Most of this story has been completed for a while now, it's only just recently I managed the push for the last two chapters. They are five chapters in total, ranging in the 8.5 to 10k range in length. I'll be publishing on a weekly basis for this, every Sunday most likely.

Warning: This story discusses a lot of mature themes, including a relationship between an older man and a younger woman. Nothing explicit, but it's there. To soothe all of you, I can assure you that Lauriver is the endgame; the other relationship won't last.


Laurel had no idea what she was even doing here.

It was stupid, she knew that from the get-go. But Tommy had given her that desperate pout of his, and she'd have to be a block of stone not to cave after seeing it. Through all her numbness and grief, the small part of her that still cared couldn't bear to push away her last and only friend. So she accepted the invitation with a shaky smile and hoped to put away the bitterness for one night.

A mistake. It was too soon, the pain too raw. Only three months passed since the sinking of the Queen's Gambit, since the day her entire life changed forever. The day her boyfriend and sister had died, screwing each other's brains out and spitting on Laurel's love and trust in them both, ripping apart her family irreparably and leaving her drowning—

Laurel stopped herself and inhaled a deep breath. She wasn't going to break down. Not here, not in front of all these people, not when Tommy had invited her here to let off some steam and forget. She was going to keep herself together, just for an hour or two more, and then go. Just long enough to be polite.

But then some asshole tried to hit on her, and suddenly she realized she didn't have to wait out the party here with the rest of the crowd. Laurel could go upstairs instead. As the childhood friend of the host, she had freedoms that the rest of the guests lacked — and in this instance, she was shamelessly willing to exploit them as much as she could, as long as she could finally breathe.

It took a bit of effort to navigate the throng of writhing bodies, mindlessly shaking and bouncing to the music, but Laurel managed. Before she knew it she was ascending the massive grand staircase that acted as the centerpiece for Merlyn Manor, innocuous and overlooked. Laurel had been the talk of the town for the worst reasons possible three months ago, but the 24/7 news cycle had long since passed her by. In an atmosphere of heady music and absentminded gyrations, she was the last person anyone down there was thinking of right now.

Upstairs was just as she suspected it to be: quiet, barren, undisturbed. The perfect place to hide out while she collected herself, caught her breath. Relief flooded through her as she leaned against a nearby wall, closing her eyes and allowing the silence to massage her thoughts. So peaceful, part of her just wanted to stay here forever.

"I don't think you understand your position here, Moira."

Laurel's eyes snapped open, and her neck almost suffered whiplash as she turned her head to the right. One of the doors she was standing next to was open, just the slightest bit. Not enough to expose just what exactly was going on inside, but enough to sieve some sound through for her to hear. And the voice

Looking around to make sure the coast was clear, Laurel crept up to the door, careful to make sure her footsteps were as quiet as possible. She crouched down and peered one of her eyes through the opening, squinting to get a better look. Sure enough, there was Malcolm Merlyn himself, standing at his office desk with his ear pressed up against the receiver of a desktop telephone. His face was scrunched up, almost looking like he was annoyed.

"I don't care about your moral hangups. You're a member of Tempest now, one of my soldiers. As far as you're concerned, my orders are law. And if you have an issue with that — well, need I remind you about the Gambit?"

The eavesdropper froze. What? Laurel thought to herself, suddenly feeling she had been dumped into a lake in the middle of winter. What was that about the Gambit? Was Tommy's dad insinuating he had something to do with what happened that day?

Malcolm, of course, was unaware of the earth-shattering revelation he had just delivered outside his door. He was completely focused on his conversation with Moira Queen, on making her do whatever the hell he wanted her to do. "Enough, Moira. Any more defiance on your end, and I will deliver the same fate to young Thea that I delivered upon your son and husband. I think we can both agree that is the last thing either of us want."

This time, Laurel had to stifle a gasp. Unable to listen any further, she bolted as quickly and quietly as possible. She descended back downstairs and buried herself into the mass of dancing humanity, mind spinning, unable to think of anything. Instead, Laurel just danced and danced the night away, hoping to God Malcolm never realized she had been right outside his door, having her entire world ripped apart for the second time in three months.


Barely remembering to give her farewells to Tommy, Laurel returned to her apartment in a daze. The moment she was inside and the door was locked, she leaned against the wood and slid to the ground, mind swirling away at everything she had just learned tonight. The Queen's Gambit hadn't shipwrecked in a storm. It had been sabotaged.

Sara and Ollie and Mr. Queen and all those other people, they had been… been…

Laurel let out a wail as she curled into a fetal position, beginning to sob. They had been murdered. Murdered. Suddenly all the anger and betrayal, the bitterness and the guilt drained away, all those negative emotions leaving her all at once. All that was left was the unmistakable grief and pain that she had done everything in her power not to succumb to these past three months.

She didn't know how long she lay there, crying her heart out. Could've been minutes, could've been hours, it didn't matter. But eventually, it subsided. The long and much-needed catharsis had finally allowed her to regain control of her emotions. Allowed her to finally think.

Two of the most important people in her life had been murdered. Murdered, and she didn't know why. Rage welled up in her again, but this time it was directed at a far more deserving target. Malcolm Merlyn had a lot to answer for, and the stubborn part of Laurel wanted to drive back to Merlyn Manor and confront the man and demand answers. Thankfully, the logical, rational part of her that had drawn her to become a lawyer won out.

