THE FOUNDRY — NIGHT
The hum of servers and the steady clack of Hermione's keyboard filled the cavernous space as Oliver, Harry, Diggle, Daphne and Susan stepped off the elevator, their footsteps echoing against the concrete floors. The overhead lights cast long shadows across the high-tech equipment, giving the hideout an almost cathedral-like atmosphere.
Neville looked up from where he was methodically oiling a crossbow, his massive frame hunched over the weapon with surprising delicacy. His blonde hair caught the light as he grinned at the group.
"Took you long enough," he muttered, though his tone was warm with affection. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost in the tunnels again."
"We don't get lost," Oliver said firmly, his jaw set in that familiar stubborn line. "We take tactical detours."
Harry snorted, his emerald eyes sparkling with mischief. "Is that what we're calling it now? Because I distinctly remember someone insisting we take the 'shortcut' through the sewer system."
"That was one time," Oliver growled, though there was the faintest hint of color in his cheeks.
"Once was quite enough, thank you," Daphne said with a delicate shudder, her platinum blonde hair catching the light as she moved to the railing overlooking the main floor. Her grey eyes held a mixture of amusement and disgust. "I had to burn that dress."
"It was a lovely dress too," Susan added with a grin, her red curls bouncing as she settled into a chair near Hermione's workstation. "Shame, really. It looked fantastic on you."
"Everything looks fantastic on me," Daphne replied with characteristic confidence, her lips curving in a smile that was equal parts innocent and wicked. "It's one of my many talents."
"Modesty being another, I'm sure," Harry said dryly, though his eyes were warm as they met hers across the space.
"Modesty is overrated," Daphne countered, her voice dropping to that husky tone that made men forget their own names. "I prefer to be... refreshingly honest about my assets."
The way she said 'assets' made Harry's pulse quicken, and Susan rolled her eyes even as she felt her own cheeks warm.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Susan muttered, though she was fighting a smile. "Get a room."
"We have several rooms," Harry pointed out reasonably. "In fact, I believe there's a rather comfortable bedroom suite just a few blocks—"
"Moving on," Hermione interrupted sharply, though her brown eyes were twinkling with suppressed laughter. Without looking up from her screens, she snapped, "The video's queued. You're going to want to see this."
The big screen on the far wall flickered to life as Oliver strode forward, his movements predatory and focused. Harry trailed behind with his usual air of bored elegance, like a big cat that couldn't quite be bothered to hunt but was perfectly capable of pouncing when the mood struck.
The feed showed the Starling Trust Bank lobby, mid-robbery. Three masked men—Jack, King, and Ace—corralled hostages toward the teller counters with military precision. The quality was surprisingly good for bank security footage, every detail sharp and clear.
Oliver's blue eyes narrowed as he watched, his tactical mind already cataloging details. "Freeze it there."
Hermione tapped a key with characteristic efficiency. The image stilled on Ace, standing over Stan Washington, his gun still smoking as the officer lay bleeding on the polished marble floor.
"He was the violent one," Neville said grimly, setting down his crossbow and wiping his hands on a rag. His expression had gone serious, the easy humor replaced by something harder. "Didn't hesitate. Didn't even think about it."
Harry leaned casually against the table, arms crossed, his posture deceptively relaxed. "Always one in a crew like that. The brute. The point of escalation. Usually compensating for something."
"Speaking from experience?" Oliver asked, his tone carefully neutral.
"Extensive experience," Harry replied smoothly. "Dark wizards, terrorists, bank robbers... they all follow the same patterns. Someone has to be the monster, or the others can't pretend they're just in it for the money."
Diggle, who had been quietly studying the footage, spoke up. "Kid's got a point. I've seen it in the military. There's always one who enjoys the violence a little too much."
Oliver's gaze was already locked on the screen, his eyes narrowing further as he processed the information. "Go forward twenty seconds."
Hermione complied with practiced ease. The bank manager was trying to talk, hands raised in panic, his expensive suit rumpled and his face pale with terror. Ace reached out with his right hand and slapped him across the face, the impact sharp and brutal, leaving a faint smear on the man's collar.
