Oliver takes her on a tour of the incredibly huge house once they've changed, the two muttering about the luxurious decorations and the memories he has in each room in a mix of Russian and English. It's slow moving, but Anastasia relishes in each moment, in each story, as she accesses a new part of her Oliver that's been hidden away for so long for his own wellbeing. But now he's home, and remembering these things is more sweet than bitter. They've finally made their way back into the foyer, and are looking at one of the more recent photos of Oliver and Robert Queen as Ana leans back on his chest and Oliver's arms are wrapped around her with the photo held out in front of them, when the door swings open.
The two spin around defensively, Oliver shifting to keep her hidden completely behind him and Anastasia reaching down to pull out one of the ever present hidden knives on her body. She's prepared to duck under Oliver's protectively outstretched arm and throw the knife with deadly accuracy at the new threat when her lover's body language changes drastically. His muscles relax and his arm drops, Ana looking up at him with furrowed brows as her own defenses drop.
"What did I tell you? Yachts suck."
"Tommy Merlyn." Oliver's grin is audible in his words as he steps away from her and towards his best friend, Anastasia completely relaxing and tucking the blade away so quickly it's as if it was never there. The two socialites embrace tightly, Tommy catching sight of her over Oliver's shoulder and his brows raising in surprise and question.
"I missed you, buddy." Tommy slaps a friendly hand against the back of Oliver's shoulder as the two of them pull away, grinning. "And as much as I'd love to catch up, first I need to be introduced to the beauty you've got tucked away back there." He nods at her, a smirk curling up the right corner of his lips, and Oliver rolls his eyes at his familiar tone of voice.
He moves back to her side and wraps an arm around her waist in a manner that clearly states she's spoken for, the redhead smiling brightly up at him as he does so. "This is Anastasia, my girlfriend." Tommy steps forward and takes her by the hand before kissing her knuckles like something out of a period film, grinning charmingly up at her.
"A pleasure to meet you. I shouldn't be surprised that Oliver Queen would manage to get a girl even while stranded on an island."
Ana smiles tightly at him and pulls her hand away as gently as she can bear- she hates being touched except for by a select few- shifting closer to Oliver. "Tommy Merlyn," his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at the sound of her accent, and Ana can't help the amused smile that crosses her face at that- Americans apparently don't run into too many Russians, she figures, because they're all so surprised when they meet her. It's odd, she knows there's a Bratva chapter here, one she and Oliver need to make contact with soon. "I've heard so much about you, and the trouble you and my Oliver would get up to." She smiles up at him, genuinely this time, and laughs when Tommy hisses and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.
"He's a bad influence, what can I say?" He chuckles, giving her what she suspects is meant to be his most boyish look, one that's more than likely gotten him out of a lot of tight spots.
"Don't worry, Tommy," she laughs, shooting him her own misleadingly innocent smile, one that's had years to be perfected. "I'm well aware of his charm." She turns from the Merlyn fortune heir and back to Oliver, smile turning authentic and her eyes scrunching at the corners as a result. "I'm going to see if Raisa needs any help preparing dinner. Не попадайте в неприятности." (Don't get into any trouble.) She orders him teasingly, striding off towards the kitchen with her hips swinging.
"Из нас двоих проблема только в тебе." (Out of the two of us, you're the one that's trouble.) He shoots back, earning him an amazed look from his best friend that he ignores, and she turns her head to give him a mischievous smile over her shoulder.
She doesn't come across anyone on her way to the kitchens, but the room itself is bustling. Raisa and a few other Queen home employees are scurrying about preparing a multitude of dishes that will make up the multiple courses of dinner tonight. She stands there for a moment, her eyes scanning the room for escapes, weapons, kill zones, and counting the number of people in the room that she'd have to protect, before she announces her presence.
"Могу я протянуть вам руку помощи?" (Can I lend you a hand?) She grins from where she's leaning against the door jam, her arms crossed over her chest.
