20170/A Queen for the Holidays, Part 2

A Queen for the Holidays, Part 2
Date of Scene:	02 March 2025
Location:	Queen Mansion
Synopsis:	While Felicity deals with the unexpected and uninvited arrival of her father and her mother's subsequent freak out, Oliver is dealing with the unexpected arrival of his own mother.
Cast of Characters:	Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen

---

Felicity Smoak has posed:
The grand halls of Queen Mansion glow under the soft shimmer of holiday lights, their golden reflections flickering against crystal glasses and polished silver trays. A live quartet plays from the corner, the notes of a holiday classic threading through the air, weaving into the steady hum of conversation and the rhythmic clink of champagne flutes.

The Queen Consolidated Holiday Party is in full swing, the mansion opened to both family and employees -- a carefully curated celebration of success and seasonal goodwill. Elegantly dressed guests navigate the space with well-practiced ease, balancing cocktails and polite small talk, the air thick with the scent of expensive cologne.

Rising onto the balls of her feet, Felicity presses a quick, chaste kiss to Oliver's cheek, fingers squeezing his briefly before she steps back. "I'll be back before you have a chance to miss me," she promises with a wink

"Too late for that. I miss you already," Oliver counters with that half-smile, winking playfully at her. "You better hurry and see what the emergency is," he agrees, reluctant though he might be to give her up. "And to remove the temptation from me to just toss you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs and the hell with what all our guests will think," he adds lightly, giving a quiet laugh before letting her slip away.

"As mortifying as that sounds, I still like it better than solving delivery issues," Felicity muses with a wry twist of her lips. "And something tells me I'd forget to be embarrassed as soon as we got upstairs, anyway."

She touches his arm. Then she turns, following the server as they slip through the crowd and toward the kitchen.

Seconds after her departure, John Diggle arrives at Oliver's side. He doesn't rush -- rushing draws attention -- but he's direct, sidestepping servers with trays of champagne and neatly maneuvering past clusters of guests engaged in polite conversation. When he reaches him, he doesn't speak right away. Instead, he positions himself just slightly to Oliver's side, angling so their conversation won't be easily overheard.

"Oliver, you have an unexpected... guest. Your mother just pulled up."

So the blonde billionaire sighs and gives his old friend a nod. "Thanks John. I'll go meet her," he says quietly, a certain resignation to his words...

Meanwhile, as they walk through the kitchen and out the servant's entrance, Felicity's gaze watched the woman who had fetched her.

"I thought there was a problem with a delivery?" Felicity asks, glancing at the girl as they step out into the bracing cold. She's not dressed for this -- her pretty dress offering little defense against the bite of winter, her breath turning to vapor beneath the artificial lighting.

And then a figure moves from the shadows.

Tall, slender, well-dressed. The gray in his hair catches the dim glow from the security lights. The coat he lifts -- offering it, always prepared, always the strategist -- is familiar. But not as familiar as the sharp, assessing gaze behind those wire-rimmed glasses.

Felicity stops cold. Her stomach tightens.

"Dad?!"

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Noah Kuttler smiles, a small, precise thing that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He keeps the coat extended, expectant. "Hello, sweetheart," he says, his voice smooth, measured. "You looked cold."

Felicity doesn't take the coat. Doesn't move. Her fingers twitch at her sides, as if her body can't quite decide between shoving her hands into her pockets or balling them into fists. The cold isn't what's making her freeze.

"You shouldn't be here," she says, carefully enunciating every word. It's not a greeting. It's a warning.

Noah exhales, a sound that might almost be amusement. "That's no way to talk to family, Felicity." He glances at the young server, still lingering at her side, and lifts a brow. "We won't be needing you anymore."

The girl -- smart, aware of the undercurrent in his tone -- scurries back inside without hesitation.

Felicity watches her go, a part of her tempted to follow. Instead, she forces herself to look at him again, to hold steady against the weight of a thousand unspoken things pressing against her ribs. "What do you want?"

He tilts his head, regarding her like a puzzle he's still solving. "Just to talk. Just to see you. You look good." He pauses. "Successful."

There's something about the way he says it, like he's proud. Like he thinks he had a hand in it.

Her jaw tightens. "Yeah, well. You forfeited your bragging rights when you faked an attack on yourself to get inside the Watchtower."

Noah sighs, finally lowering the coat. "Felicity -- "

"No," she cuts in, voice sharp. "You don't get to say my name like that. Like you -- " She stops herself, shaking her head, biting the inside of her cheek before she can let the words spill out. Because she knows him. Knows how he works. Knows that this entire setup -- this moment in the cold, the careful approach, the coat -- has been orchestrated to put her off balance. To make her feel like the unreasonable one.

He studies her in silence, then gives a small nod, as if accepting a condition in an unspoken contract. "Alright," he says. "Then let's be direct. I need your help."

Felicity lets out a breath that almost forms a laugh, sharp and disbelieving. "You have got to be kidding me."

But Noah Kuttler never jokes. Not about things that matter.

And that's what makes her stomach tighten all over again.

Oliver Queen has posed:
While Felicity deals with her own parent troubles, Oliver prepares to do much the same, unaware of just what is going on just outside in that cool winter night.

It has been quite some time since he has seen his mother. It has even been quite awhile since he has so much as spoken with her, though that has not entirely been by his choice.

When she decided to leave Starling City, to start travelling, all over the world really, certainly Oliver didn't expect that she would be away for quite so long. Or that she would be so hard to reach.

