# STARLING PLAZA HOTEL – GRAND BALLROOM – NIGHT
The Starling Plaza's grand ballroom had reached that perfectly dangerous stage of charity gala where expensive champagne transformed polite philanthropy into something far more volatile. Crystal glasses caught the light like tiny weapons, the orchestra had abandoned their role as tasteful background noise in favor of demanding attention, and the marble dance floor gleamed under the feet of couples who moved with varying degrees of grace and sobriety.
Tommy Merlyn stood at the edge of the dance floor like a man watching a fascinating car accident in slow motion, nursing his third glass of Dom Pérignon and trying to convince himself that what he was feeling wasn't jealousy. His tuxedo was perfect—midnight blue Armani that had cost more than most people's cars—but he wore it with the kind of casual elegance that suggested he'd been born in formal wear.
At twenty-seven, Tommy possessed the sort of devastating handsomeness that belonged on magazine covers: sharp cheekbones, dark hair that looked artfully tousled even when he hadn't touched it, and green eyes that could charm their way out of any trouble they got him into. Tonight, however, those eyes were focused with laser intensity on the couple moving across the dance floor with the kind of intimate grace that made his chest tighten in ways he didn't want to examine.
Laurel Lance waltzed in the arms of Nymphadora Tonks like she'd been born to it, her emerald green gown flowing around them both as they moved through steps that were technically appropriate for high society but carried an undercurrent of something far more personal. At twenty-six, Laurel had the kind of striking beauty that made photographers weep—dark hair that caught light like silk, green eyes that could cut through lies like surgical instruments, and the kind of graceful strength that came from years of fighting battles most people couldn't imagine.
Tonight, she looked radiant in a way that made Tommy's carefully constructed emotional walls crack just slightly around the edges.
Tonks led the dance with confident authority, her burgundy gown clinging to curves that suggested she spent significantly more time maintaining her physical fitness than most people realized. At thirty-two, she possessed the kind of understated beauty that snuck up on you—chestnut hair that seemed to move with its own mysterious breeze, dark eyes that held depths suggesting she'd seen things that would give most people nightmares, and a smile that promised either salvation or damnation depending on your perspective.
"They look good together," a voice said at Tommy's shoulder, carrying just enough alcohol-induced honesty to make him wince.
Tommy turned to find Thea Queen leaning against the wall beside him with the kind of effortless elegance that made her look significantly older than her seventeen years. She wore a deep red cocktail dress that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary, her dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders, and her brown eyes held that particular brightness that came from champagne and barely controlled emotions.
But there was something off in her posture—a slight looseness to her movements, a flush to her cheeks that suggested the evening's alcohol consumption had progressed beyond socially appropriate levels into potentially problematic territory.
"They do," Tommy agreed carefully, his trained eye cataloging the signs of intoxication with the expertise of someone who'd spent years managing his own relationship with expensive substances. "You okay, Speedy? You seem a little..."
"A little what?" Thea interrupted with a laugh that was just slightly too loud for their elegant surroundings. "A little drunk? A little honest? A little tired of pretending that everything in the Queen family is absolutely fucking perfect all the time?"
Tommy felt warning bells going off in his head. He'd known Thea since she was in middle school, back when her biggest concerns were whether her braces would come off before the spring formal and whether Oliver would remember to pick her up from soccer practice. He recognized the particular edge in her voice that meant she was working through complicated emotions in ways that probably weren't going to end well for anyone involved.
"How much have you had to drink tonight?" he asked gently, shifting position to block her from the view of nearby socialites who were already starting to pay attention to their conversation.
"Not nearly enough," Thea replied with the kind of defiant honesty that alcohol provided and sobriety usually prevented. "According to Moira Queen's comprehensive manual on appropriate social behavior at charity functions, I should have stopped after half a glass of champagne consumed at socially acceptable intervals while making polite conversation about acceptable topics."
She gestured with her crystal flute, the champagne sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "According to my personal standards for surviving family social obligations without committing matricide, this is barely getting started."
