A/N: Unedited and written at work but I hope you like it!
The wind is whipping harshly against the stone exterior of the mansion as they're settling into bed, the rain pelting the windows heavily. As Anastasia watches Oliver climb beneath the covers, she knows tonight's not going to be easy. His nightmares aren't as frequent as they were when she'd first met him, but storms will most likely always be a trigger. She follows his lead and crawls under the tasteful covers, entering what must be nirvana.The bed is lavish- the king sized mattress is outrageously soft and the sheets have more than a thousand thread count, the duvet is heavy and the pillow cradles her head almost tenderly. She groans as her tired bones seem to melt into the bed, her bright hair haloing around her, and it evokes a smile from Oliver.
"Beats the rocky ground of Lian Yu, huh?"
She rolls onto her side so they're face to face and reaches up with her right hand to scratch lightly at the stubble on his jawline. "I'm happy being wherever you are. I don't care if I'm sleeping on the ground in the woods or on a king sized bed in a mansion, as long as we're together we'll thrive. Даже хижина кажется раем, когда ты с любимым человеком." ( A Russian saying: Even a hut feels like paradise when you're with your loved one.)
He smiles and presses a kiss to the top of her head, curling his body around her protectively. "Я люблю тебя мой свет." ( I love you, my light)
"И я тебя, капюшон." (And I you, Kapushion)
He groans at the name, burying his face in her hair before mumbling into it. "Don't call me that, it makes me feel like Anatoly is here."
She laughs, shifting their position so that, rather than being pressed against her hair, his head is cradled against her chest and she drops a kiss on the top of it. "He will be soon enough, возлюбленный. Might as well get used to it." (beloved)
He groans again and then sighs. "Good night, Nastyusha." (Diminutive of Anastasia)
"Good night, любимый." (darling)
She's woken up by the booming sound of the worsening storm, a particularly loud crash of thunder sending her tumbling out of bed and onto her feet, the knife she'd stashed beneath her pillow a few hours previous clutched tightly in her right hand. She's instantly alert, her eyes darting around the room in search of a threat only to relax when none reveal themselves. A whimper from her left catches her attention, and her head snaps sharply to take in Oliver curled up fetally beneath the large window that's somehow come unlatched, the wind surging into the room and lashing violently against the curtains. Anastasia slips the blade back beneath her pillow and then dashes over to Oliver's side, freezing halfway when the door to his room slams open.
She twirls on the balls of her feet in a move so graceful that it's a dead giveaway to her ballet background before shifting so she's blocking as much of Oliver's vulnerable form with her own body as possible, only to relax at the sight of Moira Queen and Walter Steele standing in the doorway with worried looks on their faces. "Stay back!" She calls warningly over the howling of the wind, her face illuminated briefly- and almost eerily- by a bright flash of lightning. She turns and closes the distance between her and her lover in a few quick strides, dropping to her knees at his shoulder. It's always risky to wake Oliver, but it's especially so when he's in the midst of a nightmare.
Ana huffs in annoyance when she sees Moira kneel down at his other side, frustrated that the blonde woman had ignored her advice- despite the fact that Ana's been helping Oliver through this for years- and therefore putting herself in danger. It's very likely that Oliver will lash out, and Anastasia is much more capable of dealing with it and coming out unscathed than Moira Queen. "Oliver." She puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes it gently. "Oliver! Ты в безопасности, Оливер. Ты дома и в безопасности." (You're safe, Oliver. You're home and you're safe) She shakes him by the shoulder one last time, and then she's being roughly flipped onto her back faster than she can blink, Oliver hovering threateningly over her with his hands around her throat. She waits for only half a second, and when awareness doesn't break through the clouds of his nightmares in his eyes, she throws her legs up to wrap tightly around his waist, using them to toss his weight to the right and off of her torso. He grunts as his back slams against the floor, Anastasia rolling with him so she's now straddling his hips before pressing her forearm against his throat to keep him down. "Оливер, это Анастасия, ты в безопасности! You're safe! Come back to me. You're safe." (Oliver, it's Anastasia, you're safe!)
She watches the blue of his eyes clear and his breathing slow as she talks, the tension melting from his muscles one at a time. They stare at each other for a long moment, green tethering blue to reality, before Moira's hand comes to rest on Oliver's shoulder, causing him to startle and his eyes to grow a bit wild again.