Whether all of that was a deliberate decision or not, it is a little difficult to say. Moira Queen isn't above playing games if she thinks it is for the good of her children. It is something that occasionally puts her at odds with both Oliver and Thea.

Of course, on the other hand despite all of her failings, she's not a genuine villain. Not really. Not all of her decisions have been for the best, but at least he doesn't quite have to face the same levels of heartbreak, of conflict with her as Felicity does with her father.

Though give Moira's smug and dismissive attitude towards the onetime IT specialist, it is entirely possible that his beautiful wife to be would like to put an arrow in Moira's knee as much as Oliver would like to do the same to her father's.

As he's led to a discrete sitting room off the main hall, Oliver nods to his old friend in thanks, clapping Diggle on the shoulder. "Thanks. I won't be long. If anyone comes looking for me let them know that I'll be back shortly. Though with luck whatever little problem Felicity is dealing with will be wrapped up soon and she can take over hostess duties," he says with a brief smile before quietly slipping through that door.

If only he knew. Though for the sake of the party's serenity it is probably better that he doesn't.

The sitting room is like so much of the rest of the Queen Mansion. Something out of a picture. Pristine and beautiful - and better to look at then actually use. The furnishings are all perfect and look like something out of a photo spread, but none of it is terribly comfortable. All surface, no substance.

Needless to say it isn't one of Oliver's favorite rooms in the mansion. But he smiles none the less at the similarly immaculately made up woman who stands with her back turned in the center of the room, gaze sweeping about the chamber as if looking for any hint of change in her absence.

Only when the door closes behind him does Moira Queen turn from her survey, the smile that blooms on her face softening some of those sharp lines and she holds her hands up towards him. "Oliver. It is so good to see you. I only wish I had realized it was going to be the Christmas Party tonight," she says brightly.

Though give what she's wearing, it certainly feels like she knew just what she was walking into, her attire formal with just a hint of a holiday theme to that green outfit.

Oliver is not exactly fooled, but he still smiles, moving to meet her half way. "Mom," he says simply as his arms go around her in turn. "It is good to see you. Thea's going to be thrilled as well. She was starting to worry about you," he admits.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
The coat stays folded over Noah's arm now, his offer declined, but he doesn't look bothered. He never does. He watches her instead, calm, precise, always collecting information. Felicity feels the weight of it, like a chess piece being scrutinized before the next move.

"This isn't exactly the place for a heart-to-heart," he says mildly, voice measured and reasonable, like he's not the man who spent years orchestrating crimes from the shadows. "Why don't we go somewhere warmer. Somewhere private."

Felicity lets out a sharp, humorless breath. "Yeah, that's gonna be a no. Hard pass. Absolutely not." She shakes her head. "Not happening."

Noah exhales, the kind of sigh that suggests he's disappointed but expected no better. "Felicity."

She holds up a hand. "No. Uh-uh. You don't get to say my name like that. Like I'm being difficult. Like I'm being unreasonable for not wanting to take a quiet little stroll with my father, who, and I really feel like this bears repeating, almost killed everyone on the Watchtower."

His lips press together. "It wasn't personal."

"Oh, well, that's a relief," she says, voice going sharp. "That makes it so much better."

Noah tilts his head slightly, his version of a shrug. "The circumstances were complicated."

Felicity stares at him, and for a moment, she actually wonders if he believes that. If, in that meticulous mind of his, he's managed to smooth out the jagged edges of what he did until they no longer seem like a betrayal. Until they seem like nothing more than calculations in a necessary equation.

"You don't get to decide that," she says, quieter this time. "Not for me."

He's silent for a long beat, considering her. Then he takes a step forward.

And she -- without thinking, without hesitation -- takes a step back, her hand coming up between them like a shield.

Noah stops. His eyes flick to her raised hand, then back to her face. He doesn't look surprised. Not hurt, either. Just... evaluating. Then, slowly, his gaze lowers.

To her left hand.

To the ring.

His expression barely shifts, but she sees it -- just a flicker of something, quick as a shadow, before he looks back up at her. "Is that...?"

Felicity swallows. She should lie. She doesn't owe him the truth. But the words are already there, already waiting. "Yeah." Her voice is tight. "Oliver asked me to marry him. Earlier tonight."

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Noah exhales, quiet but deliberate, his gaze dropping to the ring again, lingering this time.

Then he hums. "Queen Consolidated." A faint nod, like it all makes sense now, some equation slotting into place. "You've always aimed high."

Her jaw tightens. "Oh, screw you!"

His lips twitch -- just slightly, just for a second, and it makes something in her coil tighter. Because that's always how it is with him. Never enough emotion to pin down, never enough to get a clear read. He lets people think they've got him figured out, but the truth is, he's always six steps ahead.

Always.

"I didn't mean it as an insult," he says. "Quite the opposite."

Felicity crosses her arms, forcing herself to breathe. "What, do you think I'm playing some long con? Because newsflash, Dad, I love him."

Noah studies her again, gaze flicking over her face, taking her in, always looking, always seeing. Then -- "I believe you."

That, more than anything else, catches her off guard. She wasn't expecting him to believe her. Wasn't expecting him to take it at face value.

And yet... there's still something behind his eyes. Something unspoken.

A game being played she can't see yet.

"Felicity? Honey?" Her mother's voice slices through the cold, sharp with concern, rising from the servant's entrance. "Are you out here? They said you -- "

Her voice changes -- recognition slamming into something harsher. "Noah?!"

