Welcome back to Faith Forgotten Land! I would love to give you a really wonderful explanation for why this chapter took so long but... I don't have one. This chapter was originally part of Chapter 2, but in the editing process they got separated. Unfortunately, editing the press conference scene drove me completely out of my mind and got pushed aside for two years, oopsie

But it is the wonderful darknightfrombeyond (tumblr) / daystorm's (wattpad) birthday and she is the reason that Ivy exists and that this story exists, and after continuing to love Ivy and hype her up to me through an embarrassingly long hiatus, I just had to get this out today, hope you enjoy!

Chapter title is from I Can Do It With A Broken Heart by Taylor Swift

Disclaimer, as always, I don't own Arrow, any DC characters, or the plot, all I own is Ivy, her media team (who are all named after other ocs of mine because I ran out of ideas), and the other reporters

Ivy had work to do. There was no time for excitement, no time for a visit, no time to consider what this would mean in the bigger picture. No, Ivy had a job, and by God she was going to handle it, no matter how difficult certain gossip rag reporters wanted to make it.

Faith Forgotten Land

Lights, Camera, Bitch, Smile

Unsurprisingly, Ivy was the first to wake up, at the absurd hour of four in the morning. Five hours of sleep, far better than she had expected after the news from the night before.

She didn't want to wake either of the other two, so she ducked into Laurel's room and changed into her dress from the night before, keeping all of the lights off as she did. She sent a quick text to her occasional driver, waiting barely five minutes in the building lobby before he showed up.

She thanked him profusely when he dropped her off, apologizing again for the early morning, and let herself into her house.

Her first destination was, of course, her kitchen, where her beloved espresso bar sat waiting for her. She started a latte and, while the shots poured and the milk steamed, fixed up a yogurt parfait with her favourite granola and sliced strawberries. She brought them both up to her bedroom with her, sipping away at the latte as she planned her outfit for the day. She pulled out a pleated black skirt, an ivory ribbed tank top, and a black and beige tartan blazer that would hit her mid thigh just below the hem of the skirt. Joining it, she picked a pair of simple black Louboutin pumps, closed toe, and a drop pearl necklace that Oliver had gifted to her when they were still in high school. Latte finished and not quite four-thirty, Ivy started her shower.

She allowed herself the luxury of her favourite rituals, the careful glide of a razor, her favourite rose scented hair mask and matching body wash, a thorough exfoliation, and a playlist of classical music softening the ever-present noise in her head. She had mastered the routine so long ago that she had cut it down from a two hour cycle to only thirty minutes without skipping a single detail, and she soon found herself dried off, thoroughly moisturized, and carefully blow drying her hair. Most of it was left down, the front pulled back with a simple black ribbon tied in a perfect bow, only a few strategic pieces left to frame her face. Her face came next, another once-long routine of skincare and makeup that had been brought down to ten minutes, leaving her dressed and entering her office with ten minutes before she was scheduled to call her team.

The espresso machine in her office was just as extravagant as the one in her kitchen, and Ivy made herself another latte before sitting down at her desk, finally eating her parfait and replying to emails until it was time for the call.

As soon as the entire team had joined, Connor whistled.

"Looking good, boss," he said. "How do you always look the best when I'm the one going on TV in half an hour?"

"What can I say," she said, "I'm just naturally prettier than you."

He laughed good naturedly, the shift in moods palpable as they all turned into working mode.

"How is everyone feeling this morning?" Ivy asked.

"Good," Eliza said. "This is the biggest story we've ever had, but I think we're all ready for it. Last night was the best collaboration we've done. The paper looks perfect and there were no issues with the printer, Connor and I ran the script a few dozen times last night and on our way to the studio, we made a list of answers for any questions that any of us might get. We're ready, Ivy, and we're going to make you proud."

"You always do. You're the best team I ever could have asked for, and no matter how high you all set my expectations, you always find a way to exceed them. I couldn't imagine any better group to handle this story, both from a professional and personal standpoint."

"Aww, boss," Connor teased, making the entire team laugh.

"Eliza is right," Annika said. "We couldn't be more prepared, all of us. We'll all be meeting at the studio before Connor and Eliza go on air so that we can be on standby as soon as they break the news and people start reacting. I know you wanted to touch base today, but we're okay. You have a lot of work to do, and you're about to have a lot more. Let us handle this much for you."

"Remind me to give you all an extra bonus," Ivy said with a small laugh. "I trust you all completely, and I know that this story is in the best hands."