"Stop," Oliver ordered, his voice tight with controlled anger.
Hermione zoomed in with surgical precision. There it was: a ring. Large, square-faced, ornate, on Ace's gloved right hand. Even through the glove, its distinctive shape was clearly visible.
Daphne—who'd been leaning silently on the railing above, her elegant form a study in casual grace—finally spoke up. "That's a distinctive piece," she noted, her sharp grey eyes narrowing as she studied the image. "Big enough to leave an impression on the fabric. Probably custom work, given the size and design."
"How can you tell?" Susan asked, leaning forward in her chair with interest.
"Darling, I've spent years studying jewelry," Daphne replied with a slight smile. "Family business, you understand. That's not something you pick up at a pawn shop. That's bespoke work, probably worth more than most people make in a year."
Oliver straightened, his mind already working through the implications. "The manager's shirt is sitting in evidence lockup. We get the impression off it, have Hermione enhance it, match it to pawn records or private jewelers."
Harry tilted his head, emerald eyes glittering with amusement. "We?" he repeated, his British accent making the single word sound like a challenge.
Oliver shot him a look that could have melted steel. "I'm going to SCPD tonight."
Harry's lips quirked into a slow, knowing grin that was equal parts charming and infuriating. "Oh, cousin. Doing it the hard way, are we? Picking locks and slinking through shadows when you could just... magic your way in?"
"Not everything can be solved by waving a wand," Oliver scowled, though there was grudging respect in his voice.
Harry pushed off the table and moved closer, his grin sharpening as he entered Oliver's personal space. "Not everything needs to be solved by playing Batman either," he said lightly, his voice carrying that particular blend of affection and mockery that only family could manage. "Tell you what. You do your whole brooding vigilante thing, and I'll make sure no one actually notices us. Quiet doors. Cameras on a loop. That sort of thing."
"You can do that?" Diggle asked, his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline.
"Among other things," Harry replied with casual confidence. "Magic is terribly convenient for breaking and entering. Much more efficient than lockpicks and technical expertise."
"Show off," Susan muttered, though her green eyes were warm with affection.
"Guilty as charged," Harry admitted cheerfully. "Though I prefer to think of it as... sharing my talents with those less fortunate."
"Less fortunate?" Oliver repeated, his voice dangerously quiet.
"Well, you can't do magic, can you?" Harry pointed out reasonably. "Must be terribly limiting, having to rely on purely physical skills."
The tension in the room ratcheted up several notches as Oliver stared at Harry with that calculating intensity that could make even the cockiest man sweat. But Harry only smiled wider under the weight of it, completely unfazed by his cousin's intimidation tactics.
"You know," Daphne said thoughtfully, breaking the silence, "watching you two try to out-alpha each other is quite entertaining. Very... primitive."
"Primitive?" Harry asked, his attention shifting to her with laser focus.
"Oh yes," Daphne purred, her voice dropping to that husky register that made men's knees weak. "All that testosterone and posturing. It's quite... stimulating."
The way she said 'stimulating' made Harry's pulse quicken and Oliver's jaw tighten further.
"Daphne," Susan said with a mixture of exasperation and admiration, "you're terrible."
"I'm honest," Daphne corrected, her smile turning wicked. "There's a difference."
"Fine," Oliver finally ground out, his voice low and controlled. "We do this clean. No one gets tipped off. No one gets hurt. And you stay out of my way once we're inside."
Harry offered a hand with mock solemnity, his emerald eyes dancing with mischief. "Agreed. Though I make no promises about staying out of your way afterward."
Oliver ignored the hand and turned to grab his bow and quiver from their mounted display, his movements sharp and efficient.
"You two are unbelievable," Hermione muttered from her workstation, though there was a faint smile at the corner of her mouth. "Like watching two schoolboys argue over who gets to be team captain."
"I was always team captain," Harry said with cheerful arrogance. "Youngest Seeker in a century, you know."