Tommy couldn't help but smile at her characteristic dramatic flair, even as his concern deepened. "Thea, maybe we should get you some water and—"
"Water is for people who haven't spent the evening watching their brother disappear for mysterious one-hour absences with his equally mysterious security consultant," Thea cut him off with bitter amusement. "Water is for people who haven't had to smile and make small talk while watching their... well, while watching people they care about discover new and exciting aspects of their sexuality right in front of them."
Her gaze drifted back to Laurel and Tonks, and Tommy saw something flicker across her face that made his protective instincts surge to the forefront.
Before he could formulate a response that might redirect the conversation toward safer territory, Thea pushed herself away from the wall with movements that required slightly more coordination than they should have.
"Dance with me," she said suddenly, the words carrying the weight of challenge rather than invitation.
Tommy hesitated, every instinct screaming that this was dangerous territory. "Thea—"
"Don't 'Thea' me," she interrupted with flashing eyes and raised chin. "Everyone else is dancing. Laurel's over there having what appears to be a sapphic awakening with Mystery Britain. Oliver's probably off playing vigilante or whatever it is he does when he thinks nobody's paying attention. And me? I refuse to be the tragic wallflower at my own family's charity function."
She held out her hand with imperious authority. "So. Dance. With. Me. Tommy."
Tommy recognized the trap for what it was—this wasn't really about dancing, and they both knew it. But Thea's eyes were bright with champagne and something that looked dangerously like desperation, and saying no might push her over whatever emotional cliff she was currently teetering on.
"Fine," he said with exaggerated gallantry, offering his arm with the kind of theatrical courtesy that had charmed his way through a dozen high-society scandals. "But fair warning—I'm not responsible if you trip in those heels and take out half the auction display. Or if you stab me with said heels if I step on your dress."
Thea's smile was sharp and predatory. "Relax, Merlyn. I only stab people I don't like. You're safe. Probably."
As they moved onto the dance floor, Tommy became acutely aware that Thea's definition of appropriate dancing distance was significantly closer than social convention typically required. Her hand rested on his shoulder with just slightly more pressure than necessary, and when she looked up at him, her dark eyes held something that made his stomach drop with recognition.
"You know," he said carefully, trying to maintain proper distance while still leading them through the steps, "traditionally, this is where we leave some room for Jesus. Or at least the Holy Spirit. Maybe a small guardian angel."
"Yeah, well," Thea leaned closer, her voice dropping to something that was barely above a whisper, "Jesus isn't on the guest list tonight. I checked."
Tommy nearly choked on his own breath. "That's... wow. Okay. Not sacrilegious at all, Speedy."
"You'll survive," she said with sweet venom, her smile bright enough to blind satellites. "Besides, I've always wondered what it would be like to dance with you properly. Not that awkward birthday party shuffle when I was thirteen and you were obligated to be nice to Oliver's little sister. Real dancing. Adult dancing."
Tommy felt his chest tighten with the familiar weight of complications he'd spent years trying to avoid. "Thea, listen—"
"I'm not what?" she challenged before he could finish the thought, her voice carrying just enough edge to cut through the surrounding music and conversation. "Too young? Too naive? Too much like your honorary little sister to be interesting?"
"You are like a little sister," Tommy said with gentle firmness, trying to steer them through the waltz while navigating emotional landmines that could explode at any moment. "I've watched you grow up, Thea. I've been there for scraped knees and broken hearts and algebra homework that made you cry. I care about you like family."
Her laugh was brittle and sharp, like crystal hitting marble. "Family. Right. Of course. That's what everyone says, isn't it? Sweet little Thea Queen, everyone's favorite honorary sister. Oliver's tragic sibling. Tommy's adorable kid sister figure. Never anyone's actual... choice."
The pain in her voice cut through Tommy's carefully maintained emotional defenses like a knife through silk. He wanted to shield her from whatever was causing that hurt, to fix whatever had broken in her world. But he also recognized that the solution she was reaching for would only make things worse for both of them.
"That's not true," he said softly, his voice carrying genuine warmth beneath its careful control. "You're incredible, Thea. Smart, funny, beautiful, strong—any guy would be lucky to have your attention. Any guy who was appropriate for you to be giving your attention to."
"Just not you," Thea finished with bitter accuracy, her gaze flicking toward where Laurel and Tonks continued their intimate waltz. "Not when Laurel's over there apparently revolutionizing the concept of sapphic chic with her mysterious British law enforcement consultant."