If Malcolm really had murdered all those people, then there was nothing stopping him from killing her if he found out she knew the truth. He would know there was no way she would keep silent, not when he had killed her sister and her boyfriend. No amount of sentiment was going to stop him either — after all, he had been willing to kill his best friend and his godson. Compared to them, Laurel was nothing.

So she needed to confirm what she just learned another way. Confirm it, and collect it as evidence so it could be used against Malcolm in his hypothetical trial. A tape recorder should do for the latter; she could pick one up at the store tomorrow. And as for the former…

Well, Laurel thought with a weary sigh, maybe it was a good thing Tommy was so eager to get back into her good graces.


The next month or so was spent at the Merlyn Manor. Laurel guiltily took advantage of her friendship with Tommy to visit the mansion as often as possible, doing her best to greet and exchange pleasantries with Malcolm whenever the man was present. The tape recorder was hidden deep within her bag, unnoticed and at the ready for whenever there was an opportunity. Hopefully, the increased frequency of her visits after months of doing her best to avoid Tommy did not arouse any suspicion.

Eventually, her persistence paid off. Tommy thought he was winning her over, and so invited her as his (friendly) plus one to some big wig dinner that Malcolm was hosting. Nothing like the usual club affairs his son frequented, this was supposed to be a classy occasion, where the city's elite wined and dined and brokered deals that affected the lives of all those little pesky people beneath them, of which Laurel was one of many. It was the kind of thing that Tommy hated and found boring, and Laurel's invitation was given with the hope of shared suffering.

It was a golden opportunity. Not only would Malcolm would be there, but so would Moira Queen. Tommy had told her about the older woman's attendance as a warning, so she could make an informed choice on whether or not to attend, but instead of warding Laurel off, it had only cemented her decision. While she couldn't confront Moira either, not when she was uncertain whether or not she could still trust the other woman, perhaps she could gather more information on what was going on, with the two primary actors in this whole affair in the general vicinity of one another.

So when the night of the dinner came, Laurel put on her Sunday best, including some old jewelry that Oliver had gotten for her the last time she had to attend one of these events. She had locked it away after the boat, but no longer — something told her she was going to need it again, and a lot more often than she used to.


"Thanks for coming with me to this, Laurel," Tommy told her gratefully as they pulled up into the manor's driveaway. Already, a line of limousines and sports cars were queued together, the city's most prominent citizens exiting one by one. "You know how much I hate these things."

"What are friends for?" Laurel told him with a sparkling smile, ignoring the churning in her gut. It wasn't like she didn't care about Tommy, she truly did, but that didn't change the fact she was using him. She had considered bringing him into this, telling him what she heard, but there was no guarantee he'd believe her, not without proof. He might even tell his father, and that would be the end of her. And even if he did believe her… well. Then he would be in just as much danger as her. Malcolm had killed his best friend for whatever plans he had — it wasn't safe to assume he would stop at family with that kind of determination.

Once they were inside the manor, Laurel put on her best, most sophisticated veneer and mingled, being careful to mind her manners and remember all the etiquette she learned during her years at Berlanti Prep. She wasn't a complete outsider in these circles, being a minor relation to the Drake Family of Gotham through her mother. The sizable, if relatively modest inheritance Dinah Drake Lance had inherited from them had been what paid Laurel and Sara's tuition to the most elite school in the city, and then through undergrad. It was only law school that Laurel was financing on her own, through copious amounts of scholarships, endowments, and good old-fashioned loans.

But that didn't really mean Laurel was one of the one percent. She didn't have a fancy car to roll around in and show off. She didn't attend an Ivy League for her first college. She still had debts that would take years to pay off, all from her own pocket. Laurel and her family were upper middle class at best, and every time she attended a dinner like this, it took everything she had not to feel like some kind of impostor. When you were a penny among diamonds, you did everything you could to make sure you didn't draw attention to it.

But being a penny among diamonds was the least of her concerns right now. Laurel was a woman on the mission, and she was not going to lose out on this chance just because she was afraid of not fitting in. So when she ran into Moira Queen, she put on her politest smile and greeted the woman as if her son hadn't cheated on her with her sister and supposedly gotten them both killed.

"Hello, Mrs. Queen," Laurel said calmly, ignoring the way the woman paled. "It's good to see you. Is Thea doing well? I'm sorry I haven't gone to see her in a while."

"It's fine, Laurel," Moira replied, looking awkwardly terrified. "Thea and I understand why you… haven't been around lately. And it's good to see you too. How has law school been?"

They made small talk and completely ignored the elephant in the room, and that was fine. Laurel wasn't looking for some kind of confrontation and right now her issues with Oliver and Sara's actions were far away on the backburner. She was too busy trying to get justice for their murders to care about that.

The conversation only lasted a little bit before Moira took the first out she had, leaving Laurel in the cold. Once she was gone, Laurel went ahead to taste more of the hors d'oeuvres while musing over the older woman's demeanor. Even before Laurel approached her, Moira had been reticent, making it all too obvious how much she did not want to be here. One could easily chalk that up to the recent loss of her son and husband, but knowing what Laurel did now, she was able to notice the other, subtle emotion in the Queen matriarch's expression — fear. It wasn't just Moira not wanting to be here; she was afraid to be here.

