
He could see the wheels of Diggle's mind turning. Tension held Oliver absolutely still, except for the uncontrollable fidgeting of his hand. How fucked up do you have to be when the only tell you have is when you're being genuine?
Finally, with a resigned breath, Digg stood up straight. "I know you've got to have an ace up your sleeve- our connections alone won't cut it." When Oliver nodded, he said, "Fine, let's do it. But, only if we can find the right girl."
Oliver threw his hands up, shaking his head, "No argument here, the girl is key."
"And Oliver?" Diggle threw an arm around his partner's neck, pulled him into his side with more pressure than was strictly necessary "Don't ever try to con me again."
A grin- the unholy kind- bloomed across Oliver's face. "Wouldn't dream of it."
The sharp pounding of a fist on the metal door to the basement bounced around the concrete walls. Oliver untangled himself from Digg's death grip and took the stairs two at a time to answer the door.
Scraping a hand over his short hair, Digg called after him, exasperation fueling his voice, "That's a girl to audition, isn't it?"
"I knew you'd come around."
"But-"
"I'm sorry Ms. Smoak. In light of recent occurrences-" Felicity winced, the Dean of Technology was being very diplomatic. "Starling City Community College has no choice but to revoke your scholarship, and place you on disciplinary probation." The Dean scratched his balding pate, deflating a little in his worn ergonomic chair.
"You're very bright, Ms. Smoak. Honestly, probably one of the brightest I've had come into this program in-" he blew out a breath, gaze swinging up to water-stained ceiling tiles. The cramped office, the whole building really, was in rough shape. The Glades were still struggling to rebuild after the earthquake that leveled parts of their community 15 years ago. Felicity's fingers fidgeted with an old watch in her jacket pocket, shifted her weight to balance her chair on the three legs that would meet the floor at the same time.
It was the sight of the rusty abstract splotches marring the ceiling that had the Dean steeling himself, lowering his gaze to hers. "But we cannot afford to let you remain on the scholarship, when there are other students perfectly willing to…"
Felicity let her chair drop onto to its short leg with a little bang, raised her brows behind her glasses. "Not blow up the server room?"
"Well, yes. Amongst other things."
She chewed her lower lip a little as the Dean stuffed what she assumed were damage reports into her file and closed the folder with finality. The irony that her technology program's student files weren't digitized was not lost on her. In fact, she had intended to help with that. But she'd gotten distracted and then, well, boom.
"I don't have the money to stay on without the scholarship," she said.
"I know, and I really am sorry, but you will need to vacate your student housing by the end of the week."
"Right." She grabbed her messenger bag, hefted it over her shoulder, and awkwardly trotted out of the office. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until the cold air hit her when she burst out of the front doors of the building. Her first big, frigid lungful seared her throat, and her eyes stung with tears she wasn't about to shed on the front steps of SCCC.
"What happened?"
A glance to left revealed her friend and sort-of-brother, Tommy, leaning nonchalantly against the metal railing of the stairway. She sniffed, threw her chin in the air.
"Oh no," Tommy moaned. "They didn't…"
"They did." She threw back over her shoulder while trotting down the steps.
"Can't you just apologize to the Dean?" Tommy shouted behind her. "Wait up." He caught up with her on the sidewalk and spun her around to face him.
"Tommy, I'm lucky I'm not being brought up on charges." She sighed, running a hand through her dyed-black hair. Her hand was in her pocket again, worrying the latch on her antique pocket watch. It was the only thing left from her childhood, from a time before she can remember. She assumed it was a family heirloom, but in truth she had no idea.
She'd been found, wandering on her own 13 years ago in a small town down the coast. Her first memories were from a children's home. Actually, her first memories were of Tommy. She was seven years old, he was nine, and they became fast friends in that way kids will instantly do. That bond had carried them through an incredible amount of uncertainty and pain, as they were eventually swept up in the foster care system. As far as she was concerned, Tommy was the only family she had.
But a part of her, one she hadn't given voice to in a while, actually, wondered if she had had a family before. If they had looked for her. The only clue to their identity was a watch with two faces: one set to Pacific Time, the other labeled "New York, NY." It was old, it was heavy, and to be honest it didn't even work. It never had.
She kept it with her, at all times.
"So, what do you want to do?" Tommy asked, slinging an arm around her shoulders and rubbing her upper arm in support.
"I don't know." She genuinely hadn't considered what her next move would be if the worst happened. She was upset, to be sure. And scared. But she wasn't worried about her education. Her skills had always exceeded the program, it was just that she was kind of counting on using her performance here as leverage to get into a better program down the road.
"I should get a job, probably," she said. "Carly said Big Belly Burger is hiring. She could get me in, it'd be a steady gig, and I could save some money- maybe apply to another tech college."
But for what? To work in I.T. for the rest of her days? She had never wanted that, had never wanted the set path. The problem was, she didn't know what wanted in its stead. She'd always thought she'd figure it out when she got there… wherever there was. The only thing she knew, in her bones, was that she was meant for something bigger.