"It's not about Laurel," Tommy said, though even as the words left his mouth he could hear how unconvincing they sounded.
"Sure it's not," Thea replied with devastating sarcasm. "It's about Oliver's little sister being permanently stuck in the kiddie pool while everyone else gets to swim in the deep end of actual human relationships."
Tommy stopped moving, his hands closing over both of hers with gentle but implacable authority. "Thea, look at me. Really look at me."
She did, her dark eyes bright with unshed tears and champagne-fueled determination.
"You are one of the most important people in my life," Tommy said with absolute sincerity. "But not romantically. I need you as the person who calls me out on my bullshit when I'm being an entitled ass. I need you as the person who makes me laugh when everything else is falling apart. I need you as the person who reminds me that family isn't just about blood—it's about choosing to show up for people even when it's inconvenient."
His voice grew stronger as he continued, fed by convictions he'd never had to articulate before.
"That's not something I want to mess up by trying to turn it into something it was never meant to be. You mean too much to me to risk losing you over romantic complications that would probably destroy what we actually have."
Thea stared at him for a long moment, her expression cycling through disappointment, understanding, and something that might have been resignation.
"I knew you'd say that," she said finally, her voice soft and heartbreakingly sad. "Doesn't mean it doesn't suck hearing it out loud."
Before Tommy could respond with something that might comfort her without encouraging her, another presence materialized beside them with the kind of silent grace that suggested she'd been watching the situation develop and had decided intervention was necessary.
Delphini Potter appeared at Thea's elbow like a shadow given human form, her black dress making her look like something that had stepped out of a Tim Burton movie. At seventeen, she possessed the kind of otherworldly beauty that made people wonder if she was entirely human—dark hair that seemed to move with its own mysterious physics, pale skin that looked like it had never seen sunlight, and grey-green eyes that held depths suggesting ancient secrets and modern dangers in equal measure.
"Cousin," she said to Thea with crisp British authority, her accent adding an exotic note to the familiar ballroom acoustics, "you look like three bad decisions wrapped in designer fabric and held together with champagne and poor judgment. I believe it's time for fresh air and significantly less alcohol."
"Delphi!" Thea exclaimed with the kind of forced brightness that screamed impending emotional disaster, swaying slightly as she turned toward her cousin. "You look absolutely incredible. Like you should be on the cover of Gothic Vogue or Elegant Witchcraft Weekly. Are you having fun? Because I'm having an amazing time. Really amazing. Couldn't possibly be better."
"Mmm," Delphini hummed with the kind of unimpressed assessment that could freeze fire. "You reek of Dom Pérignon and denial. Not a particularly appealing combination, even for someone with your natural charm."
She turned her attention to Tommy with the kind of steady gaze that suggested she was cataloging his sins and finding them moderately entertaining.
"Tommy," she continued with perfect courtesy that carried undertones of steel, "would you be so kind as to help me extract our beloved drama queen before she provides the society pages with tomorrow's headline scandal?"
But before Tommy could respond with anything resembling diplomatic agreement, Thea's carefully maintained composure finally cracked completely.
"You know what?" she announced, her voice carrying clearly across the dance floor as several other couples slowed their movements to pay attention. "I'm tired of pretending. Tired of smiling and being appropriate and acting like everything in the Queen family is absolutely perfect when it's obviously not."
Tommy felt his heart sink as he recognized the signs of an impending public meltdown. "Thea, maybe we should—"
"No!" she interrupted with the kind of volume that made conversations halt in a expanding radius around them. "I want to say this. I want everyone to hear this because apparently honesty is the only thing that cuts through all the bullshit."
The orchestra continued playing, but their music seemed suddenly inadequate to cover the weight of whatever Thea was building up to. Tommy could see society matrons turning their heads with predatory interest, their eyes bright with the promise of scandal.
"Tommy Merlyn thinks I'm like his adorable little sister," Thea continued with bitter eloquence, her voice carrying to every corner of the ballroom. "Laurel Lance is apparently exploring exciting new dimensions of her sexuality with mysterious British law enforcement consultants. And my brother?"