Donna Smoak, a petite, busty cocktail waitress of Las Vegas, Nevada, steps fully into the light, her expression going from shock to outrage in record time. She's wearing a surprisingly tasteful holiday dress compared to what she's worn in the past, but she moves she comes up to Felicity's side -- no, not just her side. Donna elbows in front of her like a mother protecting her newborn on instinct.

"What the HELL are you doing here?!"

Oliver Queen has posed:
Inside the Queen Mansion, inside that sitting room, the reunion between mother and son is a trifle warmer then what is going on outside. Both physically and emotionally.

But the wounds between Oliver Queen and Moira Queen have never run quite so deep. He doesn't always like his mother's decisions, but he has rarely felt betrayed by her. And certainly never abandoned. It can't help make a difference. In outlook, in perspective, and in all the practical ways that matter.

Which doesn't mean that she doesn't have her own ways for getting under his skin. In finding those little vulnerable points, those little things that she doesn't fully approve of and poking at them. In trying to find those little cracks that might let her... guide him in the direction she thinks is best. All for his benefit of course.

But completely overlooking that fact that he is not some child. He's not even that rebellious teen or irresponsible twenty-something. He has come a long way since the callowness of youth.

Of course, it is hard to say whether or not Moira recognizes that fact or not. Sometimes it is hard to change one's view of another person. Particularly one that you care about.

Her hand raises to Oliver's cheek, still smiling brightly. "I'm sorry that I haven't done as good a job at keeping in touch with you and your sister as I should have, but I really did need to get away from it all for awhile. The break has done me a world of wonder, truly. I am feeling much more myself again," she asserts.

That, of course, could be taken as a good thing or a bad thing, depending on just who one happens to be of course. For the moment at least Oliver seems willing to take it as a good thing, even if her answer doesn't entirely satisfy. Even though it leaves a lot of ambiguity of just what she's been up to.

Moira Queen isn't the sort to simply lounge on a beach afterall. He can't see her in some isolated chalet in the Swiss Alps, skiing during the day and reading by the fire at night for months on end. And neither of those possibilities would demand that she go radio silent for so long.

But she is freshly back, freshly into his life again and the blonde billionaire heir to Robert Queen is not inclined to subject her to a thorough interrogation so soon after her return. So for the moment he simply nods and dips his head in apparent acceptance of her words. "Good to hear," he offers up quietly. "Though I don't know that I would assume Thea is going to be quite so accepting of that," he points out drily.

The lines around the eyes of the older woman tighten ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly at that, as if she's all too aware of the challenges that might await her there. It's a reaction that again, others might miss or dismiss. But not Oliver. Still, outwardly she just gives a small laugh and flicks a hand in the air. "Oh Thea," she says lightly. "Yes, I should have asked Mr. Diggle to find her as well but I felt that I should speak to you first," she confesses. "Don't worry though, right after this I'll go hunt her down and make amends," she promises.

Stepping back at last, she returns to the survey of the room, gaze sweeping over the festive decorations, the way that they almost at a touch of hominess to the otherwise cold beauty of the room. "You've done such a wonderful job with decorating the house and organizing this party dear," she gushes. "Your father would have been so proud. I know i am, seeing you carry on in my footsteps," she says. "Especially after last year. I was sorry that I wasn't here to pick up the slack after I heard that you had flitted off to New York for that project," she says.

Now that's the Moira Queen that they all know but only some of them loves. The compliments, while also managing to lay out the guilt as well. That she is so informed of what's been going on despite her absence doesn't surprise Oliver in the least. He could probably guess which members of the staff report back to her, but it doesn't quite phase him.

Oliver Queen has posed:
That she surely knows that Felicity is responsible for the lion's share of tonight, of the decorating, that she has taken charge of so much since she agreed to move in on him but that she refuses to acknowledge it, that she'd rather pretend that he was suddenly somehow solely responsible doesn't exactly surprise Oliver.

But it is also not something that he is going to completely overlook either.

"It has turned out really incredibly hasn't it?" he agrees, glancing around the room, a warm smile sliding over his face. "I'm lucky to have Felicity. She really took everything in hand. I definitely couldn't have done it without here," he says pointedly. "And I think she has really brought an element of warmth to it all," he says fondly.

Again, there is that slight tightening around Moira's eyes though that smile remains fixed in place. Even if it looks sharp enough to cut glass. "Felicity?" she says, as if not entirely sure just who her son is referencing. As if it is somehow credible that she is completely up to date with every other detail of what's going on with Oliver, with Thea and Queen Consolidated. But doesn't know about the woman he's moved in with.

After a brief moment she gives a laugh, a faintly dismissive note in the sound of it. "Oh that's right. She's the secretary right? The one who's all into, computers, and the like," she says with a flick of her fingers as if the notion of a woman caring about such things is ridiculous.

"Mother," Oliver says quietly, tilting his head ever so slightly.

There was always going to be a little tension of course. It was... inevitable. But he's damned if he's not going to do his best to put a stop to this particular game before Moira has a chance to spring it on Felicity.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Moira Queen might be evil.

Not evil as in she puts the toilet paper on the roll facing the wrong way or talks on speakerphone in public.

Evil as in she casually forgets the names of the grandchildren she doesn't like, not that she has an --

Oh god... oh GOD... Felicity's going to have Moira Queen's grandchildren. The kids she's going to casually forget the names of are going to be her kids, and if Oliver thinks she's going to hold her tongue where her children are concerned, he knows nothing about her.