"And I was varsity quarterback," Oliver countered, strapping on his quiver. "Full scholarship to Northwestern."
"How lovely for you both," Daphne said dryly. "Very impressive. Now, are you going to keep comparing your athletic achievements, or are you actually going to accomplish something useful?"
"Ouch," Neville said with a chuckle, setting down his cleaning supplies. "She's got a point, you know."
"She usually does," Susan agreed, her tone fond. "It's one of her more annoying qualities."
Daphne arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow from the stairs. "Try not to blow up the precinct, boys. It's terribly inconvenient when you draw that much attention."
"When have I ever blown anything up?" Harry asked, his expression picture of wounded innocence.
"Do you want the complete list, or just the highlights?" Hermione asked dryly, finally looking up from her screens.
"The highlights will suffice," Harry replied with dignity.
"Well, there was the Department of Mysteries, half of Hogwarts, that bridge in Romania—"
"Those were all perfectly justified," Harry protested. "And mostly not my fault."
"Mostly?" Susan asked with raised eyebrows.
"Well, I may have been somewhat... enthusiastic in my responses to immediate threats," Harry admitted. "But I've learned to be more... restrained in my old age."
"You're eighteen," Daphne pointed out with amusement.
"Ancient by wizarding standards," Harry replied solemnly. "Practically decrepit."
"If you're decrepit, then I'm positively fossilized," Oliver muttered, checking his arrows.
"Well, you are a few years older," Harry said thoughtfully. "And you have been through significantly more trauma. Perhaps we should consider getting you one of those medical alert bracelets—"
"Potter," Oliver warned, but there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
Harry shot Daphne a wink as he fell into step behind Oliver, his movements fluid and confident. "No promises about the explosions, love. Sometimes these things just happen."
"They happen around you," Susan corrected with a grin. "There's a difference."
"A very important difference," Hermione added, saving her work and swiveling in her chair to face them. "Try to remember that the goal is intelligence gathering, not urban renewal."
"I'll do my best," Harry said solemnly, then grinned. "Though I make no guarantees about Oliver's impulse control."
"My impulse control is fine," Oliver said firmly, though his hand tightened on his bow.
"Of course it is," Harry agreed peacefully. "That's why you never shoot first and ask questions later."
"I don't—" Oliver began, then stopped. "You know what? Never mind. Let's just go."
Neville called after them with a smirk, his deep voice carrying across the space. "Don't get arrested. We're still short on bail money."
"We won't," Oliver said with grim certainty.
"Speak for yourself," Harry added cheerfully. "I've never been arrested by Muggle authorities. It might be an interesting experience."
"It's not," Diggle called out from where he was cleaning his pistol. "Trust me on this one."
"Voice of experience?" Harry asked with interest.
"Unfortunately," Diggle replied with a rueful smile. "And it's not nearly as entertaining as you might think."
"How disappointing," Harry said with exaggerated regret. "I was hoping for something more... dramatic."
"Your life is dramatic enough," Daphne said, her voice warm with affection and something deeper. "Try not to add 'jail time' to your already impressive résumé."
"As you wish," Harry replied, his emerald eyes meeting hers across the space. The look that passed between them was electric, full of promise and heat that made Susan shift in her chair.
"Right then," Susan said, her voice slightly breathless. "Off you go, before you spontaneously combust from all that eye sex."
"Eye sex?" Harry repeated with delighted laughter. "Susan, darling, you have such a way with words."
"It's a gift," Susan replied dryly, though her cheeks were pink.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and Oliver stepped inside, his posture radiating controlled tension. Harry followed, moving with that easy grace that made everything look effortless.
"Try not to kill each other," Hermione called out as the doors began to close.
"No promises," both men said simultaneously, then glared at each other for speaking in unison.
The elevator doors slid shut behind them with a low ding, leaving the rest of the team in the Foundry, watching the screens and waiting.
"Twenty dollars says they're arguing before they reach the parking garage," Susan said, settling back in her chair.
"No bet," Daphne replied with a knowing smile. "Though I rather suspect they're enjoying it more than they'd care to admit."