"Oliver?" The sound of his mother's voice
seems to be enough for him to realize that this new touch isn't a threat. The last of the tension disappears and his breathing finally normalizes, so Anastasia pulls her arm away slowly, cautiously releasing him but still ready to put him down if she needs to.
"I'm sorry." He breathes, his eyes dark with guilt.
"You have no reason to be sorry, Oliver. Вы выжили, и теперь мы спасем ваш город." (You survived, and now we will save your city) She climbs off of him and holds a hand out for him to grasp, helping him to his feet.
"Oliver," Moira's voice cuts through the dark, reminding the couple of their audience. She's pissed at the Russian woman still holding her son's hand, more pissed than she should be seeing as she's just managed to pull him from the grasp of his PTSD. If Malcolm was here he'd be telling her that this hatred stems from her resentment of Isabel Rochev, and the memory of Robert's dalliance with the Russian whore. But what the problem really is, is the fact that Oliver is throwing his future away on a gold digger. They might have needed each other to get through the island, but they're not on the island anymore. They're back in the real world, and the man in this room might be wearing his face, but he isn't acting like her son. It's all too much, and she hates feeling like she's gotten him back just for him to slip from between her fingers and into the grasp of Anastasia Alexeyevna. "Are you okay?" She pushes to her feet and walks his way, reaching out to put a gentle hand on his shoulder blade.
Oliver smiles tiredly at her, his grip tightening on Ana's small hand in search of strength, and steps away so his mom's hand misses its target and falls back to her side. "I'm fine, Mom. It was just a nightmare."
She widens her eyes and her hands chase after him fruitlessly. "Oli-"
"I really am fine." He cuts her off a little too sharply before softening his voice. "I just want to go back to sleep. Don't worry." He gives her one last unconvincing attempt at a smile and pulls away- emotionally and physically. He retreats to his side of the bed, catching Walter's- who's still in the doorway- eye and giving him a nod as he does.
"Do not worry, Mrs. Queen." Anastasia attempts to reassure her only to be on the receiving end of a nasty glare. She continues on, determined to be the bigger person rather than break the other woman's fingers like she really wants to. "I will take care of Oliver. I got a lot of practice during those nights on the island."
The Queen matriarch frowns deeply and starts to argue, but Walter is quick to step in. "It's good to know that Oliver is in capable hands, Miss. Alexeyevna. Good night, both of you." He comes to take Moira gently by the elbow and guide her from the room as they echo the sentiment back to him.
When the door closes behind them with a click Anastasia turns to Oliver with a raised brow. "The Gambit again?" She questions gently, moving around to her side of the bed and climbing back on top of the mattress. He nods, sliding beneath the duvet, and avoids making eye contact.
"Yes. I'm fine, it was a long time ago."
"You are not fine, Oliver. But you will be, and that's what matters. And I'm with you, every step of the way. I love you."
"I love you." He returns before reaching across the bed to grab her by the shoulders and gently tug her into his chest. "Go back to sleep, Nastenka. Tomorrow will be a long day." (Nastenka is another diminutive for Anastasia)
The next morning passes quickly, breakfast being a quiet- and slightly awkward- affair, and they don't linger a single moment before returning back to Oliver's room to get ready for their day out with Tommy. Anastasia grimaces as she pulls the pantsuit back on, incredibly grateful that today she'll be extending her wardrobe past the one outfit.
"I'm going to go talk to Thea before Tommy gets here." Oliver leans over her shoulder to kiss her on the cheek tenderly and Anastasia nods in response as she slides the back onto one of the earrings she'd found in one of his desk drawers. They most likely belonged to one of playboy Oliver's many flings, or possibly Laurel.
"Okay, капюшон. Are you going to give her the hozen?" (Kapushion)
"Yeah, hopefully she likes it."
Ana puts her hands flat against the desktop and turns to give him a reproachful look. "Of course she'll like it! Don't be silly. It's a beautiful sentiment." He smiles, amused by her passion, and leans down to press a kiss to her lips now that they're accessible before striding out. She watches him go with a soft smile and then rises from the desk and moves to the foot of the bed, kneeling down in front of her black crate and pulling it open.