Breathe.

Okay, whatever. A problem for another day.

Meanwhile...

For a moment, no one speaks.

Donna is the first to recover. "You have got to be kidding me," she breathes, voice pitched somewhere between disbelief and fury. "You didn't tell me you've been in contact with your father?"

Felicity's eyes snap to her. "I didn't -- Mom, I wasn't -- this isn't some planned reunion, okay? I didn't invite him to the party." She gestures wildly at Noah, still standing there with that damnably calm expression, coat draped over his arm like he's about to step into a boardroom instead of a battle. "Believe me, I did not expect this particular holiday surprise."

Donna's jaw tightens, but something flickers across her face -- something complicated. Something Felicity doesn't have the time or patience to untangle.

Noah, for his part, looks entirely unruffled. "Hello, Donna," he says smoothly, like this is just a pleasant chance meeting between old acquaintances and not whatever the hell it actually is.

Donna's mouth flattens into a hard line. "Don't you 'Donna' me, you son of a bitch. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to see Felicity." He says it simply, as if that's explanation enough.

Donna lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Oh, did you? That's interesting, because last time I checked, you left and never looked back."

Something in Felicity twists. Because that's the truth she's known her whole life, the thing she grew up with -- the absent father who left them, who never called, who never cared.

But Noah doesn't flinch. He just watches Donna like he's waiting for something, some inevitability only he sees coming. And it makes something in Felicity's gut go cold.

"I wasn't going to bring this up. Ever. But since you insist, you were the one who took her, if you remember. You gave me a choice," Noah says finally, voice quieter now. "And you knew which one I would make."

Donna's expression shutters, something tightening at the edges of her jaw, but she doesn't deny it.

Felicity blinks, trying to keep up. "What are you talking about?"

Neither of them look at her.

She swallows, taking a step forward, pulse ticking faster now. "What does that mean? Mom, what choice?"

Donna hesitates for a fraction of a second -- long enough.

And that's when Felicity knows.

She stares at her mother, realization crashing through her in pieces, too big, too fast. "You knew," she breathes. "You knew he was a criminal."

Donna exhales, like she can already see where this is going and wants to stop it but doesn't know how. "Felicity -- "

"You married him." Her voice is sharper now, incredulous. "You had a kid with him!"

Donna's face tightens. "It wasn't like that."

"Really? Because from where I'm standing, it kind of looks like you knowingly had a child with a criminal mastermind."

And God, that hurts. More than she expected it to. Because she's spent years -- her whole life -- thinking one thing, believing one thing, and now here she is, finding out it was never the truth.

Donna takes a breath, like she's steadying herself. "I gave him a choice," she says, voice even but strained. "I told him -- he had to choose between that life and us. And we both know what he picked."

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Felicity's stomach turns.

Noah is quiet, watching her with that same unreadable expression, the same damnable patience.

"Oh my God," Felicity breathes. "You let me believe he abandoned us." She looks at Noah now, voice rising. "And you let her let me believe it."

Noah inclines his head slightly, as if conceding the point. "I thought it was preferable."

Felicity lets out a disbelieving breath. "For who?!"

Noah doesn't answer, and it infuriates her more than anything else.

Then -- Donna frowns, her gaze flicking to Felicity's face, something new creeping in at the edges. A different kind of realization.

Her eyes narrow. "Wait."

Felicity barely has time to react before her mother's attention snaps back to Noah, anger flaring bright.

"What exactly did you do to make her this angry at you?" Donna demands.

Noah exhales through his nose, just faintly, before giving a mild, noncommittal, "I imagine there's quite a list."

Felicity barks out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh, yeah. Great guess."

Donna's gaze whips back to her. "Felicity." Her voice is firm now, pushing past her own anger. "What. Happened?"

Felicity presses her lips together. She could lie. She could omit. But she's had enough of secrets.

She looks her mother straight in the eye and says, "He tried to kill everyone on the Watchtower."

Donna's breath catches.

Felicity doesn't stop. "Including Oliver."

Silence slams between them, thick and sudden, stretching out just long enough --

And then Donna lunges.

Noah catches her wrist before she can get her hands on him, holding her back with an easy, practiced strength.

"Not the reaction I was expecting," he murmurs, almost amused.

Donna's eyes blaze. "You tried to kill Oliver?!?!"

Oliver Queen has posed:
These are the little things that they blur over, the sort of complications and inconveniences that they allow themselves to forget because they aren't really a part of their day to day life for the most part.

He has chosen Felicity. He can't imagine choosing anyone else, ever wanting anyone else. But that choice does come with complications.

Donna is relatively easy to deal with in the grand scheme of things. She might be a little high maintenance, but compared to the rest of their soon to be merged families, she's practically normal. Diggle might argue, given how often he's the one that gets stuck escorting her about but on the whole Oliver and Donna get along well.

Obviously his own mother is another thing altogether, as demonstrated by her attempts to dismiss someone who she clearly knows is important to him, to try and belittle Felicity in those subtle little way -- and some not so subtle.

Oliver would like to think that she wouldn't deliberately spite their children, regardless of how much she might passive aggressively oppose their forthcoming marriage, he would like to think that she will get over her clear opposition.

But she can be a little icy at times, a little manipulative at others. And she isn't shy about making sure that disapproval is well known, even if she does her best to be subtle about it at times.