"Men," Hermione muttered, turning back to her screens. "They're all the same, regardless of species."
"That's what makes them so entertaining," Daphne said with a purr, her grey eyes still fixed on the elevator doors.
Tonight, the hunt continued. And for the first time in months, Oliver Queen wouldn't be hunting alone.
—
SCPD — ROOFTOP — NIGHT
The chill wind whipped across the rooftop with brutal efficiency, tugging at the hoods of two hunters crouched in perfect silence above the glowing precinct. The city sprawled below them like a circuit board, all harsh lights and dark shadows, while sirens wailed in the distance like urban wolves.
Oliver Queen — the Arrow — crouched low against the concrete ledge, his green leather armor blending seamlessly into the shadows cast by the rooftop's various fixtures. The textured material absorbed light rather than reflecting it, making him nearly invisible against the urban landscape. His breath plumed faintly in the frigid air, his blue eyes hard and calculating as they tracked the movement patterns of the guards below. The string of his bow was already taut in his hand, an arrow nocked and ready despite the non-lethal nature of their mission.
Beside him stood something even darker, more predatory: Harry Potter — the Blood Raven.
He was almost unrecognizable in his full armor, a figure that seemed to have stepped out of nightmares and into reality. The skintight bodysuit of dark red and black clung to his muscled frame like a second skin, the textured scales of basilisk hide catching the faint light like oil on water, shifting and rippling with each subtle movement. A long crimson hood draped over his broad shoulders, and a black mask obscured his face entirely, leaving only eerie white lenses where his emerald eyes used to glint with mischief and intelligence. In his gloved right hand, his wand glimmered faintly in the darkness, the wood seeming to pulse with barely contained power.
For a long moment, they simply watched the movements of the guards below through the reinforced glass of the skylight, their breathing synchronized, their bodies coiled with predatory tension.
Oliver finally broke the silence, his voice pitched low and controlled, barely audible over the wind. "Two guards at the door. Cameras on the corners. They cycle every twenty-eight seconds. We drop in clean, get the shirt, the photos, and get out. No mistakes."
Blood Raven tilted his head slightly, the motion almost birdlike in its precision. When he spoke, his voice was different — deeper, more resonant, filtered through some kind of vocal modulator that made it sound otherworldly. "No mistakes," he agreed softly, but his tone made it sound like more of a promise than a plan.
Oliver's jaw tightened beneath his hood. "You follow my lead once we're inside."
Blood Raven's lenses gleamed as he turned to regard his cousin, and even through the mask, Oliver could feel the weight of that familiar, infuriating smile. "Oh, cousin," he said, his altered voice thick with amusement. "You're absolutely adorable when you pretend you're in charge."
"I'm not pretending," Oliver said flatly. "This is my city. My operation. My rules."
"Your city?" Blood Raven repeated, his tone light but somehow dangerous. "How very... territorial of you. Tell me, do you piss on lamp posts to mark your territory as well?"
Oliver's grip tightened on his bow. "Potter—"
"Raven," Blood Raven corrected smoothly. "We're working, cousin. Professional courtesy and all that."
Before Oliver could retort, Blood Raven lifted his wand with casual efficiency, whispering a spell under his breath in a language that seemed to twist the very air around them. The words were barely audible, but they carried weight, power, the kind of authority that made reality itself sit up and take notice.
With the faintest shimmer of displaced air, the skylight's lock clicked and released, the mechanism yielding to forces that had nothing to do with physics and everything to do with will made manifest.
"You're welcome," Blood Raven added smoothly, then slid soundlessly down into the building below, his cloak billowing around him like wings.
Oliver muttered something very rude under his breath about show-offs and British attitudes, then followed, his boots barely whispering against the tile as they landed in perfect synchronization.
---
SCPD — EVIDENCE WING — NIGHT
The air smelled of dust, printer toner, and stale coffee, with an underlying note of industrial disinfectant that spoke to the building's institutional nature. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows that seemed to move and shift with each flicker.
