"The First Night of Thanksgiving"
Disclaimer: Nope, I'm afraid I was not given the rights to "Arrow" for Thanksgivakkuh. Oh well…
Note: This fic is being reposted because the first time around people flunked the reading comprehension test. That is to say no fewer than three people (only one of them anonymous) wrote to complain about the background Quiver, despite it being advertised in the summary. Let's be crystal clear this time around: if you don't like Quiver, stop reading my fics immediately.
For the rest of you, I'm sorry for any inconvenience caused by my being forced to repost the fic.
Without further ado, please enjoy the story.
"Would you want to come to my place for Thanksgiving?" Felicity Smoak repeated, when her friend/employer continued to look at her blankly. "I just thought… with your mom being in prison for Malcolm Merlyn's assassination and Walter having moved out and since you and your sister never seem to be on really good terms…" She trailed off. "It was a stupid idea, wasn't it?"
"It's not stupid," Oliver Queen assured the tech expert. "It was a nice gesture and I appreciate it."
"But?" she asked.
"But I've already made plans with Quentin," Oliver explained. Granted, he wasn't entirely sure that a holiday spent with his new lover would go smoothly, but he still wasn't inclined to change his plans.
"Right, of course you did," Felicity nodded to herself.
"Thanks anyway," Oliver said as he grabbed his jacket and turned to leave his office at Queen Consolidated. "Oh, hey, Tommy!" Oliver smiled at the arrival of his friend.
"Oliver," Tommy Merlyn smiled back. "Hey, Felicity; has Oliver been sticking his foot in his mouth again?" he teased.
"I just asked him if he already had plans for Thanksgiving, which he does," the bespectacled blonde answered. "I mean he would…"
"As it happens," Tommy interjected, "I don't."
He had not been looking forward to the holiday this year. His father was dead, exposed posthumously as a manipulative villain who had been plotting to destroy an entire neighborhood of the city. And he'd broken up with Laurel after she'd slept with Oliver, only for Oliver to finally have the epiphany that he preferred her father. (Laurel and Oliver weren't talking at the moment. For that matter, Tommy suspected things were still awkward between the two Lances, "awkward" being the understatement of the year. At least Tommy was talking with his old friend again.)
"Would it be okay if I joined you?" Tommy asked.
Felicity's eyes widened. It hadn't occurred to her that Tommy would want to.
"Yes," she smiled. "I'd like that."
"So this is the first day of Thanksgiving?" Tommy eyed the menorah set up in the dining room.
"Yep, it lasts for eight nights now," Felicity joked. "Hanukkah started at sunset last night, which means that this year the first day of Hanukkah is also Thanksgiving. That's not going to happen again for over seventy thousand years."
"I think I heard something about that. What is it they're calling it?" the billionaire asked.
"Thanksgivakkuh," the blonde replied. "What? Shakespeare made up words all the time. Oh. Let me introduce you to my grandmother. Bubby," Felicity greeted her, "this is my friend, Tommy Merlyn."
The elder woman assessed him, and then smiled approvingly.
"Nice to meet you, Tommy," she said, before turning to her granddaughter. Not bothering to lower her voice, the hearing-impaired woman continued. "You're sure you're only friends?"
"Bubby," Felicity groaned.
"I'm just saying, he looks like a very nice young man, the kind you would want for—"
"You know what, Bubby? I think I should go check on the turkey."
"But your mother's taking care of that."
"And you have not yet introduced me to your mother," Tommy piped up.
"You're right! You'd better come with me. Bubby, if you'll excuse us…
"Bless you," Felicity whispered when they were out of earshot. "I am so sorry about that. It's just, my grandmother hasn't seen me bring home a guy since," Felicity squinted, trying to remember when the last time had been.
"It's alright," Tommy assured her. "So, we're having turkey, huh? Are there any Hanukkah foods on the menu?"
"I talked with mom about making latkes. She looked at me like I had three heads. There'll be plenty of food, though, trust me."
"I do," Tommy said, as they stepped into the kitchen. Felicity's mother spared Tommy a short greeting before ordering them both out of the kitchen.
"Too much is going on; I don't need anyone else in here now," the brunette told them firmly.
"She gets a little stressed around the holidays," Felicity commented after the door closed behind them.
"I can see that. Felicity," Tommy's eyes sought hers. "I am glad you invited me. I'd probably be spending the day alone in the manor or at the company otherwise. So thank you."
Felicity's lips curled upward.
"Technically, you invited yourself," she pointed out. "Er, not that I wouldn't have invited you! I am glad you came. It's just…"
"It's alright. You wouldn't be the first woman to prefer Oliver over me," Tommy said, a tad ruefully. Laurel had hurt him more than he liked to admit.
"You mean Laurel," Felicity said, quietly. She shook her head. "You know what? This is a holiday—a double holiday—and we are not going to spend it feeling sorry for ourselves! Come on, I've got the parade recorded on DVR," she grabbed his hand and tugged Merlyn along.
"What makes you think I'd rather watch marching bands and scenes from Broadway musicals instead of the football game?" Tommy asked.
"Would you rather watch the football game?" Felicity arched an eyebrow. A moment passed in silence as they looked at each other, the nightclub manager-turned-CEO unable to come up with a response.
"…That's what I thought," she said.
Author's Note: Sorry I didn't have this out in time for Thanksgivakkuh. Happy Hanukkah folks! And Happy Holidays to any non-Jewish readers.
Original story title ("Reap With Thanksgiving") was from Kahlil Gibran's "The Prophet": "Your friend is your needs answered. He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving."
I am sorry about breaking up Tommy & Laurel for this fic. Would anyone like to see more of them in "Open Your Eyes"? (That is, if I ever continue it, and I'm not making any promises.)
Now, if I had been writing "Birds of Prey," Quentin wouldn't have let that "It's my mom calling" line pass without comment. But then, I did put Quentin and Ollie in a remarkably similar situation before, didn't I? Bonus points if you remember what Oliver said to Quentin after the vigilante's phone vibrated in front of the good detective in a certain fic.
UPDATE: If anyone could use another helping of Quiver, go check out my current fic, "Black Bird; Green Arrow."