There was a moment of silence, fond and understanding as they all took in the reality of what was to come.

Ivy glanced down to see a text from Tommy, letting her know that he was outside whenever she was ready, and she looked back at the screen.

"Get going, Ivy," Jaden said, "you'll want to be with the Queens before they go live. We've got this."

"I know you do. Eliza, Connor, you're going to be absolutely amazing, I'll have my phone in hand all day if anyone needs, and I'll be in touch by noon to talk about the five o'clock updates."

The goodbyes were quick, allowing Ivy a minute to make sure that she had everything she might need in her tote purse before rushing out to meet Tommy. He greeted her with a smile and another sweetened cold brew for Ivy, this time with two shots of espresso. As always, he opened the door for her before getting in, breaking approximately half a dozen traffic laws to have them pulling up at Queen Mansion with ten minutes to spare before the story would break. The entire family was in the living room, even Laurel was sitting on one of the armchairs, and Tommy started passing out a tray of coffees while Ivy set herself up.

She claimed one of the love chairs and pulled one of the end tables in front of it, opening her laptop and laying out the rest of her necessities. Her phones, of course, her notebook and agenda, her coffee to the right of her laptop, and her earpiece slid carefully into her left ear. Thea came over to her, still in pajamas , and tucked herself into the space beside Ivy, a mocha with extra whipped cream held tight in her hands.

"How is everyone feeling?" Ivy asked.

"Excited," Thea said quickly. "Nervous."

"Rather apprehensive," Walter said. "Nothing of this scale has happened to the company since the Gambit sank."

"If anyone has questions, give them my business number and tell them to call me," Ivy told him. "Mitigating crises is what I do best."

"Thank you, Ivy," Moira said. "Really, I don't know how I would have been able to handle any of this without you.

"You don't need to thank me, Moira. This is what family does."

Tommy cut the conversation off by turning on the TV, flipping over to Knight Media's channel as they waited.

Taking advantage of Tommy's distraction, he'd always known exactly what she needed, Ivy pulled up the emails that she had drafted the night before. Details for the conference call that she would be holding at eleven, requests for interviews, legal emails to finalize Oliver's return, all addressed and ready to be sent as soon as it hit six.

"Showtime," Ivy said to herself as she watched the clock go from 5:59 to 6:00, Eliza and Connor's faces appearing on screen. She hit send on each email, took a sip of her coffee, and pulled Thea into her side.

Her team was perfect, really. Above and beyond anything that Ivy could have expected, even more so when considering their absurdly short deadline. The script was perfect, carrying Eliza and Connor's natural charm and the banter that had made them a city wide favourite, while still covering every detail with the seriousness and respect that it deserved. They had even chosen the perfect pictures of Oliver; his high school graduation, a photo of he and Robert boarding the Gambit, a short video from one of his less impressive paparazzi moments, a picture of he, Tommy, Ivy, and Laurel at a charity gala, and even a sweet photo of Oliver hugging her from behind at their last Queen Christmas party before they broke up.

They touched on Oliver's past, his history as one half of the city's most notorious party duo, his legacy as the heir to Queen Consolidated, the family that he had left behind, before transitioning easily into the more current information, everything currently known about his return, Moira's information from her hospital visit, and Ivy's answer about his future with his company.

She sent an email to the two of them, CCing the rest of their emergency team, praising them on such a perfect script and professional segment, thanking them again for all of their late night work in preparing the story.

Her phone buzzed, email dinging at the same time. Message after message coming through, hours of work piling up in mere minutes. She needed to check in with the Queens, needed to start answering emails, needed to plan her follow up for her team. Thea shouldn't be going to school, Laurel had to go to work, Walter and Moira had to go to the office —

"I don't think that Thea should go to school today," Laurel said. "My dad and I talked about it last night, even if they can keep paparazzi off school grounds, there's no protecting her from harassment from classmates or even teachers."

"I should be going to the office," Walter said, starting to stand.

Ivy was still running it through her mind, trying to come up with the perfect plan, when Tommy picked up on Laurel's thought.

"Merlyn express, one time offer," he said. "I can bring you and Moira to the office and drop Laurel off at work, then I should talk to my dad. Thea can come with me and we hang out, grab some lunch somewhere lowkey to avoid the paps and leave Ivy to focus on all those calls, and I can drop her off before Oliver is supposed to get back."

"Oh, would you?" Moira asked.