The two figures moved like wraiths through the corridors — one in forest green, all hard edges and military precision, the other a phantom in crimson and black, gliding like smoke given form. Their footsteps were completely silent, years of training and natural talent combining to make them as quiet as death itself.
Oliver's head was on a constant swivel, cataloging exits, security measures, potential threats. His tactical mind was running through contingencies, backup plans, escape routes. This was his element — the careful choreography of infiltration, the chess match between hunter and prey.
Blood Raven, by contrast, moved with an almost casual confidence that was somehow more unsettling than Oliver's focused intensity. He seemed to glide rather than walk, his cloak rippling behind him, his masked head tilted as if listening to something only he could hear.
"Motion sensors?" Oliver asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper.
"Handled," Blood Raven replied, his wand making a subtle gesture. "They're seeing exactly what they expect to see. Empty corridors, all quiet on the western front."
"And the thermal imaging?"
"What thermal imaging?" Blood Raven asked innocently. "I'm afraid the system is experiencing some rather unfortunate technical difficulties. Terribly inconvenient timing, really."
Oliver shook his head, torn between annoyance and grudging admiration. "You make it look too easy."
"That's because it is easy," Blood Raven replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "Magic has a tendency to simplify things that muggles consider complicated. It's all about perspective, really."
They rounded a corner and froze. A pair of uniformed officers stood guard at the evidence wing entrance, their posture alert, their hands resting casually on their service weapons. They were talking quietly, their voices carrying in the empty hallway.
"—telling you, Martinez is losing his mind. Three false alarms this week alone—"
"—probably just the wind. This old building creaks like a haunted house—"
Arrow raised his hand in a halt signal, his blue eyes already calculating angles, timing, the best way to slip past undetected. He was reaching for a specialized arrow designed to create a distraction when Blood Raven was already moving forward, his wand appearing in his hand as if by magic — which, Oliver supposed, it literally was.
"Raven—" Oliver hissed, but it was already too late.
Blood Raven whispered, "Confundo," and the word seemed to hang in the air like a physical thing, pressing against reality until it yielded.
The officers froze mid-conversation, their faces going slack for just a second before one said to the other, his voice oddly flat, "We already cleared this hallway. Let's double-check the cells."
"Right," the other nodded, his expression equally vacant. "Good thinking. Can't be too careful."
They wandered off down the opposite corridor, their footsteps echoing hollowly in the empty space, leaving the entrance completely unguarded.
Oliver glared at his cousin through his hood. "You could have waited."
"And miss the chance to make your job easier?" Blood Raven asked, his metallic-tinged voice thick with mockery. "Don't be ridiculous. Besides, your way would have taken at least three times as long."
"My way doesn't involve mind control," Oliver pointed out sharply.
"Your way involves shooting people with arrows," Blood Raven countered smoothly. "I fail to see how that's morally superior. At least my way is completely reversible."
Oliver opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. The bastard had a point, much as Oliver hated to admit it.
At the keypad, Oliver was already reaching for his electronic hacking tool — a piece of advanced tech that Felicity had designed specifically for situations like this — when Blood Raven gently nudged him aside with one elbow.
"Allow me," Blood Raven said with exaggerated courtesy.
One flick of his wand, one whispered word that seemed to make the air itself shiver, and the panel beeped green, the door clicking open with a soft electronic chime.
"You're welcome again," Blood Raven murmured, stepping inside first with that same infuriating confidence.
Oliver muttered something very rude under his breath about magical cheating and followed, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
---
SCPD — EVIDENCE LOCKER — NIGHT
The rows of shelves loomed high above them, each box and bag tagged and filed with bureaucratic precision. The air was thick with dust motes that danced in the harsh fluorescent light, and the smell of old paper and forgotten secrets hung heavy in the confined space.
Arrow moved quickly but quietly, his practiced eye scanning the evidence tags until his hand closed on a clear plastic bag holding the bloodstained shirt of the bank manager. The faint outline of the ring's impression was still visible in the fabric, a ghost of violence preserved in cotton and blood.
