Fight Drama with Drama

[January 7, 2008 8:05 AM]

Seated in meditation on the comfiest bed he'd ever laid in, Oliver breathed in an unusual pattern and had his fingers formed in a peculiar hand sign. He wore only pants, leaving himself barefoot and bare chested, the latter of which exposed the pulsing glow of crimson energy running through his epidermis.

After spending hours behind the computer stuffing his brain with information of both the random and purposive kind, he took a well needed break. The massive info dump needed to be categorized and organized, and what better way to do so than a technique geared toward total control of the mind. 

Slowly but surely, the path to the future became clearer. New endeavors, plans, and objectives were formulated, and he couldn't wait to start. To his delight, the soul mark he placed on Moira just moved, meaning she had awoken. She would be here soon, and they could get the serious and much needed talk over with. 

After a few minutes, the mark began to draw closer to his position. He stopped meditating and moved to the couch positioned at the foot of the bed, a place he never expected to find one. When he first explored the room and noticed it, he realized he may have underestimated just how rich he'd become. 

He owned up to that blame though. The distance between the boundary wall and the mansion was longer than some roads he'd walked on. The driveway alone should've told him the kind of money he was dealing with. Anyways, grabbing a shirt from the bed, he just held it and stood by the couch, waving for Moira to join him on it. 

Needless to say, the sight of his unusual tattoos, at least that's what they looked like, perplexed his mother so much that her eyes remained glued to his body till she reached him. Stopping herself from touching him, she waved her hands over the neon lines and looked up at him in confusion. 

After being frightened and forced to sleep with a promise of answers and explanations last night, who knew Oliver would greet her with more questions? Her gaze traveled up and down his body and she noticed how the marks extended to even his neck, the sight bringing up memories of last night. 

'Is that why his neck was bandaged?' 

Eager to know more and tired of being left in the dark, she asked in a low but inquisitive tone, "Oliver?" 

All she got was a slow turn that gave her full view of his back and the tattoos covering it, something that just added to her burning curiosity and worry. 

"What are these? Where did they come from?"

Facing her once more, Oliver ignored her question and wore the shirt before pulling her down to sit with him. With the sincerest and most oblivious expression he could muster, he locked eyes with her and said, "I have no idea. When I woke up on the island, they were there."

With all of her attention glued on him, she noticed his expression grow pained for a few seconds before he started to "explain" how they helped him survive the things he experienced. When he finished, it seemed as if they had switched expressions, with hers now reflecting shock, pain, and sadness.

Due to the system, his powers, and his knowledge of this reality, Oliver could foresee that his life would be anything but normal. As a result, trying to hide this unnatural and unique aspect of himself from his new family was a decision he scrapped the instant it took form in his mind. 

If his comic book knowledge taught him anything about secret identities, it's that they were a never ending, draining chore to maintain, especially when loved ones and close friends were involved. Cooking up the most ridiculous lies, looking in the eyes of your family and telling them these lies repeatedly….he just couldn't do it. 

Even when he watched and read such things, they made him annoyed and frustrated beyond anything. Why then would he choose such a path for himself? It's just as he always told his mother when she complained that he didn't like to get tired, "Why choose suffering?" 

If there was an easier and better way to do something, why stick to the old way where you are guaranteed to feel like shit before, during, and after doing it? 

That's why he decided to make his powers and the fact he'd killed people known. Knowing how touchy the subject matter was, he wanted to get it over with and be free to do what he wanted. 

Besides, another thing he'd learned from the multitude of fiction he'd consumed is that the truth never stays hidden. It didn't matter what lengths you went to hide it, it would surface one way or another. And most at times, it would rear its ugly and unwanted head at a point where it would do the most damage. 

This was the reality. 

He had no interest in experiencing mind numbing drama like "You lied to me," "You've been lying all this time" and all that nonsense. That's why he got everything out of the way now and told her everything, leaving out the parts she didn't need to know, such as the system. 

Rendered mute the revelations, Moira didn't know how to respond. Her son had been forced to become a killer, and for a reason she couldn't fathom, he had acquired these…powers. No, that was a lie. She understood why. If he hadn't awoken these powers, he would've died, and she would've lost him forever. 

Whoever or whatever was responsible for them had her thanks. It didn't matter that he'd become a killer. He had come home. That's all she cared about. Coming out of a stupor she didn't know she had entered, she realized that he must've perceived her inaction wrongly and instantly reached for his face. 

Looking down as if to hide his shame and guilt, Oliver let her lift his head up and listened as she said. "It doesn't matter what you've done. You're still my son. Nothing will ever change that." 

Oliver just put his hand over hers and gave a small nod. 

They stayed that way, silent, for a few seconds, each with their minds on varying topics, before Oliver ended the heartwarming moment. He pulled her hands away as an air of seriousness overcame him. Her heart pounding in her chest, Moira hoped to death it wasn't about what he said last night. 