The entire kitchen stills at her words except for Raisa, who turns to her with a bright, maternal smile. "Тебе не нужно работать, дорогая. У нас все хорошо в руках." (You don't need to work, dear. We've got it well in hand.) Ana lets out a 'Psh' and treads further into the kitchen, coming to stand by the other Russian woman's side and taking the knife from her hand.
"Я хочу помочь. Кроме того, Томми и Оливеру нужно время, чтобы сблизиться." (I want to help. Besides, Tommy and Oliver need time to bond.) She smiles Raisa's way and begins deftly chopping the carrots laid out on the cutting board, the noise around them resuming as the rest of the workers in the kitchen begin cooking again.
"Итак, мистер Томми прибыл?" (So, Mr. Tommy has arrived?) Raisa asks as she lets Anastasia take over the chopping, moving over to the skin to skin potatoes instead.
"Ага." (Yep) She chirps in response, scooping up slices of carrots and turning to dump them in a tall pot to her left. "Надеюсь, у них не будет особых проблем." (Hopefully they don't get in too much trouble) Ana says, doubt obvious in her voice, before brushing the tops of the chopped up carrots off the cutting board and pulling over the onion that's lined up next.
"Проблема в средних именах этих двоих." (Trouble is those two's middle names) Raisa laughs, Anastasia joining in heartily and nodding in agreement. The moment of laughter and bonding is interrupted by the arrival of the lady of the house.
"Anastasia? What are you doing down here?" All movement in the kitchen stops once more as everyone turns to face Moira except the redhead who keeps slicing up onions.
"I thought I'd lend Raisa a hand."
"I assure you Raisa is perfectly capable of preparing dinner without your help." Moira's voice is cold and borderline patronizing, causing Anastasia to still before slowly setting the knife aside and turning to face the Queen matriarch.
"I never implied that she couldn't." The young Russian woman says in a dangerously calm voice, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter unaffectedly. "But Oliver spoke of her so often and so fondly that I just had to come and get to know her myself. I can see why he loves her so dearly." The words are said simply, as if she means nothing by them, but they cut deep and Ana knows it. She's tried to play nice with Oliver's mother, but if she doesn't stand up for herself now the woman will walk all over her, and Ana is not one to lie down and take it. Moira's wince isn't obvious, it's barely there in fact, but the redhead sees it.
Raisa, sensing that things can only get worse from here, steps around Anastasia and smiles professionally at her employer. "What can I do for you, Mrs. Queen?" Moira's eyes stare angrily at the foreign castaway rooming with her son before they drift to Raisa. They soften a little bit as they take her in, knowing that, while she may fear her children see the Russian maid as more of a mom than her, she also knows that Raisa is a phenomenal employee and has a good heart. She can't fire her, no matter how badly the part of her that she constantly tries to shove deep down wants her to.
"Walter was hoping to have a cup of tea before dinner tonight, Raisa. It's been an eventful day."
"Right away, Mrs. Queen." Raisa says politely, bustling off to prepare the tray and leaving the two women, one blonde and one ginger, to stare each other down. Moira's eyes burn with an icy rage, but Anastasia simply stands there perfectly calm, her hip leaning against the counter, and raises a brow with a smirk. They stand there silently for a few moments before Moira turns on her heel and glides from the room, her head held high. After watching her go, Anastasia turns back to her cutting board and knife, resuming chopping up vegetables as if nothing had happened. "Вы не должны так бросать вызов миссис Королеве, мисс Анастасия." (You shouldn't challenge Mrs. Queen like that, Miss. Anastasia) Raisa warns, appearing at her right shoulder and balancing a silver tray holding a pot of tea, a teapot, and a bowl of sugar in her hands.