And Laurel had a feeling she knew why. She was vindicated after the dinner was over and people began to leave, the last dregs lingering to fulfill their actual purpose for being here: business. With the socialization aspect over, it was time for them to wheel and deal, and that meant if there was any chance of Malcolm and Moira speaking about whatever the hell they were involved in, now was the time.

Tommy had offered to drive her home but Laurel refused him, asking him to just call her a cab instead. No need to inconvenience himself for her sake. It gave her the perfect excuse to stick around and snoop a little bit. When she spotted Malcolm and Moira ascending the stairs together and heading down a certain corridor, she told Tommy she needed to fix herself up a bit before she headed back to her apartment and discreetly followed them.

By sheer dumb luck, the two supposed co-conspirators had opted to use one of the balconies for their private talk. One that, unbeknownst to them, had an indirect connection to another room (another living room, to be exact) through a small outside vent right next to it — something that Tommy had shown Ollie, Sara, and her when they were kids. The extra living room's entrance was far away from the balcony's entryway, making it highly unlikely either of her elders would notice Laurel entering it.

The moment she was inside, Laurel locked the door behind her and took out her tape recorder. She went over to the vent and pried it open, as quietly as possible. She shifted her head and pressed her ear against the opening, delighting in the loud volume of the two adults, and started to record.

"Dismiss the petition, Moira."

"I don't see how this concerns you, Malcolm. Those steelworkers deserve that money—"

"Dismiss the petition. I won't say it again."

"You already made your point when you forced Robert to deny them their severance packages the first time, Malcolm! Why bother doing it again?" Moira nearly shouted in exasperation.

"Because that scum from the Glades doesn't deserve a cent," Malcolm snarled, and Laurel flinched at the sheer hatred in his voice. "Now either you reject the petition, or you and your daughter will be enacting a repeat of the Gambit very soon. Make no mistake, Moira — you might be vital to the Undertaking, but by no means are you irreplaceable."

There was a sound of a door slamming shut after that, indicating one of the two had left and the conversation was over. Laurel ended the recording, musing over everything she had just overheard. There was certainly wording to suggest Malcolm's involvement in the Gambit's sinking, but nothing as damaging as what Laurel had heard over a month ago. She couldn't go to the feds with something like this, especially when rich and powerful people were involved. Both Malcolm and Moira could buy their way out of any trouble this could cause easily.

And there was something else too. This… Undertaking. What was it about? Did it have to do with why Malcolm sank the Gambit? Why was Moira vital to it?

There were just too many questions right now. Too many questions, and not enough answers. She needed more information before she made her next move. Because Laurel wasn't blind to the reality of the situation — she was a normal girl going up against arguably the richest, most powerful, and most dangerous man in the city. If she wanted to take Malcolm down, she needed to make sure whatever she found stuck. It had to be so irrefutable, that not even all the money in the world could get him out of it.

I'll figure this out Sara, Ollie, Mr. Queen, Laurel swore to herself. I'll figure this out, and I'll stop it. No matter what it takes.


Getting close to the Merlyns involved the greatest acting job of Laurel's life, nothing compared to those school plays in Berlanti Prep that she had partaken in for drama class. She had to keep all her true feelings buried deep inside herself, say all the right words, and react in all the right ways just to make sure Malcolm had no reason to be wary or suspicious of her. But visiting Tommy's home for a quiet place to study and eat good food was hardly conducive to the success of her investigation. If she wanted more information, she needed some way to get closer to Malcolm, not Tommy.

Her opening came when she arrived on a day when Malcolm was having a session with his regular fencing instructor/sparring partner. Fencing was one of the few (public) passions he had, and Laurel had been doing research on all of them in hopes one of them could provide the opportunity she was seeking. Now, it was finally here.

"Hello, Mr. Merlyn—oh," Laurel stumbled, doing her best to act embarrassed at interrupting the spar Malcolm was currently embroiled in. "My apologies. I didn't realize you were in the middle of something."

Malcolm turned to her and removed his mask, giving her a charming smile. "It's fine, Laurel. What are you doing here?" How she got in was hardly a question; she had been coming over so often, Tommy went ahead and gave her a copy of the keys to the mansion so she no longer had to wait outside for someone to let her in.

"I was looking for Tommy," she admitted. "I needed to talk to him about something and thought he might be here."

The Merlyn patriarch let out an annoyed sigh. "Alas, my son is sleeping off another hangover in his room. Unless whatever you need to talk to him about is urgent, it might be best to wait until tomorrow."

Perfect. "That's fine, Mr. Merlyn. I can wait." She made a show of thoughtfully peering at his rapier in interest. Much to her delight, Malcolm noticed.

"Developing an interest in fencing after all your visits here?" he teased her, gracing her with another suave smile. It made Laurel's skin crawl.

She hummed in affirmation. "I've been reading up on a few things," the law student admitted. "And I've been considering trying it out. Do you mind showing me some stuff?"

Laurel waited for a flare of suspicion in his eyes, but none came. He took the bait and beckoned Laurel forward, showing off a few movements with his sparring partner's help and even letting Laurel try a few things with his rapier. She wasn't quite a natural, but being young and fit, she managed to pick up a few things regardless. Malcolm was pleased, probably because he had another person he knew actually sharing his interests, and offered to let Laurel join in on more of his sessions and learn the art directly from him. Laurel took the offer immediately, doing her best to look grateful and blessed.