She pulls out four daggers and tucks them in various places on her body, and then takes out her favorite pistol. It's a beautiful thing, but this one piece pantsuit makes it impossible to carry except for strapped to her ankle, and it's too big for that. So she puts it away with a disappointed sigh, pulling out another knife instead. This one's a bit bigger, and she slides it and the holster it's in over her foot and up her calf, tightening it halfway up and then pulling her pant leg over it. She flips the lid of her trunk closed and rises to her feet before moving back towards the desk where her shoes are lying. She steps into the heels and reaches up to check her hair, making sure the half up-half down 'do doesn't have any flyaways or awkward bumps. When she's satisfied she looks okay- the KGB had beaten it into her head that her beauty is her most lethal weapon- she leaves the safety of Oliver's room
She follows the sound of Tommy's voice down the hall in the opposite direction of the staircase, coming to a stop directly behind him. "A rock! That's so sweet. You know, I want one of those t-shirts that says 'My friend was a castaway, and all I got was this crappy shirt.'"
"Oh, sorry," Ana cuts in, snickering when the sudden sound of her voice causes him to jump and spin around with wide eyes, "we gave all our t-shirts away. You just didn't make the cut." She shrugs her left shoulder, tilting her head to look up at him with a lighthearted smirk.
"Oooo." He presses his hand to his chest over his heart dramatically, swaying on his feet. "That hurts, Red."
"Alright you two." Oliver laughs, shaking his head before turning back to Thea who gives him a tight hug.
"Don't let him get you into too much trouble. You just got back. Take it slow."
He presses a kiss to her cheek reassuringly. "Don't worry, Anastasia is chaperoning."
"I'll keep them in line, Speedy." Ana nods, grinning brightly at the young girl she's quickly coming to view as her own sister, her green eyes shining.
"I just got Tommy to stop calling me that, Ollie, and now she's doing it too?" Thea groans dramatically, rocking back on her heels.
"Ahem. The city awaits." Tommy interrupts, gesturing grandly out the door and past Anastasia. Oliver rolls his eyes at his friend's dramatics, sending his sister one last smile, before moving past Tommy and taking Anastasia by the hand to lead her down the hallway with their friend trailing behind. "Have you noticed how hot your sister has gotten?" Ana narrowly avoids running into Oliver's back when he stops suddenly, turning to face Tommy with a stern, almost threatening look. Tommy is quick to back pedal, throwing his hands up in submission. "Because I have not."
Anastasia laughs, shaking her head, and tugs on Oliver's hand promptingly. "Come, Oliver. I want to see your city."
Tommy's Mercedes is running and waiting just in front of the door, a valet standing nearby clearly expecting their arrival. "Thanks, man." Tommy says, giving the valet a friendly pat on the shoulder as he moves around him and opens the driver's door, sliding in. The valet nods at them and then strides off, to where Anastasia doesn't know, Oliver giving him a smile as he passes.
"I'll sit in the back, Солнышко." (sun- a common pet name in Russia) She drops his hand and goes to open her door, only for him to beat her to it with a charming smile. "Thank you, Mr. Queen." She gives him a charming grin of her own and gracefully slides into the car, Oliver closing the door behind her before climbing into the passenger seat.
The car is silent as they drive through the expansive Queen properties and towards the city, Tommy breaking it after about twenty minutes. "Your funeral blew."
Oliver raises a brow and turns to give his best friend a knowing smirk. "You get lucky?
"Fish in a barrel." Tommy laughs, the two of them tiptoeing around the turbulent emotions the funeral sparks in both of them. "They were so sad. And huggy." Both men laugh, Anastasia shaking her head as they do.
"You two are terrible."
"Yep," Tommy pops, shooting her a grin in the rearview mirror. "And I'm counting on another target rich environment at Oliver's welcome home bash."
Oliver starts, his brow furrowing and Anastasia lets out a snort. Is he really surprised that his party boy best friend wants to throw a party? "At my what?" He asks, ignoring the giggles the question earns from Anastasia.
"You came back from the dead. This calls for a party. You tell me where and when. I'll take care of everything." They've left the city center at this point and are now rolling through what can only be the Glades based on what Oliver has told her. "And this city's gone to crap. Your dad sold his factory just in time." Tommy shakes his head, looking at the rundown warehouses they're passing with a wrinkled nose. "Why'd you want to drive through this neighborhood anyway?"