"Got it," he murmured, tucking it carefully into his pack. "One down."
Meanwhile, Blood Raven had already seated himself at the terminal in the corner, his movements fluid and economical. His gloved fingers moved almost lazily over the keyboard while his wand hovered beside him like a loyal pet, casting small charms to bypass firewalls and erase logs as he went. The screen flickered and danced under his ministrations, code scrolling past at inhuman speed.
"Cameras are already on a loop," he said casually, his voice carrying that same infuriating tone of bored competence. "Alarms are silenced. And..." — the thumb drive glinted as he pulled it free from the USB port — "...all photos and reports downloaded. Case files, witness statements, forensic analysis — the whole bloody lot."
He rose smoothly, his cloak settling around him like wings, and Oliver had to admit that the dramatic effect was rather impressive. "Honestly, it's almost disappointing how easy this was. I was hoping for at least a modicum of challenge."
Oliver glanced at him sharply, then nodded once. "Let's move. We've been here too long already."
"Have we?" Blood Raven asked mildly. "I do believe we've been here for exactly four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Hardly a record-breaking infiltration."
"How do you even know that?"
"I'm very good with time," Blood Raven replied with what Oliver was beginning to recognize as his signature brand of insufferable smugness. "Among other things."
They slipped back through the door, silent as death itself, and retraced their path through the corridors. Oliver's military training kept him focused on the mission, but part of him couldn't help but be impressed by his cousin's casual efficiency. It was like watching a master craftsman at work, if the craft in question happened to be breaking the law.
"You know," Blood Raven said quietly as they moved, "this is actually rather nostalgic. Reminds me of sneaking around Hogwarts after hours."
"You did this sort of thing in school?" Oliver asked, his tone carefully neutral.
"Oh, constantly," Blood Raven replied with obvious fondness. "Hermione used to say I had a pathological need to ignore authority figures. She wasn't wrong."
"Some things never change," Oliver muttered.
"Indeed. Though I must say, the stakes are rather higher now. Getting caught by Professor McGonagall meant detention. Getting caught here means federal prison."
"Are you worried?" Oliver asked, and found himself genuinely curious about the answer.
"Terrified," Blood Raven replied cheerfully. "It's half the fun, really. Nothing quite like the possibility of complete disaster to make one feel properly alive."
On their way out, Blood Raven paused just long enough to aim his wand back at the two guards they'd passed earlier and whisper, "Finite."
The officers blinked, slightly confused, their expressions clearing as if they were waking from a dream.
"What were we talking about?" one of them asked.
"Something about Martinez," the other replied uncertainly. "I think?"
They shrugged and resumed their post, none the wiser about the two shadows that had just passed through their domain like ghosts.
Back on the rooftop, Arrow and Blood Raven crouched in the same positions they'd started in, the evidence bag and thumb drive secure in Oliver's pack. The wind whipped around them again, carrying the scent of rain and urban decay.
"Well," Blood Raven said, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction, "that was refreshingly efficient. We should do this more often."
"Don't get cocky," Oliver warned. "We're not clear yet."
"Aren't we?" Blood Raven asked, tilting his head. "I rather thought we were. Unless you're expecting some sort of dramatic last-minute complication?"
As if summoned by his words, a spotlight suddenly blazed to life from the building across the street, sweeping across the rooftop in a methodical search pattern.
"You had to say it," Oliver muttered, already moving toward the edge of the roof.
"I do have a gift for dramatic timing," Blood Raven admitted, following close behind. "It's a family trait, I'm afraid."
They leaped in perfect synchronization, their grappling lines singing through the air as they swung into the darkness between buildings. Behind them, the spotlight continued its futile search, finding nothing but empty concrete and the faint scent of ozone.
Arrow and Blood Raven disappeared into the night, two predators bound by blood and the hunt, leaving nothing behind but questions and the quiet, inexplicable chill that seemed to follow in their wake.
"Same time next week?" Blood Raven asked as they landed on the next rooftop.
"Don't push it," Oliver replied, but there was something that might have been amusement in his voice.
