Chipped Blocks
An Olicity Flash Fic Story
Flash Fic Prompt #36: Blind Date
Chapter Eight
After his mother died and Thea moved out, Oliver drastically changed how Queen Manor was operated. And operated was the right word, because his childhood home was more than just a house; it was a village onto itself... a village, albeit, with a population of one for many years.
The first thing Oliver did was reassign most of the staff. At that point, he was already running QC and trying to repair the damage his family had helped level upon Starling City, so Oliver couldn't just outright let the staff go. Instead, he found them positions elsewhere, many of them moving on to similar duties at Queen Consolidated itself. He only kept Raisa to run the house and Pete to maintain the grounds. That's it. To accommodate these drastic reductions, Oliver had most of the house shut off, essentially turning what was one of the closest residences America had to a castle into an extremely disproportionate four bedroom bachelor pad. He kept a room for himself; a room for Thea, because, though she had moved out, Oliver's sister was always welcome in the home they had shared as children; a room for Digg's family to use during city-wide emergencies; and a guest room. Not that Oliver ever really entertained. The city was full of hotels – some of which he even owned, but Raisa had put her foot down, insisting upon at least attempting to honor the Queen family's reputation for hospitality.
Now, the guest room was Connor's, and, with a new generation to fuss over, Raisa could not possibly care less about hospitality.
Downstairs, Oliver kept the kitchen open, and his father's old study and the family's main living room were still habitable, but, otherwise, Queen Manor was a city of ghosts created by the dusty white sheets that adorned all of the furniture. Business dinners were held in restaurants, and QC parties at QC. Raisa worked eight hour shifts. She started in the morning. She put the coffee on, and she made sure that Oliver ate at least one meal a day. After he went to work, she maintained the few rooms he used, and, by the time Oliver returned at night, she was once more at home with her own family. Although Oliver would always appreciate the woman who had once been like a second mother to him, the separation of their personal lives allowed him to take advantage of the real reason why he made so many changes to Queen Manor.
To his sister and his former staff, Oliver had confessed that the house, without a family, just felt too lonely. And, while that wasn't necessarily a lie, it also was a convenient excuse. In reality, his plan to use the old Queen Steel Factory as his base of operations had always been short-term. The club had served as an excellent cover in the beginning – back when Tommy was running Verdant and Oliver had believed his mission would be finished once every name in his father's notebook was crossed off, but, over the years, it had become more of a liability than an asset. Plus, running Queen Consolidated took up so much of Oliver's time that he needed to streamline his two very separate lives. As a result, he built a bigger, better disguised base in the basement of the Queen Mansion, taking advantage of all the old coal chutes and fruit cellars to hide in plain sight. Even now, with Connor in his life, it was the perfect setup. Even though his son was seventeen and not in need of constant supervision, Oliver felt better knowing that, no matter if he was out on a mission or not, Connor was protected. With Oliver out in the field, Digg would man the base... and be within shouting distance if Connor were in any danger.
Not that Connor was aware of what was really beneath his new home... nor what was really lurking beneath the CEO exterior of his newfound father.
"I made us some dinner," Oliver stated as a means of announcing his presence. Connor's bedroom door was partially open. Forgoing a knock, Oliver moved into the threshold, leaning against the frame. When Connor didn't react – he didn't stand up to move downstairs, he didn't ask what Oliver had cooked, and he didn't immediately demand his privacy, Oliver decided to press his luck and take advantage of the temporarily truce that had existed between them since Felicity's very impressive dress-down that afternoon. "Can you really... do those things you offered today?"
He watched his son dejectedly propel his leather desk chair around so that they were facing one another. "I can... not that it means anything now when it matters the most."
"I'm terrible with technology." Sliding both of his hands into the front pockets of his dress slacks, Oliver offered, "I use the excuse that I was never able to catch up after... coming home, but the truth is that I've never had the interest." Genuinely curious, he asked, "what about your mom?"
"She's hopeless. I think the saddest day of her life was when flip phones officially went off the market."