Oliver turns to look at his father's old factory with an unreadable look in his eyes before they dart up to meet Anastasia's in the rearview mirror, the redhead looking determined. "No reason." Oliver dodges the question as the building disappears from view, the warehouses slowly turning into residential houses in slightly better shape.
"So what'd you miss the most, steaks at the palm, drinks at the station, clubbing?" Tommy hesitates slightly before the last word, his eyes flicking her way as he obviously changes what he was going to say last minute.
"Thea." Oliver responds simply, before turning to face Anastasia in the backseat. "Ready to reup your wardrobe, Nastyusha?" Their driver groans at the question but begins turning back towards downtown before she's even responded, causing the Russian to grin.
"Yes, please. I at least need something for court. I can't go in your shirt, Oliver."
"I mean you could," He sends her a smug look and wiggles his eyebrows once before she reaches around the headrest of his seat to slap him gently upside the head.
"Your mother hates me enough, I hardly think that would help."
They go to about six different high end stores, Anastasia whipping out the card Anatoly had given her when he'd come to see her in Hong Kong, about an hour before they'd boarded the plane to Starling, and dropping an outrageous amount of money without blinking. Tommy's eyebrow had raised in surprise the first time she'd stepped forward to pay, clearly expecting for Oliver to have to be the one footing the bill- a logical assumption since she's come from a deserted island and claims to have no family. Moira Queen can try and frame Anastasia as a gold digger all she wants, she won't succeed. Anastasia is well off herself thanks to her Bratva connections- she doesn't need Oliver's money.
Their shopping is finally done, Anastasia having bought enough outfits to fill up a respectable socialite woman's wardrobe, much to Tommy's relief. "Thank god," he groans out, dragging his feet and throwing his head back dramatically as they approach the car that Tommy had earlier parked alongside the curb in front of the designer store- illegally, Anastasia is pretty sure.
"It was not that long, Tommy." She laughs, shifting her grip on the many bags in her right hand in preparation of opening her car door.
"It was hours, Stasia, hours. But," he claps excitedly, "we got that done. Now we can make up for lost time. Are you two sick of fish? 'Cause I could really go for su...shi." He trails off, the trio slowing to a stop right by the car as a van skids up, armed men jumping out. "What're they doing?" Tommy questions bewilderedly, his voice a mixture of confusion and alarm, but Oliver and Anastasia both already know this isn't anything good. Oliver moves closer to her defensively as she drops her bags, freeing up her hands.
They're outnumbered and out armed, but they could still come out on top if they didn't have to pretend to be defenseless socialites. But they do, so they're forced to just stand there as the men charge their way, shooting a bystander fatally, needlessly, before one of the masked men hefts up what Anastasia suspects is a tranquilizer gun.
Her theory is quickly validated when a dart strikes Tommy in the chest, the raven haired man's chin lolling to rest against his sternum as he looks down at it in drugged confusion before dropping limply to the rough concrete.
Oliver's next, his blue eyes looking over at her in panic as he stumbles, but her focus is quickly redirected when a sharp pain erupts in her chest just below her left shoulder. Her hand flies up to rip the dart out before her palm presses flat against her shoulder to soothe the sting, her eyes flicking to a now limp Oliver as she instinctively stumbles to duck down beside Tommy's car, despite the fact that she knows it's pointless. She sits there, hand still pressed to where the dart had pierced her skin despite the fact that it had barely hurt at the time and now even that slight sting has disappeared, and breathes deeply as she feels the sedative creep through her veins and drag at her eyelids. She fights against it for as long as she can, crawling over to Oliver's side and dropping onto her back beside him just as the sedative wins and her eyes close.
She slowly comes to, forcing her heavy eyelids up before they're quite ready, as the sound of a taser crackles through the air. When enough of her strength returns she drags her head upright, looking in the direction the sound had come from. She grits her teeth when she sees Oliver zip tied to a chair to her right, Tommy still out on his other side. She was wrong, it's not a taser, it's a stun baton and it's still pressed to Oliver's chest.
"Did he make it to the island?" Their abductor pauses, obviously expecting the billionaire playboy to squeal, but the Queen heir doesn't answer him. "Did he tell you anything?" He doesn't wait this time, immediately thrusting the prod forward and into the other side of Oliver's chest, who simply grits his teeth a bit and bears it.