Anastasia, who'd heard her coming despite the clattering and banging of pots and pans echoing around her, simply turns to smile at her over her shoulder. "Я не боюсь миссис королевы." (I am not afraid of Mrs. Queen) Her green eyes return to her chopping, moving from the final onion and onto a sliver of beef. One of the courses they're having is obviously some kind of stew that Anastasia is sure is incredibly fancy and outrageously expensive to prepare.
"Миссис Королева всегда добивается своего. Всегда. Независимо от того, что она должна сделать, чтобы убедиться, что она это делает." (Mrs. Queen always gets her way. Always. No matter what she has to do to make sure she does) Raisa warns, her voice solemn and one of her hands coming up to tug gently at her elbow, prompting her helper to look over at the older woman and take in just how worried she is.
Ana sets down the knife and turns to face her, pulling the tray from Raisa's hands and setting it off to the side on the counter so she can take her hands into her own. "Я пережила худшее, чем гнев матери, Раиса. Ничто иное, как убийство меня, не даст ей того, чего она хочет - а я ушел." (I've survived things worse than the wrath of a mother, Raisa. Nothing short of killing me will get her what she wants- which is me gone) She tells her seriously, fervently, her hands squeezing hers reassuringly as she speaks. Her eyes peer deeply into Raisa's eyes, green meeting brown in a promise of sincerity and determination. "Клянусь тебе." (I swear to you.)
"Ты делаешь мистера Королеву счастливым, Анастасия. Ненавижу твое соперничество с его матерью, которое все испортило." (You make Mr. Queen happy, Anastasia. I'd hate for this rivalry of yours with his mother to ruin that.) Raisa smiles solemnly up at her, letting go of her left hand to pat the right one she's still holding gently. Ana nods, squeezing the older woman's hand once before letting go and returning to her chopping.
"Миссис Куин не представляет угрозы для нас с Оливером. Но спасибо за беспокойство. Это мило." (Mrs. Queen is not a threat to Oliver and I. But, thank you, for worrying. It's sweet.) She feels more than sees Raisa's nod, and she smiles softly at the maternal woman when she reaches past Anastasia to pick up the tray of tea once more, the two sharing a look as she leaves to deliver it to Walter.
Tommy and Oliver are laughing when she walks in the room, and Anastasia is only slightly surprised to see that the latter's amusement is genuine. They turn to look at her from where they're reclined on the bed, both men's eyes shining until Oliver takes in her expression. To anyone else she would've looked totally normal, her face an impenetrable mask, but Oliver isn't just anyone. His brows furrow lightly in concern as he sits up, Tommy looking between the two of them as he realizes something is wrong.
"Что случилось, Ана?" (What's wrong, Ana?) He questions worriedly, watching as she moves over to his desk where she'd placed her folded up pant suit earlier and had kicked off her heels.
"Сбежал с твоей мамой." She says bluntly, her voice devoid of pretty much any emotion. "Об этом поговорим позже." (Had a run in with your mom. We'll talk about it later) He nods, his mind whirling through possible scenarios, each one worse than the last. She sends him a small, reassuring smile as she treads past and into the bathroom so she can change for dinner. Her purple, drawstring pants from the hospital and baggy grey t-shirt of Oliver's isn't exactly 'first dinner with the heads of the Queen family fortune and her future in-laws' appropriate.
"That's rude, you know." Tommy laughs, going back to absentmindedly tossing up and catching the old hacky sack he'd found beneath the bed.
"Hm?" Oliver hums in question, his eyes still locked on the bathroom door Anastasia has just closed.
"You two speaking in Russian knowing no one else can understand what the hell you're saying." Oliver nods to the side in concession, leaning back against the headboard of his bed and snatching the hacky sack from the air mid-toss. "Hey!" Tommy shouts in protest, but Oliver doesn't respond, too busy trying to figure out just what to tell Tommy.
"Russian is Anastasia's first language, and it gets tiring for her constantly having to translate everything she hears and says in her head. So, it only seemed fair that, once she taught me the language, I start giving her breaks. Especially when she's upset, since it's harder for her to translate then."