Then their is Noah Cuttler. The Calculator. Oliver has made his dislike pretty well known. So well known that he very much intended to put an arrow through his knee, to cripple him for life if he got the chance.

His anger... was not unjustified. And even without the personal stakes, even without the man having tried to have murdered everyone aboard the Watchtower - or at the very least to endanger everyone to distract and achieve his own ends, no one could deny that he has committed more then enough offenses in his life to deserve that scorn.

It is also particularly personal for Oliver. While he is as prone to seek justice as any of the vigilantes in his circle, he has a particular dislike for those of wealth or power that abuse the same and to bring suffering to others as a result. Noah Cuttler definitely qualifies on that front.

So both Oliver and Felicity are going to have a few problems ahead as they try to negotiate the new family dynamic. As this particular night is already demonstrating quite clearly. Barely even engaged and already the family drama is rearing it's ugly head. It's not likely to get easier as they go along.

But they have yet to come face to face with a challenge that they can't surmount together. It just happens that this one is likely to be particularly annoying and personal.

For the moment though none of that is foremost on Oliver's mind. For the moment he will settle for his mother easing back on those attacks on Felicity. In improving her disposition when it comes to the future mother of her grandchildren.

Or failing that - and probably much more likely - learning to at least keep her opinions to herself. Though even that may prove to be something of a stretch.

The quiet chiding note does not have the full impact that the blonde billionaire might hope to, and the reunion between mother and son shows some signs of deteriorating.

Moira rolls her eyes and lifts both hands in the air, fingers flicking dismissively in front of her. "Oh really Oliver, there's no reason to take that tone with me," the refined woman huffs quietly, her mouth settling into a thin line as she stares at her son reproachfully.

"You know exactly why I'm taking that tone with you mother," Oliver counters, his voice still quiet, still low. Still very much in control, not letting a hint of that growing annoyance, even anger peek through in that discussion that threatens to go off the rails at this point.

Oliver Queen has posed:
For her part, his mother does not look as if she wants to concede anything when it comes to Miss Smoak, and that stubborn, icy look lingers, maybe even growing a little when that look of hurt reproachment does not manage to garner her the reaction that she was hoping for.

"Very well, I'm glad that your assistant was able to help out and make this party a success," she finally, grudgingly says, though it sounds and looks like she's tasting something very sour as she says it.

It's a concession. Even if it is a half-hearted one. And once upon a time Oliver would have probably taken that and allowed the matter to drop, at least for the time being. But those days are gone and he's past that. Moira Queen has not been a big part of his life for several years now. And Felicity Smoak is practically the entirety of it. The sooner his mother comes to understand that, the better as far as he's concerned.

"She's not just my assistant and you know that. Even when she was it was because her talents went well beyond working IT for Queen Consolidated, or serving as a glorified aide," he points out, his voice still level but no less insistent. "She's brilliant, she's beautiful, she's running her own business ontop of helping me. And don't pretend you don't know that we have been living together for over a year now," he counters.

That makes Moira flinch, her facade momentarily cracking, letting a real glimmer of emotion shine through. "Fine," she snaps back. "Your girlfriend did a lovely job with decorating my house. Are you happy now, Oliver?" she asks sharply.

"Not just my girlfriend mother," Oliver retorts, his own mouth thinning considerably. This isn't really the way he wanted to tell her, not in anger. This is happy news, no matter what her reaction is likely to be. "My fiancee. I asked Felicity to marry me this afternoon."

For once Moria Queen does not have a sharp-tongued comeback, she doesn't have any comeback at all. Her eyes widen and a look of shock slides across her face as she gapes at her oldest child, the disbelief plain on her expression.

It's taken over three decades, but Oliver has finally rendered his mother mute.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
It's odd to think that Felicity's mother has been by far the easiest of the parents involved to deal with. She doesn't usually think of her mother as 'easy to deal with' in any sense of the phrase. But then, times have changed. A lot. Donna has mellowed considerably, and Felicity doesn't always give her enough credit for that.

Of course, you wouldn't know that from the way Donna's currently trying to claw her ex-husband's face off.

Felicity barely has time to react before Donna lunges, hands curled into claws, sheer rage propelling her forward.

"Mom, nope," Felicity grits out, wrapping both arms around her mother's waist and twisting, the heels on her shoes sliding slightly against the cold patio. She puts the strength of her hips into it, dragging them apart, physically forcing space between her mother and her father. It's no small feat in heels.

"I wasn't going to hurt her -- " Noah starts, but Felicity wheels around before he can finish, balling her fist and swinging.

Her knuckles slam into his nose with a sharp crack, sending him stumbling back a few paces as blood trickles over his lip.

Noah's hand comes up to cover his face, blinking at her in surprise, his glasses knocked slightly askew. "Sweetheart..." he murmurs, eyes pleading, as though the sight of her own bloodied knuckles is supposed to spark some kind of regret.

"No!" Felicity demands, her throbbing fist uncurling into a pointed, shaking finger. "You are lucky I haven't screamed yet. Do you have any idea how dead you would be if Oliver saw you out here?" She takes a step closer, voice dropping to something dangerous. "How angry he's going to be that you lured me away from the party to get me alone? Do you think he'd hesitate for one second if he thought I was in real danger?"

Noah dabs at his nose with a pristine white handkerchief, tilting his head slightly, as if calculating his response. "Felicit -- "

"NO." Her voice cuts through the cold air like a whip. "You don't get to talk. You don't get to do anything." Her breath comes in sharp, furious bursts. "You think just because you showed up and invested some money when I was starting my own company that that means I owe you something? That it erases everything else?" She lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Your thinking could not be more wrong. I owe you nothing."