One of the men's heads turns her way and she's quick to feign drugged sleep, not wanting them to realize that two out of three of their guests are up and scheming. These guys are either new to the kidnapping game or used to their marks being helpless, because they made the mistake of leaving Anastasia's legs free- plus zip ties? Really? She waits for her cue as she contorts a bit oddly to stretch her leg right and to the back and silently dislocates her thumb, slipping her hands from the restraints with ease.
While the masked men focus on Oliver, she reaches back behind the chair and down to her calf, pulling the long blade she'd strapped there from its sheath and keeping it hidden behind her back as her leg comes back around the chair. She sits there, her head dropped low in faked unconsciousness and knife at the ready, waiting for Oliver to make the first move.
"He told me, I'm going to kill you." Oliver growls out, his voice dark in a way that Anastasia hasn't heard since Russia, and the fools simply laugh.
"You're delusional. You're zip cuffed to that chair." Anastasia snorts, gaining one of the men standing to the back's attention, and quirks a brow with a smirk.
"Not anymore." Her love replies, pulling his hands from behind the back of the chair and raising them up smugly. In an instantaneous, and impressively synchronized, movement they're both out of their seats and lunging forward, Oliver sending an uppercut fiercely into the man with the stun baton's jaw while Anastasia goes for the придурок on the left. (jackass or jerk if you wanna be polite about it idk)
He seems to be frozen in shock, so she immediately has the upper hand as she leaps up and twirls easily as she strikes out with her foot and kicks the man harshly across the temple, sending him spinning to the ground. He groans and forces himself up to his knees, but Anastasia is there, running and throwing her thighs over his shoulders and around his neck before twisting to bring them both to the ground. He lets out another 'oof' that makes her smirk before reaching up with his own regular taser and pressing it to her thigh. She doesn't even flinch- she's endured much worse- and the thug's face quickly begins to take on a purple hue as he struggles for breath.
Oliver is through with his first opponent when she looks over at him, the man clearly dead with his head twisted at a strange angle, and she takes her cue from him. No longer aiming to simply take the masked man out of play, she sharply twists her hips, a loud crack echoing through the warehouse as his neck breaks. He suddenly stops struggling against her and falls limp, the taser he'd been gripping desperately clattering against the rough concrete.
She untangles her legs and gracefully rises to her feet, her and Oliver sharing a look as their final abductor sprints away fearfully, desperately trying to escape with his life. He's stopped mid-step as a solid thunk fills the air and he falls to his knees. His head slowly turns to peer over his shoulder, eyes widening in horror at the sight of a shiny silver handle buried to the hilt just below his shoulder blade. It was the blade Anastasia had been holding in her hand as she chose to slowly strangle his friend before snapping his neck. He lets out a piercing, pitiful wail and flops to the side, hand coming up to scramble uselessly at the blade, his fingers turning scarlet as they dance amongst his escaping blood.
The sight of Ana's brand new and freshly scuffed shoes fills his vision before she crouches at his side and slowly reaches over to tear the blade from its place. He lets out another piercing noise and squirms away from her but Oliver is already standing at his other side, glaring down at him with hard eyes. They're both silent as Anastasia pushes onto her feet and moves to stand at her partner's side, a united front against the criminal underground that is polluting Starling City being personified in one person before them. He may not be the orchestrator of the List, but he's a start.
"No one can know our secret." Oliver says, no pity in his voice, no emotion in his eyes, and then he nods. Anastasia hands him the crimson stained knife without looking away from the bleeding man sprawled in front of them, and Oliver takes it and crouches down to, without another word, drive it point down through the base of the man's throat. He twitches for a few moments and then stills, eyes open and glassy, blood coating the inside of his mouth. Once they're sure he's dead the two sprint back in the direction they'd come, Ana dropping to her knees in front of Tommy and placing her hands worryingly over his knees as Oliver moves behind the chair to untie him.
"Tommy?" The redhead calls, shaking the billionaire scion's knees in a gentle effort to rouse him. He doesn't respond and Anastasia shoots Oliver, who's finished untying him, a worried look. Oliver moves to stand beside her and leans down to press his fingers to his fingers to Tommy's pulse point, the redhead relaxing when she sees the tension melt from Oliver's shoulders. He gives her a reassuring nod and pulls back, just as the screams of sirens become audible and Tommy's eyelashes begin to flutter.