Tommy nods, reaching over to yank the hacky sack back and begin tossing it once again. "Never thought of it that way."
Oliver snorts, folding his arms behind his head against the headboard. "I wouldn't have either if I'd never met Ana."
Tommy, who's slouched lower than him, looks up to inspect him with bright eyes. "You really love her, huh?" Oliver doesn't say anything, simply nodding his head in confirmation. "What-" his friend cuts himself off, clearing his throat in a clear sign of nerves. Oliver looks over at him with a speculative look, eyes narrow and the corners of his lips turned down. "What about Laurel?' Tommy seemingly manages to finally choke out, steadfastly avoiding making eye contact with Oliver, which makes his brows raise in realization.
"Laurel and I were never right for each other. We could never be what the other needed and now... now I'm different."
"And you don't think that difference will be what makes you right for each other?"
Oliver shakes his head, eyes rolling to peer up at the ceiling above them. "No. Laurel deserves to be happy, and so do I. Anastasia is who makes me happy. I can never be the man Laurel needs, and she can never accept me for who I truly am. Anastasia has seen me at my worst and loves me anyways, just as I love her. I still love Laurel, I'll always love Laurel in some way, but not like I used to. Not like I love Ana."
Tommy's eyebrows scrunch as he takes a few moments to watch his best friend's face, attempting to gauge his sincerity. Whatever he finds seems to answer his question, as the storm in his eyes clears and his face smooths. "When did you become so mature?"
Oliver laughs, surprised by the response for some reason, and rolls his eyes. "At some point between washing up on a deserted island and boarding the plane home, I guess."
The door to the bathroom swings open and Ana steps out, now dressed in the black pantsuit from before and perched in the red bottomed heels, her fiery hair loose and swirling elegantly around her face with each step she takes. Tommy wolf whistles exaggeratedly at the sight, elbowing Oliver as he does so. The couple laugh, both aware that any flirtation he directs Ana's way is harmless and playful, his loyalty to Oliver too strong to even consider making an actual move on his girl. Not that anything would come of it if he did.
"You are like a child," she chuckles out, her accent causing the words to roll around her mouth attractively, and she moves to sit on the edge of the bed. "You boys are ready? Your mother's expecting us downstairs soon I think, Oliver."
"Yes, dear." He drawls sarcastically, earning him a fierce glare, Anastasia's Eastern European fire visibly igniting.
"Заткнись и спустись вниз." (Shut up and go downstairs) She snaps, standing up and narrowing her eyes at the two men.
"Oooo," Tommy says in a dramatic whisper voice, "I don't know what she said but I do know that you're in trouble." He draws out the final syllable, evoking an amused scoff from Oliver as he rolls off the bed.
"She said 'shut up and go downstairs', and we'd better listen before her actual angry voice comes out." Tommy hops off the bed and joins the couple in the doorway, the three of them walking together down the hall and towards the formal dining room.
The Merlyn heir gasps dramatically and pretends to nervously side eye the Russian on Oliver's other side. "That wasn't her angry voice?" He asks worriedly, his eyes wide as he tramps down the stairs alongside them.
"Oh no, her angry voice is much worse. Much worse."
"I'm so sorry, man."
"Hey!" Anastasia snaps, finally cutting off the boys' joking at her expense, and narrows her eyes playfully.
"I'm sorry!" Tommy cries dramatically, throwing his hands in the air and cowering away. "I'm sorry, don't kill me!" Unfortunately, that's exactly when they enter the dining room, and it seems they're the last to arrive as every person in the room turns to face them, Moira's face wrinkled in judgement.