Her thumb rubbed over the inscription on the pocket watch. 'Together, always.' it read. The corners of her mouth turned up. She should be devastated right now, but instead, a steadily building excitement thrummed along her nerves.
"Carly hates her job, that's a terrible idea." Tommy said, shaking his head. He grinned down at her, "You're smart, you're gorgeous, you're…" he lifted a box-dyed black lock from her shoulder, ignoring the side-eye she shot him, "…impulsive."
Tommy had always had the bearing of a billionaire playboy. It never mattered to him what he had to his name, the world was his playground, and he wanted to share. Maybe she should follow suit this time. Maybe it was time to swallow her fear, and take the unknown path.
"Felicity, you've got the world at your feet. Screw 'should', what do you want to do?"
Blowing her bangs out of her eyes, she looked around the rundown neighborhood. "I want to get out." Her thumbnail traced the lines of the inscription on her watch again. "I want to go to New York City."
Tommy was so grateful that she was gazing wistfully at what appeared to be some rotting plywood hanging off of an abandoned gas station at that moment. Because he was fairly sure his face was 100% emotion, and he was also pretty confident that if she saw it, she would slug him. He knew what New York meant, and he was determined to be right by her side when she got there.
"Okay," he said, "that's what we're doing."
"We?" Felicity laughed, pulled out of her thoughts.
"Where you go, I follow, Smoak, that's the deal. Otherwise, it ends in disaster." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "Like that worthless school back there."
She rolled her eyes. "You didn't follow because you didn't have the grades, you ass."
He spread his arms wide, clearly feeling grandiose, "Who needs school when you have street smarts?"
"Literally everyone, Tommy." Sobering a little, she readjusted her glasses. "How will we even get there?" she wondered aloud.
At his quizzical expression, she gestured between the two of them. "I'm broke. You're broke." She mocked his thumbing of the college behind them, "'That worthless school back there' kicked me out of the dorms, so I don't even have a place to stay while we figure it out. And it's not like I could bunk with you. I mean, no offense but," she made a face, "God only knows where you sleep."
"A gentlemen doesn't tell," he winked.
"Tommy, it's thousands of miles to New York City. How will we even get there?"
"I've heard some rumors-" he paused as a few people scurried past on their way to the college. "There's a guy, in the Glades. He's who you're supposed to talk to if you want to disappear, yeah? And since you have the whole tech genius thing going for you, I thought we might trade some of your services for whatever we need to get to New York."
Felicity narrowed her eyes. Not a bad plan. A kind of scary plan, a shady plan, but not technically bad. "Where is this guy in the Glades?"
Tommy gently grabbed her shoulders, shifted her a few degrees until silhouetted between two buildings was the jagged profile of the unfinished Orlov Tower.
After the destruction of the city's most wealthy family, the Orlov Company pulled out of Starling City all together- the hotels sold off, and their expected crown jewel, the Orlov Tower abandoned, half-built. The construction campus was rife with squatters and looters for a while, the layoffs and economic effect of the company's exit a blow to a Glades already limping along from the earthquake a few years prior. It took years for jobs to trickle back into the area.
To this day, no company would touch the three block area in the center of the Glades where the skeleton of the Tower remained. Rumor had it, it was cursed. Or haunted. Even the bums kept away anymore.
Felicity shivered. "Really?"
"What better place?" Tommy shrugged.
She bit her lower lip, eyes flitting over the boarded up gas station, to the orange and pink staining the sky as the sun sank below the ruined Tower. The metal of her pocket watch felt warm in her hand. "Alright," She grinned up at him, "Let's go to New York."
Tommy nodded and hooked her arm in his as they started down the street, following the fading sunlight to the heart of the Glades. "This feels like a start of something," he said as they fell into step, "Should we sing?"
"There will be absolutely no singing."
AN #2: Here are a few fun facts if you are interested (skip if you find this sort of thing distracting:)
- Yes, Tommy is the dog. I'm so sorry. I can't even remember the name of the dog right now. I just really wanted Tommy in this story, interacting with Felicity and rounding out Digg-as-Vlad. I went through a few who's-in-what-role formulations, beyond the obvious, because I wanted to keep the Olicity Arrow feel in this rather non-Arrow-y story and I thought maybe "casting" would be an organic way to do that. (idk I'm literally just making this up as I go along b/c I've never written an AU before and have no idea what I'm doing.) Somehow, in every single roster, Tommy is the dog. I am so sorry.
- The full title of this chapter is "Have You Heard What They're Saying On the E!"
- I borrowed the steps for a con (smile, "yes," etc.) from "Faking It" by Jennifer Crusie. I fucking love that book, as I love all romps involving cons and thievery, but especially this one, because it has a really honest (realistic?) view of sex, particularly if you're in a high stress situation. This really doesn't have anything to do with this story, I just wanted to recommend it.
- That E! True Hollywood Story at the beginning of this chapter is fully written. It may reappear at some point, because Oliver being obsessed with the E! network is too hilarious to me. But if it doesn't, I'll post the whole thing as a side story as long as y'all read it in a v. serious Ryan Seacrest voice.