Another month later, another breakthrough came through: Moira Queen had salvaged the Gambit, including proof that the yacht had been sabotaged. Laurel found this out while eavesdropping on another conversation between Malcolm and one of his spies in Queen Consolidated, Doug Miller. She had to enhance her recording of the conversation when she got back home to get the full picture, but what she found made it more than worth it.

Moira was nervous about her current shaky position in Tempest, whatever sort of secret organization Malcolm was heading. She was constantly chafing with Malcolm on every little thing, but the recent death of another of their 'associates' for apparent defiance of their great leader's edicts had silenced her rebellious attitude. She was afraid.

To balance out that fear, she had become deferential. Loyal. Desperate to make herself invaluable to Malcolm and his goals. But she wasn't stupid, either; she needed a contingency, in case being the "good soldier" was not enough. Hence, the Gambit. If Malcolm ever did turn on her, Moira could threaten to reveal the Gambit to the authorities and take him down with her. Or, perhaps, set it up as a deadman switch, one that would trigger upon her death and take him down anyway, protecting Thea from further reprisal at his hands. A security blanket, a promise of mutually assured destruction.

Except, Malcolm was not particularly concerned about the discovery of the shipwreck. He was confident he could pin the blame on another, a proxy who had helped in planting the bomb that killed all those people. So if Moira did die and the deadman switch triggered, without her testimony Malcolm would be able to escape the consequences and get off scot-free. He had decided to let Moira believe she had snuck the Gambit back into the city under his nose, to let her feel more comfortable and secure so she wouldn't do anything rash.

But he hadn't—no, couldn't, account for Laurel. This was it — if the Gambit was discovered and Moira was interrogated, she could confess to everything, including Malcolm's involvement in the sinking. He'd be arrested, justice served, and they'd finally be free of him for good. And if Moira wasn't going to turn it in on her own, well, Laurel would just have to force her hand.


Laurel waited two absolutely agonizing months before she put her plan into motion. There was no other choice — if she had reported the location of the Gambit immediately after finding out about it at Malcolm's house, Malcolm would have suspected a leak. He'd still suspect a leak, but he wouldn't suspect that leak would be her, or that it was in his own house, so to speak. That way, if this didn't work, Laurel would still be in a position to spy on him and figure out another way to nail him to the wall.

So, one day after her classes at law school, Laurel donned a black hoodie and jeans, keeping her hood up to hide her face. She went to a nearby gas station and payphone and called in an anonymous tip to the FBI. Along with the contents and possible codes to get inside (surreptitiously associated with the date of the Gambit's sinking and those dear to Moira who had died on it), she gave them the address. Moira might have hidden the funds in QC's ledgers, but she was unable to hide the listing of the shell company she had used to launder it. Worse than that, she had named it after Tempest itself, making it easy to locate on the registry.

A day or so later, Laurel was watching the news as it reported upon the discovery of the Gambit's wreckage and the apparent evidence that it had been sabotaged. Her father had appeared at her apartment later that day, and the two shared a hug at the revelation, the realization that Sara had been stolen from them not because of some cruel act of fate, but rather because some asshole with a grudge against the Queen family. They were waiting with bated breath to see who it was, and Laurel kept away from Merlyn Manor to keep up the ruse of grief.

One week after that, Laurel was screaming at her television, namely at the images of Moira Queen and Frank Chen, the latter the alleged saboteur of the Queen's Gambit. Likely, the proxy Malcolm had claimed he could pin the bomb on. Why? Why? What was Moira thinking, this was her chance! She could've finally been free from Malcolm for good! Why hadn't she turned the man in?

As she was combing news articles online, searching for some kind of answer, she quickly learned the reason why. The day the Gambit had been discovered by the FBI, right before the discovery had even hit the news, one Josiah Hudson, head of Queen Consolidated's security, had been killed in a supposed car accident. Coincidence, perhaps, but Laurel found that highly unlikely. Even more so when Frank Chen killed himself in his cell right after his arrest, allegedly to save himself from reprisal from the Triad.

Two men were dead. One innocent, one guilty, but they were both dead regardless and it was Laurel's fault. She had overplayed her hand, had underestimated Moira's fear of Malcolm and the true scope of Malcolm's reach. Had he found out about her too? Should Laurel expect a knife in the back as well?

She concluded that it was highly unlikely after she returned to her regular visits to Merlyn Manor and found Malcolm as welcoming and charming as ever, with not a hint of hostility or any indication her presence was aggravating to him. He had even bought and gifted Laurel a new set of fencing equipment, so she might continue her lessons with him. Laurel had accepted the gift, fearing a trap, and about a month in it became clear Malcolm didn't suspect her at all. She was completely beneath his notice, just another one of Tommy's friends that he had taken a liking to.

Good. That meant she still had a chance.


If there was anything this whole debacle taught her, it's that not only was taking down Malcolm going to be much more difficult than she had originally assumed but that she couldn't hope to rely on anyone for help except herself. She had expected Moira to do the right thing when the moment came when it mattered most, and the older woman hadn't. And now, with the Gambit no longer a card to play, Laurel had to start from scratch all over again, find some other evidence that he could be nailed for. A smoking gun, or perhaps a wealth of circumstantial evidence that couldn't be ignored.