Silence settles heavy between them. Noah still presses the cloth to his nose, eyes unreadable. Then, finally, he exhales, slow and measured, and nods in resignation.

"I can see that I'm not going to get through to you tonight," he says, his voice suddenly heavy, as though he's disappointed. As though she's the one letting him down. "I was hoping for a more pleasant conversation. An intellectual meeting of minds."

Felicity's jaw clenches so tightly her teeth ache.

Noah shakes his head, adjusting his coat. "I'm proud of the woman you've become, Felicity." A pause, just long enough for the words to land. "And I wanted to -- " He stops himself, lips pressing together. "Well. It's not important now."

Felicity Smoak has posed:
The way he says it -- like he's keeping some grand revelation to himself, like he's letting her miss out on something -- makes her want to scream.

"I'll leave you to your party," he continues, as if he is the one choosing to walk away, as if he is the better person here. With a tight smile, he turns to Donna. "It was good to see you again, Donna. You look well. The Queen makeover suits you, too."

Donna lunges again, fury crackling off her like a live wire. But this time, Felicity is ready, catching her mother by the arm and yanking her back before she can get anywhere near Noah.

Noah watches the struggle with mild amusement, dabbing at his nose one last time before slipping the handkerchief back into his pocket. "It's no wonder where you get your spirit from, Felicity," he muses, taking a casual step back. "Or your intelligence, for that matter."

That particular compliment burns more than it should.

Then he turns, walking away without another word.

He's already several paces away when he calls out -- without stopping, without looking back --

"I'll be back to collect you when it's time."

Felicity stiffens. "What?!"

She's still holding Donna back, but her whole body locks up, alarm slicing through the residual anger. "What the hell does that mean?"

Noah doesn't answer.

Instead, he just disappears into the darkness, swallowed whole by the shadows beyond the security lights.

No sound. No footsteps.

Not even the rustle of a bush.

Just... gone.

"Felicity," comes Donna's soft voice into the silence, the two women having stilled and quieted without either of them having realized it.

Felicity shakes her head, releasing her mother's wrist and rubbing her own sore knuckles as she turns back towards the house. "I can't, Mom. Not right now," she mutters, unwilling or unable to focus on her mother as she starts back inside. "Let's just go back in where it's warm."

"What are you going to tell Oliver?!" Donna demands, marching up beside her daughter.

The look Felicity gives her mother is icy, colder even than the air they walk through. Her entire life, she thought she had one of those fathers who went out for a gallon of milk and a pack of cigarettes and never came home. That was the narrative her mother had spun. The lie.

Her jaw tightens. "The same thing I always tell him," she grits out, anger flashing in her eyes. "The truth."

Oliver Queen has posed:
There might be less raw fury apparent in the little sitting room of the Queen Manor but that doesn't mean that things are significantly less awkward between the two present within.

Outside those walls the party continues in full swing, the sound of music and the tinkling of glasses clinking together, of people laughing and conversing is a distant buzz, perhaps only audible just because of how silent it is where the reunion between mother and son is going on.

Those outside do not know about the drama going on, either outside or just a few feet away. They don't know just how close some embarrassing exchange is, between Moira and Felicity. Or how violent an exchange would surely take place between Noah and Oliver.

They can simply enjoy the party.

It is unlikely that the immediate family of Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak are likely to be able to say the same and what should have been a happy occasion for the pair is instead sheathed in anger and pain and just simple irritation.

And shock, perhaps. At least for Moira Queen.

Clearly she has kept well informed about her son's activities in her absence. At least the more public facing ones. But the news of his engagement hasn't had the chance to spread, hasn't had the chance to make it back to Moira.

It shouldn't come as a surprise. Not to anyone that knows the pair. Not to anyone that has seen them together. Even years ago, before they ever started dating it should have been obvious that the two of them had something special. Had a sort of chemistry that went beyond coworkers, that went beyond even friends.

But clearly Moira missed those signs. Or maybe she simply could not be bothered to pick up on them, to pay attention to them. Perhaps she felt it was just a phase that he would grow out of. That maybe he would return to his earlier ways. That she could talk him into making a more suitable match.

But whatever hopes Moira might have had have quite clearly been dashed. At least as far as Oliver is concerned. And he is not at all shy in letting her know that. Not in word, not in tone, nor in the look that he gives her. A sternness in his expression that is unusual even for him. One that suggests he won't have her harassing his finacee out of spite. Or for any other reason.

For just a moment it looks like Moira might break that silence, might speak, might protest. For just a moment it seems like she might raise an objection. That she might make a scene. Might start shouting. Might start crying. Anything she can to ruin the moment - moreso then she may have already done.

Whether it is that look in her son's eye, or whether it is the idea of causing just that sort of scene at what was once her crowning moment of the year, she bites back anything she might wish to say on the matter. But her eyes glisten, that show of hurt still very much in evidence as she carefully wipes a finger beneath them and gives a loud sniff, careful not to smear her makeup.

"I... see..." she offers up simply. "Well then, I certainly wouldn't want to interfere in your special night," she says, delving into the bag of tricks and trying to layer on the guilt. "I'll go find Thea. At least one of my children will be happy to see me," she says with an exaggerated sniff, the air of wounded hurt practically dripping off of her like a tangible thing.