Her eyes flashed with something dangerous.
"Oliver vanished for over an hour during our own family's charity function to engage in whatever mysterious activities he pursues with his equally mysterious security consultant. All very mysterious. All very convenient. All very much not my business because I'm just Starling City's favorite tragic little sister figure."
Tommy reached for her arm, but she stepped back with movements that were becoming increasingly unsteady.
"And you know what the absolute best part is?" she asked with laughter that held no humor whatsoever. "I'm used to it. I'm completely, utterly used to being rejected, ignored, dismissed, or treated like someone's adorable mascot rather than an actual person with actual feelings and actual desires."
The silence that followed was deafening. Even the orchestra seemed to hesitate, their music faltering as the weight of Thea's words settled over the ballroom like a heavy blanket.
Delphini moved with swift efficiency, her arm sliding through Thea's with the kind of gentle but implacable authority that brooked no argument.
"All right," she said with crisp composure, "that's quite enough public confession for one evening. Save some trauma for the sequel."
She shot Tommy a look that conveyed volumes about his responsibility for allowing the situation to deteriorate this far.
"Tommy," she continued with perfect courtesy, "exit strategy. Immediately. Before our dear cousin provides enough material for a month's worth of gossip columns."
Tommy moved to Thea's other side, his protective instincts finally overriding his paralysis. "Come on, Speedy. Let's get you somewhere quiet where you can finish having this emotional breakdown without an audience of three hundred people with camera phones."
Together they began guiding Thea toward the ballroom's back entrance, but their progress was interrupted by the sound of Thea's stomach finally rebelling against the evening's chemical and emotional excess.
"Oh God," Thea moaned, her face going pale as marble. "Oh no. I think I'm going to—"
"Not on the Italian marble," Delphini said with urgent authority that cut through Thea's distress like a blade. "Tommy, service corridor. Now. Move like your social reputation depends on it."
They half-carried, half-guided Thea through the elegant crowd toward the hotel's back exit, drawing concerned glances and whispered speculation but managing to avoid the kind of spectacular public disaster that would have dominated Starling City's social media for months.
---
# STARLING PLAZA HOTEL – BACK ALLEY – NIGHT
The alley behind the Starling Plaza was exactly what you'd expect from a five-star hotel's service area—immaculately maintained, well-lit, and designed to handle staff access and deliveries without compromising the establishment's reputation for elegant discretion. Even the dumpsters looked like they'd been selected by an interior designer with an appreciation for utilitarian aesthetics.
Thea Queen did not appear to appreciate the carefully curated ambiance.
She made it approximately three steps past the heavy service door before collapsing to her knees beside an ornamental planter that probably cost more than most people's cars, retching with the kind of violent efficiency that suggested her digestive system was determined to expel every drop of champagne she'd consumed over the past several hours.
"Oh, this is classy," she gasped between waves of nausea, her voice echoing off the brick walls with bitter self-awareness. "Super classy. Nothing says 'sophisticated young woman' like projectile vomiting beside decorative shrubbery while wearing a dress that costs more than most people's rent."
Tommy Merlyn crouched beside her without hesitation, his expensive tuxedo jacket abandoned in favor of practical crisis management. One hand held her dark hair away from her face while the other rubbed gentle circles on her back, his movements carrying the practiced competence of someone who'd done this before for too many college friends and social acquaintances.
"Easy, Speedy," he murmured with the kind of gentle authority that had served him well in similar crisis situations. "Just get it all out. The regret comes later, after you're no longer poisoning yourself with overpriced French bubbles."
"Regret now, vomit later," Thea corrected weakly before doubling over again, her body convulsing with another wave of alcohol-induced rebellion.
Delphini Potter stood sentinel near the alley entrance, her black dress somehow managing to look both elegant and practical in the harsh security lighting. Her arms were folded across her chest, her pale features set in an expression of cool assessment as she monitored both the street and the door they'd just exited through.
"How much did she actually consume?" Delphini asked without taking her attention away from potential threats to their privacy, her British accent adding a note of clinical precision to the inquiry.
"More than I realized," Tommy admitted with self-recrimination that went deeper than simple guilt. "Way more. I should have been paying closer attention. She's been dealing with so much lately—family drama, school pressure, whatever the hell Oliver's been up to with his mysterious disappearing acts. I completely dropped the ball."