Anastasia straightens up, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin as she makes eye contact with the Queen matriarch looking down her nose at her from across the room. She's faced the worst men this world has to offer and stood her ground, she'll not be intimidated by the likes of Moira Queen. She's interrupted from her stare down by the feeling of Oliver's hand touching the small of her back, gently guiding her to her chair and pulling it out for her like a gentleman. She smiles up at him and settles in, allowing him to push in her chair before he moves to sit in the one beside her. Tommy grins, striding around the table and plopping down in the chair across from Oliver, clearly unphased by the looks they'd received, and the three of them sitting seems to signal for the rest of the family to do so.
The conversation mostly consists of small talk, the Queens obviously walking on eggshells and not quite sure what to say, so they happily let Tommy babble on about whatever- currently it's pop culture.
"Ok. What else did you miss? Super bowl winners... Giants, Steelers, Saints, Packers, Giants again. A black president, that's new. Oh, and 'Lost', they were all dead...I think." He gestures with his fork as he talks, Anastasia smiling fondly at the way Tommy can hold an entire conversation by himself and not seem like he's trying too hard.
He's managed to keep the atmosphere light up until this point, but Thea is apparently done dancing around the elephant in the room "What was it like there?"
The very air seems to still as everyone around the table freezes, Anastasia putting her silverware down before reaching her hand under the table to rest on Oliver's knee. It may have been a couple years since he was truly stranded on Lian Yu, but that doesn't mean the memories are any easier to bear.
"Cold." He says bluntly, and the rest of the room doesn't seem to know how to respond.
But they're saved from the thick, uncomfortable silence by Tommy, who carries on as if he'd never stopped. "Tomorrow you, me, and Ana, we're doing the city. You've got a lot to catch up on."
"Would you mind if while "doing the city" we stop somewhere so I may pick up some more clothes?" Tommy groans, causing Oliver to laugh as he dramatically sags in his seat.
"Shopping?" The Merlyn heir complains draggingly, earning him a laugh from Thea and Anastasia too.
"Да," she nods, shooting Thea an amused look. "As beautiful as this outfit is that Mrs. Queen picked out, I can't wear it everyday."
"Of course we'll stop and get you some clothes, котенок." (kitten) Oliver chuckles, slinging an arm across the back of her chair. "And then we'll get up to whatever trouble Tommy has planned." He turns back to Tommy with a quirked brow and a small smile. "Deal?"
Tommy groans dramatically one final time before sitting up straight and nodding with a grin. "Deal. I guess I can handle watching a beautiful woman try on clothes for a bit. It'll be quite the chore though." He sighs and hangs his head, shaking it forlornly before looking up to shoot Anastasia a wink.
Thea opens her mouth to surely say something wry in response, but Raisa entering the room with a bowl of pears and tripping on the leg of Oliver's chair prevents her from doing so. The bowl nearly drops from her hands as she stumbles, the pears tipping dangerously over the side, but Oliver is quick to catch her with a hand on her shoulder steadying Raisa and his other hand on her own righting the bowl.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Oliver!"
"Это не беспокойтесь." (It's no worry) The room grows silent again, but Anastasia isn't quite sure why. Every person in the room but one has heard him speak Russian, and it's that one who breaks the silence.
"Ollie, you speak Russian?"
"He picked it up very quickly." Anastasia answers, nodding into her glass of wine and taking a sip before continuing. "Even his accent isn't too bad." She gives him a teasing look and smirks when he playfully scowls in response.
Thea and Tommy laugh, neither noticing the glare shot the Russian woman's way by Moira or the proud look Walter is aiming Oliver's way. "I didn't realize you had such a mind for languages, Oliver. It's remarkable."
Anastasia can feel the sudden rigidity of her lover's body and her hand tightens warningly around his knee in response. It's been obvious to her just how much Walter's presence has been bothering Oliver, she just hopes he's able to show some restraint in his response.
"I didn't realize you wanted to sleep with my mother, Walter." His voice is sharp, a jab clearly meant to stun and sting, and his eyes are icy as they pin the British man to his chair. Her brows shoot up and she hides her surprise by taking another sip of wine. Well, it could've been worse she supposes.