Chapter Text
...
The silence of the Foundry made the hair on the back of Oliver's neck stand on end. There was a sense of dread and a foreboding warning. Something wasn't right.
Felicity was rambling but her words fell on deaf ears. Oliver's full attention was on his surroundings. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. That he was being watched but Felicity was dragging him towards the computer.
"Oliver you need to see the blood test I did," she insisted, "You won't believe what I found. What your mom has been hiding!"
"What do you mean, Felicity?" Sighed Oliver, his gaze flickering across the Foundry, searching.
"See the results for yourself," said Felicity, gesturing towards the screen, "But, the fact is. Robert isn't your biological father. She lied to you. Your real father is..."
The air shifted and then the lights were out. Oliver shoved Felicity to the ground.
"Oliver!" Screeched Felicity.
Was it Slade? Oliver wouldn't put it past his former mentor. A shudder ran through Oliver. Where was the person, Slade?
An arm snaked around his throat. Oliver immediately tried to fight the grip as it tightened. Felicity scrambled behind him.
"I don't want to hurt either of you," growled Malcolm's voice, "But we must speak, Oliver. Calm."
Oliver looked to see if he had any weapons nearby. He did not. He didn't have any weapons on him and his arrows were behind him. Malcolm, who somehow survived learned his listen from that night on the rooftop.
"You and I need to talk, Oliver," reiterated Malcolm, "But not here. I'm not going to hurt you or Miss Smoak if you cooperate."
Like hell! This was the bastard that was responsible for the Glades. That killed hundreds.
"Oliver," cautioned Malcolm, the edge returning, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Easy, no one gets hurt. Hard, and I will make you watch. Understand?"
"Oliver I know why he's here! Remember what I was saying?!" Yelled Felicity.
"Felicity shut up," snapped Oliver, "Not now."
Deal with Merlyn first. Then he could worry about whatever she was talking about.
Malcolm was warm against his back and a cloth was pulled out. Oliver could smell the chloroform and panic welled inside him.
"Don't fight it," instructed Malcolm calmly tightening his hold.
Then the rag was pressed against his nose and mouth. It took a few moments of fighting but eventually it took effect.
...
A groan escaped him as consciousness returned. His eyes cracked open. Oliver found himself laying on a bed in a large and ornate bedroom. He sat up, his head was spinning. Fucking psychopaths and their desire for control.
Where was he? Last time he woke up like this, Shado had drugged him. But, where was she. This room was dark.
"Ah, you're awake," remarked a deep voice.
Malcolm emerged from the shadows and sat beside him. His blue eyes were bright and the smile was too sharp.
"Fuck," swore Oliver.
He tried to sit up but his body wasn't obeying him. Damn the drugs.
"Now, now," chided Malcolm, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder, "You and I have much to discuss. We'll get nowhere if you're fighting."
"How the fuck are you even alive? I stabbed you with an arrow," Barked Oliver angrily.
"Calm down," advised Malcolm his hand coming to rest on Oliver's chest.
"Why did you abduct me, asshole!" Shouted Oliver, and tried to push the older man's hand off, "I have no desire to be near you or talk to you!"
Malcolm didn't say anything. Instead he stood there and waited calmly. Eventually Oliver's struggles faded.
"What is this, Malcolm?" Gritted out Oliver, anger radiating off him.
"A chance for us to talk, uninterrupted," replied Malcolm simply.
Oliver glared at the other man. Why did it have to be the same psychotic mass murderer? Why couldn't his life ever be easy.
But he was slowly calming. If Malcolm wanted to hurt him, he would have. Right?
"Why now?" Inquired Oliver, his mind racing, "How are you still alive?"
"You didn't really think an arrow would stop me, did you?" Laughed Malcolm, his lips quirked, "I came back for your mother. Not to hurt her but to ensure she was found not guilty."
What? Why?
"In returning," continued Malcolm not allowing him to speaking, "I found out that I had a second child. One that I didn't know about."
That's when it clicked. That's what Felicity had been yelling at him. Oliver went still. Very still. Robert wasn't his father. Malcolm had a second child.
No...
"Yes, I thought it might click," smiled Malcolm, his tone gentle, "You're my son."
Oliver's breathing picked up. Fuck no. It wasn't true.
"That's impossible," argued Oliver.
"It is," agreed Malcolm, his fingers combing through Oliver's hair, "But, Moira admitted it. When I confronted her, she admitted it. Then threatened me to get me to stay away."
"You're lying," hissed Oliver.
He had to be lying. Mom wouldn't keep something so important from him. Wouldn't lie about this.
That earned him a knowing look. It was familiar. So much like the ones he'd seen given to Tommy when they were growing up.
"Believe me or not," commented Malcolm, "It's true. And I'm not the only one that knows. Miss Smoak was going to tell you before I interrupted."
Oliver could see the honesty in Malcolm's gaze. No, he wasn't lying. Fuck!
"She wasn't," whispered Oliver, his shoulders dropping, "How could mom lie to me like that?"
"I was surprised," admitted Malcolm, his hand resting on his shoulder, "It was a one night stand. A moment of weakness in both of us."
"Mom had an affair," realized Oliver, the realization making him nauseous, "You. I'm yours."
"Yes," said Malcolm.
What was he supposed to say to that? He was the son of a murderer. A liar. What did that make him?
"Don't," admonished Malcolm, reading the self deprecating thoughts.
"You're the one who blew up half the city," shot back Oliver, "Who has committed countless murders."
"To complete the mission," countered Malcolm, "Something you've done. You have killed for your own crusade. Are we all that different?"
Oliver couldn't find the words to refuse that. He was reeling from the revelation. Everything seemed out of focus and he couldn't concentrate.
"I tried to kill you," he whispered, "Do you think I won't try again?"
"Maybe, but not tonight," assured Malcolm.
Oliver blinked.
"Get some sleep," sighed Malcolm, "We'll talk more in the morning."
No damn it.
"Sleep," insisted Malcolm pulling out a needle.
"Wait, Malcolm, I don't think—" protested Oliver.
But it was too late. A sharp pain and then nothing.