Because when the time came, it was going to be her word against Malcolm's, and Laurel was no fool. She was studying to be a lawyer, and when it came to a criminal trial, credibility was everything. Laurel was some fresh twenty-something law student going against one of the most acclaimed and beloved businessmen on the West Coast. Malcolm had to be proven beyond all reasonable doubt that he was guilty. The recordings that Laurel had, many of them with ambiguous wording or hardly any admission of wrongdoing, were not going to be enough. She needed more.

But at the same time, she couldn't continue as she was, hanging around at Tommy's house while hoping that Malcolm might have another one of his secret appointments while she was there. Now that the Gambit's sabotage had been exposed, Malcolm would be looking to plug in as many leaks as he could, and if she was discovered trying to listen in on his conversations and pry into his personal business without due reason, it wouldn't take long for Malcolm to figure out she was the leak he was looking for. Laurel would be dead, chances are so would her parents, and that would be the end of the matter. Sara, Ollie, and even Mr. Queen, who always had nothing but kind things to say to her — they'd all remain unavenged.

Laurel could no longer listen in from the outside. She needed to be an insider herself. But there was no easy avenue to do that; Malcolm had brought Moira in for the sake of QC's resources and connections, the kind of resources and connections that Laurel, as a broke, no-name graduate student, did not have. There was no chance of Malcolm seeking her out for that sort of thing. And if she revealed what she knew, and tried to play the part of being interested in his ambitions when she didn't even know what those ambitions were, Malcolm would never believe her and kill her anyway.

So she had to be brought in by him, but in such a way that it didn't require her to compromise the knowledge of his endeavors that she already had. The only way that could be done was through a personal connection of some sort, Malcolm wanting to bring her in because he wanted to share in the "glory" of whatever he was doing or something to that effect. A friend, perhaps? Laurel already had something of a friendship with him thanks to their regular fencing training. But while that had made them closer, it certainly wasn't close enough to make her one of his co-conspirators. She was just a student of his, almost like a pet he was a little fond of. Not an equal.

The answer came to her during a conversation with Tommy. She had been studying for an exam at his dining table when he suddenly dropped in the seat next to her, looking absolutely bummed. "Something wrong?" Laurel asked, genuinely concerned.

Tommy groaned and sighed. "My Great Uncle Johnny just died."

"Your Great Uncle Johnny?" Did that mean Malcolm had more living relatives?

"From my mother's side," Tommy clarified, and that made a lot more sense. "We weren't particularly close, but he was one of the last connections to my mother that I had. He's been in assisted living for the past several years, and the last time I visited him was a few years ago. Now I feel guilty I didn't visit him more often, especially since Dad and I were the ones bankrolling his stay there."

Laurel frowned. "Really? But he was your mom's uncle, not your dad's."

Tommy shrugged. "Maybe, but he was still family. That's what counts."

"…right," she agreed slowly, a figurative lightbulb over her head. Laurel had to resist the urge to grin.


Of course. Of course.

Family. That was the answer.

If Laurel was family, if she was somehow tied to Malcolm in that permanent, consequential way, he was far more likely to bring her into his confidence. The only reason Tommy wasn't, was out of choice; he had resented his father ever since his mother had died and the man had abandoned him for two years. The clash in personalities and personal desires had only fueled that resentment, and ironically, it was only Laurel's increased presence in their lives that had prevented things from growing worse. Accordingly, Malcolm had become less overbearing to Tommy ever since Laurel had become something of a companion to him, perhaps in hopes that doing so would not drive her away as well. That was a hint of the fondness that Laurel needed to cultivate further if she wished to be fully brought into Malcolm's conspiracy.

So she had to join the Merlyn family somehow. And since she couldn't change her DNA to make herself a daughter or a sister or even a cousin, she had to do it the old-fashioned way: marrying in. To that end, Laurel began enquiring more about Tommy's family relations (since Tommy, understandably, hated talking about his family unless he absolutely had to), by attending his dear uncle's funeral as his friendly plus one. She could ingratiate herself with any relatives that attended, and find prospective suitors. The closer the relative was to Malcolm, the better.

Unfortunately, dear old Great Uncle Johnny had a very small funeral.

"Most of my mom's family died in a private plane crash when she was little," Tommy explained to her upon seeing her confusion at the number of guests — all ten or so of them, none of them around their age. "Until I was born, Great Uncle Johnny and her were considered the last Swanns. Then she died, and it was just Uncle Johnny and me. Now it's just me."

Laurel took him by the arm and comforted him, but her mind was whirling in an entirely different direction. Okay, so Rebecca's relatives were a bust. There was no chance of marrying into the Swann family or anything of the sort. That just left the Merlyns. She inquired Tommy about them too, only for Tommy to laugh mirthlessly.

"Trust me, Laurel," he'd said bitterly, "if I had other relatives I would've moved in with them a long time ago. But no — Dad's parents are dead, and they were only children like him. It's just us, and God I wish it wasn't."

She winced at his words, even as a stone dropped in her gut. Fuck. That wasn't an option either. If the extended family was out of the question, then that left the one method Laurel had been doing her best to ignore ever since this little scheme popped into her head: the direct one.

Despite her single-mindedness towards her goal, Laurel was not blind. She noticed the way Tommy was starting to look at her. The longing, the desire. Well, the latter had been there for a while now, but she had rebuffed all his initial advances. Learning the truth about the Gambit, and her ardent desire to get justice for Ollie and Sara, had effectively suppressed her desire for more intimate companionship. Romance had been a distraction.