Another time, perhaps it would have worked. But Oliver isn't the same man he once was. He knows himself much better then he once did. And Felicity is a big part of that.

"I am glad to see you mother. Both Thea and I were concerned about you," he says quietly in reply. "But I won't have you coming in here and trying to play your usual games. I won't have you coming in here and trying to undermine my future wife. Your daughter-in-law," he says bluntly. "This is your home. It will always be your home. But respect me on this mom. Or our next talk won't be quite so pleasant," he adds quietly.

Oliver Queen has posed:
Whirling on her heel, Moira strides for the door, his features as mask of tightly controlled emotion, though a hint of disapproval still very much shines through. But the words seem to make her pause for a moment, her hand on the doorknob in front of her, glancing back over her shoulder.

"You've changed Oliver," she says softly. Just that, and then the door is open, the sounds of the party washing over them both in earnest and she steps out into those glittering halls, past Diggle without looking back, presumably off to find Thea. Or start some other kind of trouble. Oliver really doesn't know.

Peeking his head inside the room, his old friend arches a brow. "That looked like it went well," Diggle says blandly.

"You have no idea Dig. Really," Oliver says with a heavy sigh, giving a shake of his head and starting back out into the grand hall himself.

"Is Felicity back from her little emergency yet?"

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Felicity's shoulders are squared, her steps quick but measured as she moves through the kitchen, past the bustling staff who wisely don't attempt to engage her. Donna, however, isn't making this easy.

The moment they step beyond the threshold, it's obvious Donna has no intention of leaving her side. Felicity doesn't even have to look -- she can feel her mother's presence trailing her like a shadow, barely a half-step behind.

Felicity exhales, barely holding onto her last nerve. She turns sharply, catching Donna before they fully reenter the party. "Mom, I need you to do me a favor," she says, voice just this side of too calm. "I need to talk to Oliver. Can you mingle, please?"

Donna hesitates, her face tightening. "Honey, we should talk -- "

"Not now, Mom." Felicity cuts her off before the conversation can spiral. Her voice leaves no room for argument. "Later. Right now, I need to talk to Oliver before something worse happens." She holds Donna's gaze, willing her to understand the urgency. "He needs to know that Dad was here. Do you understand?"

A beat. Then, finally, Donna nods.

Almost reluctantly, Felicity leans in, pressing a quick hug to her mother's shoulder. "It's fine, Mom," she says, though the words taste strange. She pulls back, giving a thin-lipped smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I get it. You did what you had to do. I'm not seven anymore. We'll talk more about it later."

Donna doesn't argue, but the look in her eyes says there's a lot left unsaid. Still, she doesn't push. She nods again, though it's not quite as sure as before.

That's all Felicity can manage for now. She turns away, smoothing down her dress, willing her pulse to slow as she draws in a steady breath.

Then she steps into the grand hall.

To anyone else, she looks composed -- polished, radiant, the picture of grace and sophistication. But to anyone who actually knows her, she looks like she's about to come apart at the seams. Oliver, especially, would recognize that look in an instant for exactly what it is... Trouble.

Across the room, Diggle spots her first. He's stationed near the end of the hallway with Oliver, his gaze immediately flicking in her direction. He up-nods toward her, his voice low as he murmurs to Oliver, "Looks like it." Then, quieter, with a knowing edge: "She look a little... off to you?"

Meanwhile, through the sea of bodies, Felicity is searching. Not exactly panicked, but determined, eyes flicking over the crowd. She's not exactly short, but she's not exactly tall either. The heels help a little, but it's still an exercise in weaving through the glittering bodies, peeking over shoulders and through gaps.
She's hunting.

Trying to find Oliver.

And when their gazes finally lock through a brief opening in the sea of guests, that breath Felicity had been holding blows past her nose in a solid huff of hair. Relief. Hope. All the things she normally feels when everything seems to be falling apart -- and suddenly Oliver is there.

She starts towards him like a woman on a mission, offering only passing smiles and nothing resembling eye contact with anyone she passes. Just soft apologies for brushing past. A soft "Sorry" here. A quiet "Excuse me" there.

And then a man's voice, warm and friendly. "Felicity! You've done well for yourself!"

The man's name is Doug, and he looks like a Doug. He's one of Felicity's old managers from the IT department, back when she used to work in a cube farm and fix Oliver's various 'little' issues that cropped up -- like laptops with bullet holes in them or syringes full of 'sports drinks.'

"Doug," Felicity manages something closer to a real smile, turning her gaze briefly towards the man, but she can't help peeking over her shoulder, hoping Oliver is closing the rest of the distance. She's trying not to be rude, but her body language is already moving on, clearly with purpose. "Thank you. None of it would have been possible if you hadn't taken a chance on me."

"Oh, nonsense!" Doug insists, already tipsy and nearly spill

Felicity Smoak has posed:
"Oh, nonsense!" Doug insists, already tipsy and nearly spilling his drink, he gestures so abruptly. "Two Master's degrees from MIT! You settled for that position!"

Oliver Queen has posed:
It most definitely has been an evening.

For his part, Oliver is trying pretty hard right at the moment not to resent the return of his mother. This is her home afterall and she has been gone far too long. Thea will almost definitely be pleased to see her. In his own way, the blonde billionaire is as well.

But the honest truth is he can't help but be just a little bit resentful too. This was shaping up to be arguably the best day of his life. And while he might always look back on it fondly, the fact that Moira seems so very intent on doing what she can to cast a pall over the evening's affair is a little hard to accept with grace and understanding.