"Of course," Tommy said. "Thea's pretty cool, if she doesn't think I'll be cramping her style."

"Well maybe a little," Thea said, laughing at Tommy's face of mock hurt. "But not as much as school would."

"I'll take it! Alright, go get dressed. The Merlyn taxi service leaves in T minus thirty minutes."

His words got everyone moving, Thea rushing off to dress and Moira and Walter off to, presumably, organize what they'd want to bring to the office. Laurel and Tommy helped Ivy collect her things and relocate to the office, each of them hugging her before going back down to the foyer to wait.

Safe in the knowledge that Laurel and Tommy had things under control, Ivy opened her email. Had she been anyone other than herself, it might have been overwhelming, but that had never been Ivy. Instead it was with careful, forced focus that she started to tackle them. First she went through everything legal, replying when she could, forwarding paperwork to Laurel, and pinning anything that had to wait until Oliver was out of the hospital.

Next she went through replies to her own emails, scheduling interviews, coordinating the conference call, all carefully recorded in her agenda and shared with anyone else who would need to be present. A pause when her phone rang, easily excusing Thea from school for the day, and then she turned to the last batch of emails. The questions. From the board of Queen Consolidated to fellow media contacts, invasive tabloids to old friends, they were the hardest to get through.

Repetitive, too repetitive for her taste; answering the same questions a dozen times, deleting more emails than she wanted to count, promises of more answers to come, it was easy work but far too mind numbing for how little Ivy had slept.

She had significantly fewer texts to reply to, handled with the same ruthless efficiency, and then it was time to manage her phone calls. She flipped open her notebook and picked up a pen, and played the first message. She kept a neat list of every call, taking notes on the subject matter of each one and the urgency for her replies. Priority went to anything involving the conference call, followed by interview requests and professional questions about Oliver's return. She was happy to delete anything intrusive, inappropriate and unprofessional questions regarding Oliver's return, the Queen family, or Ivy's own relationship with Oliver, finding satisfaction every time.

Returning calls was the longest process, though thankfully the majority of them were understanding about how full Ivy's morning was, accepting her brief answers and quick dismissals.

The process had taken her several hours, and by the time the last call ended it was already 10:30. With only a half hour before her conference call, Ivy made herself one last latte and poured herself a large glass of water. She paced around the office as the espresso poured, stretching herself out after so many hours sat at her desk. Her personal phone buzzed for the first time all day, a text from Tommy to let her know that he had talked to his dad and that he and Thea had gone to an outlet mall, confirming that he would be dropping her off by one in anticipation of Oliver's arrival.

The call started smoothly. Painfully, yes, but smoothly. A glance at her screen confirmed that each of the city's major news outlets had a representative in attendance, and some of the trashier ones as well. Many of whom Ivy recognized, peers that she held in high esteem and would have selected herself, had it been up to her. And then she saw Alicia Brantley, of the Starling Gazette. Not a stranger, by any means, but Ivy had certainly never been happy to see her. The reason that journalists had a bad image, a notoriously fact-bending gossip, and the bane of Ivy's existence since she had been a teenager — whoever had invited her would soon find themselves in a less-than-pleasant meeting with Ivy. She forced down a too tempting eye roll, instead launching into her prepared introduction. A thank you to everyone for attending on such short notice, a brief overview of that morning's news, and then the floor was open to questions.

Yes, Oliver was alive and recovering well. It is a time of grief for the family to know that Robert is truly gone, but Oliver's survival is a gift beyond their wildest dreams. While there are still investigations to be made into the Gambit itself, there is also a sense of relief in knowing the truth after five years of unanswered questions. With practiced ease and a charming smile, she brushed past more personal questions – of course she was happy about Oliver's return, and Moira's excitement for his imminent hospital release was contagious. Rehearsed laughs, smooth segues – how did he survive? The family is grateful beyond words to the fishermen who brought Oliver home. Circumstances considered, everything was going as well as she could have hoped.

Except for someone inviting The fucking Gazette.

Ivy was a patient woman. A professional one. But it took every fibre of her being not to simply end the call when Alicia Brantley asked what Robert would think of Thea's partying. That particular question was shut down with a very firm "I will remind you that Thea Queen is a minor, and if you continue this line of questioning, the Queen lawyers will be happy to get in touch," and her attention was redirected to another reporter. But only moments later, Alicia was speaking again.