The hunt continued, and for the first time in a long while, Oliver Queen wasn't hunting alone.
—
CNRI LEGAL OFFICE — THE NEXT DAY
The morning sun had barely managed to burn through the perpetual haze of Starling City's industrial district when Laurel pushed open the glass door of CNRI, the familiar creak of the hinges announcing her arrival. She was already running on autopilot, her mind cycling through the overwhelming mental checklist that had kept her awake until three in the morning: call the pro bono council about emergency grants, meet with Mrs. Chen about her landlord situation at noon, somehow convince herself she didn't need that fourth cup of coffee this week, and figure out how to break the news to their clients that they might not have legal representation much longer.
But the sight that greeted her stopped her mid-step, her leather satchel sliding off her shoulder and nearly hitting the floor.
Tommy Merlyn was already there.
He stood in the center of the cramped office like he owned the place, hands shoved casually in the pockets of what was probably a thousand-dollar suit, chatting amiably with Joanna like he'd been coming here every morning for years. His smile was that effortless, practiced charm that had gotten him out of trouble since kindergarten, and his dark hair was just slightly tousled in that infuriating way that made him look like he'd just stepped out of a magazine shoot. Joanna, meanwhile, was perched on the edge of her desk, grinning at something he'd just said, her dark eyes sparkling with genuine amusement.
Laurel blinked hard, wondering if she was hallucinating from sleep deprivation.
"Merlyn," she said flatly, letting the door swing shut behind her with more force than necessary.
"Good morning to you too, Laurel," Tommy replied smoothly, spinning around to face her with that practiced ease that came from years of turning on the charm at a moment's notice. He spread his arms wide as if presenting himself for inspection. "You know, I thought about bringing coffee, but I figured that might come off a little too... presumptuous. Given how our last conversation ended."
Laurel's eyes narrowed as she studied his face, looking for any sign of the vulnerability she'd glimpsed the night before. But his mask was firmly in place, all easy confidence and calculated charm.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, already suspicious. "And please don't tell me you're here to ask me out again, because I'm really not in the mood for—"
"Funny you should ask," Tommy interrupted, producing a glossy black folder from under his arm with a flourish. The Merlyn Global Group logo gleamed in silver on the cover, catching the fluorescent light. "I'm here on behalf of my company. We'd like to sponsor a charity fundraiser to keep CNRI up and running."
Laurel stared at him, her mouth opening and closing for a moment before she finally found words. "You what?"
"You heard me," Tommy said, flashing that disarming grin that had no right being as effective as it was. "A black-tie gala, silent auction, the works. We pull in all the heavy hitters, make a big show of how much the city needs CNRI, raise enough money to keep your doors open for the year—maybe two if we're lucky. You get to keep saving lives, and I get to feel like slightly less of a selfish trust fund kid for the day. Win-win."
Joanna's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, seriously? You're talking about a real fundraiser? With real money?"
"Very real money," Tommy confirmed, opening the folder to reveal what looked like preliminary budget estimates. "I'm thinking we could easily pull in half a million, maybe more if we play our cards right."
Laurel felt her heart skip a beat at the number, but she forced herself to stay focused. "And what do you get out of it, really?"
Tommy tilted his head, feigning confusion with an innocence that didn't fool her for a second. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, come on," Laurel said, crossing her arms and fixing him with that particular look she'd perfected in law school. "You're not exactly the kind of guy who just... gives away his time and money for nothing, Tommy. So what's your angle? Is this just another elaborate way to get back in my good graces? Or maybe you're trying to impress your father? Show him you can handle corporate responsibility? Or—"
"Laurel," Joanna cut in sharply, grabbing her by the elbow and steering her toward the corner of the office with surprising strength for someone who barely came up to her shoulder.
"Joanna, what are you—"
"Nope," Joanna said firmly, spinning her around to face her. "Not another word until you listen to me."
Laurel bristled, her green eyes flashing with indignation. "I'm just trying to figure out what he's really after. You know as well as I do that Tommy Merlyn doesn't do anything without an ulterior motive."