Now, it was her weapon, but she needed to know who to use it on, and Tommy was the obvious choice. He already had feelings for her and would be receptive to the idea of starting a relationship. And she cared about him. She wasn't sure if that tenderness was romantic, but there was a bond between them. Dating him would not be a chore, it would be something she might even enjoy. Nobody would turn their heads at her falling into the arms of her other best friend after her boyfriend, the third in their trio, had betrayed her so horrifically and died in such tragedy.

Tommy was the logical choice. The only choice.

But, Laurel thought as she stared down at an old picture of Ollie, Tommy, and her at Berlanti Prep, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Only choice or not, Tommy was her friend. Her best friend. She was already using him, endangering him, by taking advantage of that friendship to spy on his father. If she took this further, if she started a relationship with him, toyed with his feelings like that, or lied to him any further, their relationship would likely break once he inevitably found out the truth. And he would find out the truth. That was the goal, after all. To say nothing of what Malcolm might do to him if he thought he was involved in her treachery.

Besides, being Tommy's wife was no guarantee of gaining Malcolm's confidence. Tommy was on the outs with his father for a reason, and Laurel trying to bridge that gap for her own nefarious purposes was just as likely to backfire on her as it was to succeed. Because for reconciliation to happen, Tommy needed to want it. And even though Malcolm was being less overbearing lately, there was no indication Tommy wanted their current dynamic to change.

Tommy was her only option, but there were too many risks for her to choose him, including her sincere reluctance. But could she afford not to, when it might be the best chance she had at finding the information she sought? Could she find another way?

It was too important a decision to make in just one day. She needed more time to think.


The conflict in Laurel raged within her for days, winding her up and plaguing her thoughts. Be with Tommy, or not be with Tommy, that was the question, was it not? It made Laurel ill, knowing she was considering using her best friend like this. This whole situation was making her a worse and worse person, and she had to wonder how far she was going to fall by the time this was all over. Because she had no illusions about what working with Malcolm was going to be like. There had to be a reason Moira had chafed so much under his command at first, and very likely it had to do with the fact that whatever the fuck he was up to impinged on her morals, as Malcolm had said all those months ago.

This inner turmoil made great fuel for her spar with Malcolm at the end of the week. She had taken to her lessons incredibly well, her skill growing by leaps and bounds. Already, Laurel could tell Malcolm was starting to hold back on her less and less. It was satisfying, in a certain kind of way. While fencing had initially been used as a way to win Malcolm's regard and disarm his paranoia when in her presence, she had genuinely come to enjoy the sport. It was nice, having her skills appreciated and accomplished.

The culmination of all her hard work was this match. Hard-fought, difficult, almost consuming. But three points to nil, Laurel won, and when it was over Malcolm himself removed his mask and applauded her, along with his instructor. Laurel removed her and granted them both a beaming smile.

"Thank you," she told them. "You've both been great teachers. I couldn't have done it without you."

"I hope this doesn't mean you plan on ending your lessons with us," Malcolm told her, a strange gleam in his eye. Something about it made Laurel's stomach curl.

"No, of course not," the law school student shook her head. "I enjoy spending time with you too much to stop," was the claim.

Malcolm smiled back at her, reaching over to give her shoulder a comforting squeeze, before slowly lowering his hand to trail her fingertips across her arm. A gentle caress. Laurel had to resist the urge to swallow, as a faint suspicion began to grow in her mind.

To test her theory, she left the sparring room to change back into her regular clothes. And as she did so, she gave her teachers a momentary glance and saw Malcolm staring at her. Except, his gaze was smoldering and low, and it wasn't directed at her back.

Resisting the urge to throw up, Laurel changed quickly, bid her mentors farewell, and headed home.


The moment Laurel was back in her apartment, she tossed her things onto her couch and headed to her bathroom so she could safely vomit into her toilet. Never before had she felt so dirty and tainted in her entire life. Malcolm Merlyn, the father of her best friend, and the murderer of her sister and boyfriend, was attracted to her. He wanted her physically and sexually. It made her sick just to think about it.

By the time Laurel got out of the bathroom, she had emptied her stomach of practically everything she'd eaten in the last twenty-four hours. When there was literally nothing left to heave out, she gave her teeth a long and hard brush and made sure to rinse her mouth until the only thing she could taste was the mouthwash. Even with all that, she still felt terrible. Absolutely terrible.

It took her a while to collect her thoughts and parse through this new information. Mostly because, unlike everything else, she didn't want to think about it at all. The idea of Malcolm… the thought of him touching her like that just made her ill. She was the best friend of his son and had known him since she was a little girl herself. How could he possibly want her in that way?

But then that logical, opportunistic side of her, the side of her that had gotten her this far, took over. She took her feelings out of the equation and examined this revelation through the lens of a cold mathematician. Malcolm was attracted to her. Just like how Tommy was.

Tommy had only ever been the only option because she thought her only chances at a relationship were with him. But the reality was, he wasn't the only bachelor in the Merlyn family. His father was too, with his mother dead for well over a decade now. And now that she knew that Malcolm wanted her, he was a superior choice by far. Sure, the risks were greater, with him being given more opportunity to see through her little facade, but the rewards…

And that wasn't the only appeal in it. Unlike Tommy, Laurel didn't give a rat's ass about Malcolm's feelings. Using him and manipulating him didn't feel like a moral failure, and the mean part of her was giddy at the idea of him finding out about her little ruse. It would serve the bastard right, after all he'd done to destroy her family and the families of so many others.