"I want to pick off where we left yesterday." 

Like a badly behaved student in front of a no-nonsense principal, she slowly recoiled and drew away from her son. She even tried to make him forget everything. 

"Oliver-"

"Don't." 

Folding her arms and holding one up to her face in contemplation, she looked away and kept quiet. Having already experienced his assertiveness yesterday and hearing the truth about his experiences just now, she had no choice but to accept that her son had changed. 

Her Oliver might have returned but there was no denying that he was a different man. The old him would never talk to her in this manner. A manner that brokered no objections.

Unaware and uninterested in her thoughts, Oliver went ahead and started. 

"Like I told you last night, Dad told me everything. I know he cheated on you. I know he had another family. I also know he killed that councilman." 

These truth bombs cracked Moira's defense and caused her to glance at Oliver in shock, particularly the one about her husband's other family. Whenever Robert tried to tell her about his mistresses, she always shut him down. Who knew he started a family with one? Perhaps, she should've listened. 

Glad that she seemed to be listening, Oliver continued.

"He also told me about Mr. Merlyn's undertaking. His plan to kill everybody in the glades." 

After saying that out loud, he paused and blinked, feeling rattled all of a sudden. 

'Damn. Saying it makes it so real.' 

While the severity of the issue came crashing down on her son, Moira had a sudden epiphany regarding the boat accident. It was Malcolm. He was responsible. Somehow he knew Robert would try to stop him from going through with that horrible plan and so he tried to kill him. 

No, not tried to, he succeeded, and nearly took her son too.

'That's why…' she gazed at Oliver's frowning face in realization, finally understanding his secretive behavior. 'He knows...' 

Breaking out his stupor, Oliver felt that this had gone on long enough, and so he wrapped it up with something that would be akin to a nuke for Moira. 

"Dad knew Mr. Merlyn was Thea's real father." Ignoring the jolt of shock that went through her, he continued. "Yeah, he knew. But he didn't say anything because it didn't matter." 

Moira looked like she'd been caught at the airport with drugs in her suitcase. Every cell in her body screamed at her to tell him to shut up, to ran way, but deep down she knew that wouldn't solve anything.

This secret was something she thought she'd hidden well. However, it turned out Robert knew all along and said nothing, and now Oliver knew as well. She had to make sure he never told Thea. Grabbing him with a pleading expression, she begged, "I don't care what you think of me. I don't care even if you hate me. But please, Thea can never know. If you love your sister you can never tell her." 

Already expecting this, Oliver rebutted, "You need to stop." 

Moira looked like she'd eaten something bad, and her expression only got worse from there. 

"What's the plan here? Keep this from her forever? One way or another, she's going to find out, and I don't want to be the one who knew all this time but said nothing." 

Despite his efforts, it seemed his words fell on deaf ears. 

"No, you can't tell her! You know how much she loves Robert." 

Feeling his frustration worsen with her every word, Oliver closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, reminding himself why started this in the first place. 

"Look, this is not an argument. I am going to tell her, with or without your consent. So will I do it alone, or will we do it together?" 

Looking at her son's outstretched hand, Moira was filled with nothing but horror. Was he serious?! This would destroy Thea. What was the point in telling her? She ignored the inviting hand and gazed at him, pleading with her eyes as tears threatened to leak from them. 

However, taking in his dry and impassive look, the little hope she held at turning the situation around was dashed. If anything she'd observed about him in the past 24 hours told her anything, it was that he was dead serious. None of her pleas would have any effect. 

But still, she couldn't just let him do this! Just the thought of Thea hearing those words caused her heart to sink into her stomach. Finding all avenues of pleading blocked, she resorted to an emotion she rarely displayed: anger. 

Smacking his hand away, she stood up, her eyes bloodshot. "This is going to destroy her, why don't you see that!" 

Watching her stomp out of the room, Oliver clenched his fist and huffed, feeling an uncomfortable shiver go through his whole being.

'Fuck!' 

With an angry kick, he sent the couch flying towards the wall. Coming to his senses at that outburst, he flashed across the room and caught it right before the collision, preventing any commotion from occurring. 

Who knew you needed drama to deal with drama? 

'I should've just run away,' he thought, lowering the couch in its correct position gently. He banished the tempting notion as soon as it formed, shaking his head to clear his mind. 

After taking a few seconds to center himself, he grabbed Fyers' sat phone and dialed in a number. Now that the talk with Moira was out of the way, he could proceed with his plan.

After exploring more of the house, he'd finally obtained the means to get started. If he succeeded, he could kill two birds with one stone; obtain evidence against Malcom and acquire points. Seeing that his call went through, he pressed the phone against his ear and spoke hurriedly, preventing the other party man saying anything. 

"Hello. Walter. Yes, it's me, Oliver. Don't say my name…"