"I can hear you," Tommy called out helpfully from across the room. "You know that, right? I'm literally standing right here."
"Good," Laurel shot back without turning around. "Maybe you'll save us all some time and just tell me what you're really up to."
Joanna grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to focus. "Look, I don't care why he's doing it. I don't care if it's to impress you, or to annoy his dad, or because his therapist told him he needs to start giving back to the community. I. Do. Not. Care. What I do care about is the fact that we need this money. Badly."
Laurel opened her mouth to argue, but Joanna cut her off with a look that could have stopped traffic.
"No, you don't get to be proud about this," she said firmly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Not when there are clients who won't have legal representation next week if we can't keep the lights on. Not when I'm looking at laying off three people before the end of the month. Not when Mrs. Chen is sitting in that waiting room right now, probably wondering if we're going to be able to help her keep her apartment."
Laurel glanced toward the small waiting area, where an elderly woman sat clutching a manila folder, her eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion and worry.
"You can figure out his motives later," Joanna continued, her voice growing more urgent. "You can psychoanalyze him and question his intentions and be suspicious all you want. But right now? Right now, you thank him, you smile, and you let him help us. Because the alternative is that we close our doors, and all those people out there who are counting on us are left with nothing."
Laurel looked at her friend, really looked at her, and saw the worry etched in every line of her face. Joanna was trying to stay positive, trying to keep everyone's spirits up, but she was scared. They all were.
And she hated it, but Joanna was right.
With a long exhale that seemed to deflate her entire body, Laurel finally nodded, squaring her shoulders.
"Fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Fine. You're right."
She turned back to Tommy, who was pretending to study a motivational poster on the wall but was obviously listening to every word. When he saw her approaching, he straightened up, his expression carefully neutral.
"Fine," she said again, louder this time. "Thank you. For the fundraiser."
Tommy's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "Wow. That almost sounded sincere. Almost."
"Don't push it," Laurel warned, but there was less venom in her voice than before.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Tommy replied, though his grin betrayed him. "I mean, I'd hate to ruin this beautiful moment of grudging acceptance."
Joanna clapped her hands together, breaking the tension. "Great! This is great! I'll draft a press release and start putting together a guest list. Oh, and we'll need to figure out a venue—"
"Already taken care of," Tommy said, producing another folder from what seemed like an endless supply. "I've got three potential venues lined up, all with availability in the next month. The Starling City Museum, the Grand Ballroom at the Starling Plaza, and—if we really want to make a statement—the Queen family's private club."
Laurel's eyes widened. "The Queen family club? As in, Oliver's family?"
"The very same," Tommy confirmed. "Oliver's mom sits on the board, and she owes me a favor. Plus, nothing says 'this is important' like holding your fundraiser at the most exclusive venue in the city."
"See?" Joanna said brightly, gesturing at Tommy. "He's thought of everything. Team player."
"I have my moments," Tommy said, but his eyes were fixed on Laurel, searching her face for any sign of what she was thinking.
Laurel studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "Why are you really doing this, Tommy?"
For just a second, his mask slipped, and she saw something raw and honest in his eyes. "Because you were right," he said quietly. "About me being selfish. About me not understanding what it means to actually help people. And because... because I meant what I said the other night. About wanting you to know who I really am."
The honesty in his voice caught her off guard, and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease.
"Don't make me regret this, Merlyn," she said, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth now.
"I wouldn't dare," Tommy replied, his eyes locking with hers in a way that was almost... earnest.
For the first time all morning, Laurel felt just a little of the crushing weight on her shoulders lift. Maybe, just maybe, this could work.
"Okay," she said finally, extending her hand. "Partners?"
Tommy looked down at her offered hand, then back up at her face, his smile growing wider. "Partners," he agreed, shaking her hand firmly.
"But if you screw this up," Laurel added, not letting go of his hand, "I will make your life a living hell."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Tommy replied, and for the first time since she'd known him, Laurel got the feeling he actually meant it.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!