"You're not her designated emotional shepherd," Delphini pointed out with characteristic directness. "Though I suspect she's been drowning in feelings of invisibility significantly longer than anyone bothered to notice."
Before Tommy could formulate a response to that particular insight, the service door opened to admit two more figures—both moving with the kind of purposeful concern that suggested they'd abandoned their own evening's entertainment to investigate their friends' sudden departure.
Laurel Lance stepped into the alley first, her emerald gown now accessorized with worry lines around her green eyes and the kind of determined expression that had served her well in courtroom battles. Behind her came Nymphadora Tonks, burgundy silk and bare shoulders suggesting she'd left the warmth of the ballroom without pausing to collect outer garments.
"We saw you three making a hasty exit," Laurel said immediately, her gaze taking in Thea's condition with the kind of rapid assessment that came from years of dealing with people in various states of crisis. "How bad is it?"
"Bad enough that I'm considering a career change to professional alcoholic," Thea rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand while still maintaining her position beside the now-unfortunate planter. "Don't mind me. Just systematically ruining the Queen family reputation one champagne flute at a time."
"She'll survive," Tommy said, forcing calm professionalism into his voice despite the emotional turmoil that was making his chest feel like it was filled with broken glass. "Too much champagne on an empty stomach, combined with too many feelings that have been bottled up for too long. Classic recipe for disaster."
Tonks moved to Thea's side with the confident competence of someone whose professional background included managing crisis situations involving intoxicated individuals. Her dark eyes assessed color, coordination, and general responsiveness with practiced efficiency.
"Pulse is steady, breathing's regular, pupils are responding normally," she reported with clinical calm. "How long has she been actively sick?"
"About ten minutes," Tommy replied, grateful for someone who approached the situation with professional detachment rather than emotional involvement. "She skipped dinner earlier—said she wasn't hungry, but I think she was more focused on the social obligations than taking care of herself."
Tonks clicked her tongue with the disapproval of someone who'd seen too many people make similar mistakes. "Amateur mistake. Empty stomach plus emotional stress plus champagne? That's a formula for hugging porcelain—or in this case, expensive landscaping features."
She looked down at Thea with something that might have been sympathy mixed with amusement.
"Though I have to say, your commitment to maintaining conversational skills even while actively vomiting is impressive. Most people just groan and whimper."
"I'm not most people," Thea replied weakly, managing a ghost of her usual spirit. "I'm a Queen. We maintain our wit even while systematically destroying our dignity in public venues."
"Fair point," Tonks conceded with a slight smile.
Thea looked up at the small group that had gathered around her, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed with embarrassment and residual tears from the force of her retching.
"This is officially the most humiliating moment of my seventeen years of existence," she announced with characteristic dramatic flair. "Four adults standing around discussing my poor life choices while I commune with decorative plant life. I've officially achieved new levels of pathetic."
"Nobody's judging your life choices," Laurel said firmly, settling down beside Thea with the kind of maternal instincts that had served her well in legal advocacy work. Her green dress pooled around her like liquid emerald as she reached out to smooth Thea's disheveled hair. "We're just making sure you're okay."
"You should go back inside," Tommy said to Laurel and Tonks, his voice carrying more edge than he'd intended as the weight of guilt and protective responsibility made him defensive. "Both of you. You have responsibilities in there—donors to schmooze, auction items to present, networking opportunities that actually matter. This isn't your problem to solve."
Laurel's head snapped toward him, her green eyes flashing with the kind of fire that had made her effective in courtroom confrontations.
"Excuse me?" she said with dangerous quietness.
Tommy realized he'd stepped in it but doubled down anyway, driven by emotions he couldn't fully identify. "I just mean—she's my responsibility. She's family. I should have seen this coming, I should have prevented it, and I can handle getting her home safely. You two don't need to sacrifice your evening over my failure to take proper care of her."
"She's also my cousin," Delphini interjected with the kind of quiet authority that cut through emotional drama like a surgical instrument. Her grey-green eyes fixed on Tommy with an intensity that suggested she was cataloging his motivations and finding them insufficient.