His mother might not be as bad as some people might imagine, admittedly. She does care deeply about her family if nothing else, and almost everything she does is ultimately driven towards protecting himself and Thea.

It's just that Oliver doesn't really need her protection. Not anymore. Certainly not physically. When it comes to the business world it might be a little more of a grey area. He will never be a corporate raider type but he has built a small measure of respect within the company. Even if the Board might wish that he was a little more hands on.

But when it comes to matters of the heart? He'll be damned if he's going to take his mother's advice on who is right for him. He'll be damned if he'll listen to anyone really who can't see that Felicity and he most clearly, definitely belong together. Now and forever.

Following Diggle's gaze, Oliver too spots Felicity headed in this direction and he can't quite help the smile that blooms on his expression, almost immediately wiping away all that built up irritation and agitation from the sniping with his mother.

But the expression dies quickly as he too takes not of the subtle but obvious if you know her agitation on the features of his financee. That frustration seems to grow a little more pronounced as she's intercepted by her former manager and while circulating and giving everyone at Queen Consolidated with a little face time might be the order of the evening, Oliver has business with her. Pressing business. The sort that most definitely cannot wait.

"I think I'm going to go rescue her. I had better let her know that my mother is back in town before she runs into for herself," the blonde says with a heavy sigh.

Then his gaze flickers to his best friend, a hint of mischief lighting there in those blue orbs. "Do me a favor? I imagine that I'll need a few minutes uninterrupted with my wife to be. Maybe you could do me a solid and hunt down Donna? Make sure that she's kept entertained and distracted?" he suggests oh so innocently.

Almost at once Diggle's eyes narrow slightly, lips pursing for a moment. "Oliver..." he begins, his burgeoning protest obvious both in his expression and in his voice.

But Oliver just blows right through it, clapping a hand on the man's shoulder with an almost beatific smile. "That's a good man. Thanks Dig. I owe you."

Then he's off, picking his way through the crowd, offering a smile and a polite word or two for those who greet him, who attempt to engage him in discussion. But he doesn't allow himself to be cornered, to be stopped, instead making promises to circle back around in just a little bit.

Who knows? He might even keep those promises before the night is through. Just not right now.

Soon enough he reaches Felicity and her former boss, sliding in beside her as the slightly man gestures emphatically. "Good to see you. So glad you could make it," he says a little too brightly to good old Doug. God, he really does look like a Doug.

"I need to borrow Felicity for just a few minutes if you don't mind. Sorry to interrupt and all but a hostess' duties are never done," he says with a low laugh before he slips an arm through hers and starts to lead her away with nary a glance back.

Oliver Queen has posed:
He almost asks her what's troubling, almost chooses to focus on that to delay the inevitable. But the possibility of his mother walking back out onto the main floor before he has the chance to warn her of the storm that's coming persuades him otherwise.

While the smile remains etched on his face - we're fine here, we're all fine here, how are you? - he leans in and murmurs to her, "We have to talk."

This night has most definitely not gone the way that Oliver expected. The way that he hoped. But in a few hours everyone will be gone, the mansion quiet once more. Maybe they will be able to salvage things then.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Felicity barely holds back her sigh of relief when Oliver slides in beside her, his presence so warm and familiar and welcome and reassuring. She turns slightly, angling toward him as he smoothly inserts himself into the conversation with Doug, his voice a little too bright, too easy. It's for show, of course -- Oliver Queen, billionaire and CEO, all practiced charm when he needs to be.

And yet, when his arm loops through hers, it's not just for show.

It's a lifeline.

Doug, tipsy and entirely oblivious to Felicity's desperate need to leave, beams up at Oliver. "Oh! Mister Queen! Yes, of course -- of course! Hostess duties! We all have to, uh, you know, do our part," he chuckles, sloshing his drink dangerously.

Felicity barely has time to offer a tight smile before Oliver is leading her away. That pressure and contact -- their linked arms joined and anchoring -- helps. It makes it feel like everything will be fine. Even when she has her doubts about what 'fine' may ultimately mean.

As they weave through the crowd, neither of them speaks at first. The tension coiling beneath Felicity's skin, her mind racing in too many directions at once. But Oliver's smile focuses on her -- that smile that suggests he was trying to convince someone official that he wasn't in fact trying to break a princess out of the detention level.

Great.

Then, at almost the exact same moment, they say it...

"We have to talk."

Felicity pauses, blinking, before their eyes meet.

A beat.

And then, despite everything -- despite the sheer weight of the evening pressing down on both of them -- Felicity huffs out the faintest laugh, shaking her head.

"Oh, that's never a good sign," she mutters, rubbing her temple.

She exhales slowly, some of the tension bleeding out of her, if only for a moment. She doesn't stop moving, though. Doesn't let herself hesitate.

"Somewhere quieter?"

And as they walk, her gaze drifts for just a second -- first toward the party, where Donna is standing in the middle of a conversation, all dazzling smiles and animated gestures.

But her mother isn't watching her. She's greeting Diggle warmly, reaching a hand to settle on his thick bicep as she talks to another guest, as if she and John are old friends.

And they are, in a way.

Felicity swallows and looks away, her gaze shifting toward the grand windows overlooking the back patio. The security lights cast long, fractured shadows across the cold stone, stretching out toward the darkened garden.

Nothing.

No sign of her father.

But she still checked.

Just to be sure.

With a final inhale, she turns back to Oliver, falling into step beside him.