Chuckling softly, Oliver remarked, "well, then, I guess we have at least one thing in common... well, besides you." After a brief pause during which they both fell silent, he proposed, "I wonder where you get it from?" Connor shrugged, the gesture expressing both uncertainty and a lack of curiosity... at least towards where his cyber intelligence had originated. It wasn't a cruel reaction – which was what Oliver was used to from his only child, but, feeling greedy, he wanted more than detachment. "At least the little I remember about your mother seems accurate. I wouldn't have pegged her for a tech geek. No offense."
Though that's exactly what Connor took at Oliver's casual comment. Sitting up straight and causing his chair to snap forward, the seventeen year old demanded, "what's that supposed to mean?"
Oliver refused to take the bait. "I just... I never pictured Sandra as someone who worked with a computer all day. She seemed too... I don't know. When I met her, I thought she'd become a teacher. Or maybe a nurse."
"But not a professor, or a doctor, or a scientist."
"Connor, I've obviously offended you, but that wasn't my intention. I'm not sure what exactly I said wrong, but, whatever it is, I'm..."
His son cut him off. "You basically said that my mom wasn't smart enough..."
" … that's not what I meant!"
But Connor ignored Oliver's protests, talking over top of him. " … for me to have taken after her, to amount to something as important as a CEO... of a company you inherited by default!"
And there was the seventeen year old Oliver, if not knew, then at least recognized. Taking a deep, bracing breath, he spoke slowly but carefully, fully enunciating his words to emphasize his sincerity. "Connor, your mom wasn't in my life long enough to for me know her, let alone judge her. I realize that no kid wants to hear this, but it was one night, and, as you're unfortunately aware, I don't particularly remember it. What I do remember of your mom, however, was that she was just... nice. Sweet. When I said that I saw her as a teacher or a nurse, I wasn't insulting her. She was just one of those people who was kind to everyone... even if they didn't deserve it, because, let's face it, I wasn't worth her time, yet she ended up having a kid with me. I guess I just hoped that she spent her life showing that kind of care and warmth towards others."
"Oh."
In the face of Connor's obvious surprise and relent, Oliver felt his own tension evaporate. Removing his hands from his pockets, he motioned over his shoulder. "Now, come on. Dinner's getting cold."
Although Connor didn't stand up to follow after him, he did ask, "how'd you learn how to cook?"
"I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Raisa as a kid. I'd sit in there and do my homework after school while she prepared dinner. So, maybe I picked some things up way back then, but I didn't actually figure out what I was doing until... well, there's no staff on deserted islands, and, even after I came home, I couldn't eat the same way as everyone else, and it just became easier to fend for myself."
"You don't talk about it much," his only child observed thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing and his head tilting to the side. "The island. Being away for five years."
Oliver shrugged carelessly... or he hoped the gesture came off as careless. "There's not much to tell."
"Somehow I doubt that," Connor retorted, though it wasn't said with any heat.
Silently, Oliver observed as his son swiveled back around to, once more, face his computer. At any other point in their relationship, Oliver would have interpreted the move as dismissive, but, instead that evening, he just patiently waited. As crazy as it would seem to perhaps any other father and son, they had genuinely made progress with each other that day, and he was curious to see what Connor would do or say next. So, he just stood there, and he didn't press, and he watched without blinking as windows opened up and then disappeared again from Connor's monitor, his son's fingers moving faster than Oliver could track over the keyboard. Less than a minute later, Connor was standing up and approaching him, a piece of scribbled on scrap paper held out to Oliver in offering.
"A man like you doesn't come home after five years of having to take care of himself and not fall back into old habits without there being a story. Seeing as how you also came back and decided not to be a part of my life, I think I have a right to hear that story... whatever it may be, so, when you're ready to really talk, you know where to find me. In the meantime," Connor told him, finally releasing whatever information he had obtained from his computer and then jotted down on the notebook paper into Oliver's awaiting grasp. "Maybe I can't do anything to help Ms. Smoak right now, but that doesn't mean both of us should be powerless."
As Connor jogged down the hall and stairs towards the kitchen, he left his speechless with shock father behind. On the piece of paper, not only did he find Felicity's home address and cell phone number, but he was also looking at a peace offering. It wasn't the acceptance he craved from his son, but it was a start.
And Oliver had every intention of taking it.