It was more than Laurel could ever hope for. A direct line to Malcolm's inner circle, the perfect way to win his faith and trust. When she went on the stand, she'd no longer just be some girl who was a victim of his crimes, but his mistress (or, if she played her cards right, wife) and trusted confidant. Her credibility when it came to Malcolm's crimes would be boosted tremendously. Even more than the Gambit, this was her ticket to taking him down. All she had to do was show a little more leg, be a little flirty, and eventually surrender her body to him. More than a fair trade, in her opinion.

And as for her own feelings… well, they didn't matter. Not in the face of her goals. Not anymore. The joyful, glittering future she had imagined when she was younger was dead, buried alongside both her sister and the man she had loved beneath the waves of the North China Sea. She had lost the two people she loved most, and herself along with them.

As for everyone else, and their reactions — she and her parents were on the outs. Her mother had abandoned her, her father growing ever so distant over his discontent with her friendship with the Merlyns. The Queens were even further away than that; Moira and she barely spoke to each other anymore the few times they ran into each other, and she had made no contact with Thea in almost a year now, too distracted by her new mission to offer the time she used to. And when it came to Tommy… no matter what choice she made, she would lose him anyway. At least this way, they could get it over quickly.

The reality was Laurel had lost everything the day the Queen's Gambit sank into the ocean and killed every soul aboard. Everything she had known, everyone she had cared about, gone in a single instant, barely leaving behind any pieces for her to pick up. All she had left was this. Her justice. Her revenge.

If this was all she had, and if this was the price she had to pay, then it was a small price indeed.


Just like with the Gambit, Laurel started off her seduction slowly. She couldn't up and show immediate, blatant interest so soon after realizing Malcolm wanted her. That would tip him off to her insincerity, indicating that something was wrong. No, much like with everything else, she had to put on a show.

She had memorized Malcolm's schedule by heart now, as much as his schedule could be memorized at all. She knew when and where he'd be at the Manor, and had timed her visits accordingly. She made sure to wear slightly tighter clothing (skimpy would just be trashy), and to engage him in more conversation.

The latter was the important part. Physical attraction was all well and good, but she needed Malcolm to trust her. If he didn't trust her, he wouldn't tell her a damn thing, and that was the point of all this in the first place. She needed evidence to submit, something to testify for. Without any of that, Malcolm would continue to be free.

To start things off, she went for safe topics. Fencing, business, school. The kind of things that they had been speaking about already. But then, slowly, she shifted to more thought-provoking subjects. Current events, such as crime and new laws. Things that allowed discussion, allowed her to show off more of her intelligence while getting a feel of Malcolm's ideals and morals. What she would need to model herself and her "beliefs" after, if slowly.

It was working, if only because Malcolm loved to hear himself talk. As Laurel was gradually beginning to learn over their time together, the man was a complete narcissist. No wonder Tommy couldn't stand to be around him. The only benefit to that was that it made it easier to win him over. Everyone knew the best way to a narcissist's heart was feeding their ego.

And then, for the final push, Laurel ventured into the one territory that cut deeper than any other: family.

It was right after accidentally witnessing another argument between Malcolm and Tommy. Tommy had once again dropped out of another college, and refused to go to anymore. Malcolm had threatened disinheritance, but Tommy had called his bluff. The entire thing descended into a screaming match, with the end seeing Tommy march off declaring he was moving out of the house. When he was gone, Malcolm let out a huff and turned to her with an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Laurel."

"It's fine, Malcolm," Laurel replied. As a sign of their growing closeness, he had given her permission to use his given name. "I'm well aware of the difficulties between Tommy and you. Might I ask though why you're pushing him so hard? No matter how much you love him, you can't force him to do something he doesn't want."

Malcolm sighed. "Perhaps that is true, but eventually Tommy is going to have to grow up. I'm just trying to make him realize that." He looked to the side. "I'm not unaware of my failings as a father, Laurel. I've been cold to Tommy over the years. But make no mistake, I only want what's best for him. I just wish I could make him see that."

"Deep down, I think he does see it, Malcolm," Laurel told him gently. "He probably just thinks that whatever you think is best for him is not what he thinks is best for him."

"I know, and I've tried to close that gap, but…" A sound of frustration escaped him. "I used to have a real gift with him, you know. But ever since Rebecca died…"

There. There it was. "Could you tell me about her?" Laurel abruptly asked, startling him. "I don't mean to pry or anything like that, but Tommy rarely ever talks about her and I never got the chance to meet her myself. She means so much to you two, I feel like it's a disservice not to know more about her."

Her quarry stared at her, and for a moment Laurel feared she overstepped her bounds. But then Malcolm's expression softened, and he smiled gently, so much unlike the harsh lines of his usually smug expression. He walked over to the table she was sitting at and pulled out a chair to sit right next to her.

"Of course, Laurel," was his answer. "What would you like to know?"


They talked about Rebecca for hours. Despite his many, many faults, Malcolm truly loved his late wife with all his heart. It was one of his few positive traits, his devotion to her. No wonder he had not taken another bride in these past thirteen or so years. Rebecca Swann, without question, had been the love of Malcolm Merlyn's life.