Questions about Oliver's partying past, his relationship with Laurel and Sara's decision to join him on the Gambit, not only a part of his life that Ivy preferred not to think about but also exceptionally disrespectful towards Sara's memory, also shut down with a reminder that Laurel herself was a lawyer now. And Ivy's attention returned to Arielle Atkins – a real reporter, whom Alicia had interrupted.

But Alicia was nothing if not pushy, and quickly turned her attention to the one topic that Ivy couldn't shut down with sharp eyes and a sickly sweet smile: her own relationship with Oliver.

What started with a few innocent questions — was Ivy excited to see him again? Who else had known before the news broke? Was it difficult to lead the story when she was so personally connected to it? All questions that Ivy had answered in hopes of satisfying Alicia's nosy nature — quickly took a downward turn. And no matter how many times Ivy tried to answer perfectly professional questions from actual journalists, it continued.

"So what does this mean for your engagement?"

Ivy tilted her head, the picture of innocent confusion. "I fail to see what this has to do with the current discussion but I remain happily engaged."

"But are you still in love with Oliver? Were you in love with him when he died? How did you feel when he brought Sara onto the Gambit instead of you?"

"Oliver and I had a perfectly amicable breakup when we were teenagers, and then we both moved on. While losing Sara has been deeply tragic, there is no way that Oliver could have known what fate awaited either of them on The Gambit. Now, as I was saying–"

"Now I do think it's common knowledge that your relationship failed due to you being too… reserved for him, but does your boyfriend have any concerns about your relationship with Oliver now that he has returned?"

What. The. Fuck. They broke up because she was moving to England, not because she wouldn't put out – senior prom night could attest to that.

"My fiancé does not have any concerns about our relationship, no. He and Oliver did not see each other often but he is as relived as the rest of us to know that he is still alive."

With gritted teeth and a forced smile, Ivy moved on, relieved by the immediate influx of acceptable questions that she could answer instead of dwelling on Alicia's implications. It seemed that her last question had at least been inappropriate enough to put off her fellow journalists, and her subsequent attempts at interrupting were ignored. Thank god.

Finally, the call hit the two hour mark, and Ivy had somehow managed to keep her temper in check for the entire process.

"Well, that does bring us to the end of our time," she said with another practiced smile. "I appreciate all of you joining us on such short notice. Any interview inquiries can be directed to the same Queen Industries email address that would have emailed your invitation to this call. Once Oliver is medically cleared, I will be in touch about interviews and any press conferences he chooses to hold."

Soon – but not nearly soon enough – she was able to end the call.

She let out a deep breath, head tilting back into her chair. She gave herself until the count of ten to sit with her exhaustion before getting back to work, packing her purse as quickly as she could. It was already one, and Oliver was supposed to be back by two.

She wasn't avoiding him, she would tell Tommy, but this would be his first time seeing Moira and Thea in five years, it wasn't the time or place for the ex-girlfriend to intrude.

Her purse was thrown over her shoulder, her agenda and an overflowing stack of papers — notes from emails, phone calls, and the conference, all things that she could deal with from her own home — tucked under the same arm. She had her business phone in her other hand, her blazer thrown over that arm, opening up her text chain with one of the Knight Media lawyers.

She wanted Alicia Brantley's head on a spike; her article blacklisted, lawsuits if she so much as toed the line of inappropriate. She might want to consider moving to Gotham, she was typing, Vicky Vale could use a friend, and she won't have a career in Starling by the end of the week.

She was so focused on the conversation that she didn't even notice the other occupants in the room until she had walked right into a solid shoulder. Her purse dropped with a loud thud, papers scattering across the foyer floor along with her phone and blazer.

She crouched down to pick them up, checking that her phone wasn't damaged before she reached for her agenda. But before she could pick it up, another hand was there, holding it out to her.

She looked up.

Five years, but the familiar pale blue of Oliver Queen's eyes still looked like home.

–––––––

fuck Alicia Brantley lmao

I'm not going to say that I hope this was worth the wait because two years sure is something, but all the same, I hope you enjoyed it! If you started this story with the first chapter, years ago, welcome back and thank you for sticking with me. If you're brand new to it, welcome to the party and I hope you stick around!

I will not try to guilt trip anyone into reviewing but it is very much appreciated and it does help me decide which fics I should be working on – along with the many on my profile, I have countless new ocs and ideas over on my tumblr ( randomestfandoms-ocs ) and nkowing what projects people are interested in makes a huge difference

Happy birthday, Day, thank you for sticking with Ivy and I for so long 3