It was for that reason that she was the way into his heart. Another sin to the list, using the memory of a dead woman who by all accounts had been a saint to manipulate her way into her living husband's bed, and the only thing stopping Laurel from going to the nearest confessional was knowing the crimes of that very same husband. She didn't like it, she'd hate herself when all of this was over and she was probably destined for hell when she was dead, but she was only doing it because she had to. Nothing more, nothing less.

"I feel like I'm failing Rebecca, not being able to stop Tommy from going on this self-destructive path," Malcolm confessed to her. "While he's not into anything like drugs, he's also not making something of himself, building the skills he needs to survive out in the real world. He's not considering what would happen if the money were to run out, or if something happened to me and I was no longer there to protect him. It worries me."

"I'm sure she would understand that you're doing the best you can, Malcolm," Laurel comforted him, taking his hand and it squeezing it. "Tommy's young. He still has a chance at turning his life around. All he needs is the right push."

"If only I knew what that was," Malcolm lamented.

Laurel gave his hand another squeeze, keeping their fingers laced together. The room fell silent as they took further in each other's presence, their gazes locked in longing. Come on, come on…

Thankfully, she didn't have to make the first move. Laurel had no idea whether or not she would be able to fake the necessary interest if she had been. Hypotheticals aside, it had been Malcolm who leaned forward first to capture her lips in a heated kiss, and Laurel's body surged with disgusted victory. Her plan had worked.

They made out a bit in the kitchen before leaving it behind to ascend to the master bedroom. Laurel was thrown onto the California King Sized mattress as Malcolm shut the door behind them, his gaze dark with desire. She did her best to mimic it, allowing her body's natural inclinations when in such intimate contact to take over. It would be the only way to fake her pleasure.

As he fell upon her, Laurel closed her eyes and buried herself deep inside. It was time to get to work.


They initially kept their newly ignited affair a secret, trying to delay the blowout as long as possible. The relationship was tentative and new, and they didn't want anything to threaten that. The reactions of their (or to be more exact, Laurel's) loved ones were sure to be explosive. Tommy in particular was going to pitch a fit and likely shut them both out once he learned of it. Laurel had known that the moment she had decided on this course, but that didn't mean she was looking forward to it.

The initial encounters were brief, in the sense that they didn't stay in each other's presence for long after they reached their climax. Laurel hadn't liked it, but she knew Malcolm needed time to get over the awkwardness of starting a sexual relationship with his son's best friend. Once he was more comfortable waking up with her by his side, she could burrow her way into his heart a little bit more.

Indeed, about a month and a half into their affair, Malcolm began staying behind longer. He lingered, kissing her goodbye, going out of his way to help her clothe herself. Eventually, they graduated to pillow talk, allowing Laurel to sink her claws in further. And then finally, the moment arrived.

One year and six months after the sinking of the Queen's Gambit, Malcolm and her shared another night. Tommy was out of town, escaping to the family's Corto Maltese property for the week after another terrible argument with Malcolm. His father sought comfort in her arms, and Laurel offered it to him readily.

When it was over, they didn't immediately fall asleep. No, they were still wide awake, flushed, and ready for another round. And then, Malcolm suddenly asked her a question. "Laurel, do you care for me?"

Laurel blinked, genuinely surprised at the words. "I do, Malcolm," she eventually answered. The words tasted like ash on her tongue, and yet she still said them with the most heartfelt, sincere expression she could muster. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing like that," Malcolm quickly brushed her words off. "The thing is, I care about you too, Laurel. And I want us to have more than this. Sneaking around, doing our best to keep away whenever someone else is looking… it can't continue like this. But at the same time, I have to make sure you are committed to me. Truly."

She leaned forward, pressing her chest against his as she fondly brushed the tips of her fingers across his cheek. "I am, Malcolm. Being with you is the most alive I've been since the Gambit." And it was true, in a sense. Finding out about his crimes had given her purpose again.

He smiled. "That's good to know." He hesitated, before continuing. "I have plans for this city, Laurel. Grand plans. And if we are truly planning on embarking on this relationship together, then I want you to be a part of it. But a word of warning — to fulfill these goals, you cannot be faint of heart."

"I'm not." If there was anything this past year had proven, it was that Laurel was not faint of heart in the least. "Tell me, Malcolm. Tell me everything."

"Very well." Malcolm leaned over and bumped their foreheads together in a fond gesture. "Then let me tell you of Tempest and our grand Undertaking. That is where our story begins."


I hope you enjoyed that, in the sense that it was well-written and interesting. I highly doubt anyone enjoyed the lengths Laurel has gone to avenge Oliver and Sara, no matter how necessary she believes it to be in her current circumstances.

This was born after copious reading of political intrigue from a lot of GoT, HoD, and ASoIaF fics. Fun fact — I never really got into the source material of that particular fandom all that much. I just like reading fanfics because of all the political drama, which I very much enjoy as an amateur history enthusiast. And I've always wanted to write a story focusing on that kind of stuff, so this is it.

Laurel is, as you can see, a much more colder and logical character in this story. This makes sense, since right after the Gambit would be when she was at her most bitter and emotionally numb. Combine that with all the sneaking around she's been doing, living under the constant knowledge that if she's caught or made, Malcolm will kill her and her family — well, it's very much like what Oliver and Sara went through during their time away from home. Just without the murderous mercenaries and the like. Writing about her descent into more moral ambiguity has both been enjoyable and rather chilling.

The next chapter will be getting a time skip to Oliver's return after five years in hell. That's going to be a bit of a doozy.