"And she's my friend," Laurel added with steel in her voice that brooked no argument. "Which means I'm not going anywhere until I know she's safe and settled. End of discussion."
Tonks, who had been observing this exchange with the interested attention of someone watching a soap opera she hadn't been following, finally rose to her full height and fixed Tommy with the kind of steady gaze that suggested she'd walked into family drama and found it moderately entertaining.
"Look," she said with the calm authority that came from years of managing situations that made no rational sense, "I don't pretend to understand the interpersonal dynamics at work here, but what Thea needs right now isn't a debate about territorial responsibility. She needs fluids, rest, and people who care about her sitting with her while she pretends this never happened."
Her dark eyes moved between Tommy and Delphini with something that looked like recognition sparking.
"Besides," Tonks continued with a slight smile, "Delphini is Harry's sister, and Sirius is Harry's godfather. That makes Delphini family by adoption if not by blood. Which means Thea—being Harry and Delphini's cousin—becomes family by extension. Problem solved."
The simple declaration carried weight that went far beyond the immediate circumstances of managing an intoxicated teenager. Tommy felt some of his defensive anger drain away as he processed the implications of what Tonks was saying about chosen family and mutual responsibility.
"You're right," he admitted quietly, running a hand through his dark hair in a gesture that betrayed his emotional exhaustion. "I'm sorry. This whole evening has been... complicated. And seeing Thea like this, knowing that part of it is because of me, because of how I handled her feelings..."
"Part of it is because she's seventeen years old and still figuring out how to handle complicated emotions," Tonks corrected with gentle firmness. "Part of it is because she's dealing with family stress that has absolutely nothing to do with you. And part of it is because sometimes people drink too much at parties and make choices they regret later. Don't martyrize yourself."
Thea, who had been listening to this discussion of her psychological state with growing mortification, finally found the strength to contribute to her own crisis management.
"Could we possibly move this analysis of my emotional dysfunction somewhere that doesn't smell like expensive garbage and regret?" she asked weakly, pushing herself into a more upright position with Laurel and Delphini's assistance. "Because I'm pretty sure I've humiliated myself thoroughly enough for one evening."
"Tommy's car," Delphini decided with brisk efficiency, already calculating logistics and potential complications.
"I'll drive her home," Tommy said immediately, his protective instincts overriding any remaining social awkwardness.
"We'll all take her home," Laurel corrected with the kind of authority that made it clear this wasn't open for negotiation. "She doesn't need someone who's processing guilt—she needs friends who care about her regardless of whatever romantic complications may or may not be involved."
Tommy winced at the direct assessment but couldn't argue with its accuracy.
"Fine," he agreed with the resignation of someone who recognized when he was outnumbered by people with better judgment than his own. "But we do this quietly. No drama, no paparazzi, no society column speculation about why Thea Queen left her own family's charity fundraiser looking like she'd been hit by a truck carrying expensive alcohol."
"Agreed," Delphini said with the kind of cool composure that suggested she was already calculating potential publicity management strategies. "Though I suspect the dramatic portion of this evening is far from concluded."
As they carefully helped Thea toward Tommy's car—a sleek BMW that had cost more than most people's houses—she managed to look up at the small group that had rallied around her with something that might have been gratitude mixed with lingering embarrassment.
"You know," she said quietly, her voice carrying the particular vulnerability that came from alcohol-induced honesty, "I really did mean what I said back there about being used to rejection. About people seeing me as the eternal little sister figure rather than... well, rather than someone who might be worth choosing."
She paused, swallowing hard as she processed emotions that were too big and too complicated for her seventeen-year-old emotional vocabulary.
"But I'm not used to having this many people actually show up when things go wrong. I'm not used to people caring enough to follow me into alleys and hold my hair while I make terrible life choices."
"Get used to it," Tonks said with warm authority, her arm sliding around Thea's shoulders in a gesture that was both supportive and possessive. "Because like it or not, you're stuck with us now. That's what family means—chosen or otherwise. You don't get to wiggle out of being cared about just because it's inconvenient or embarrassing."
Thea blinked, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite her obvious physical discomfort.
"Great," she said with weak sarcasm that held genuine affection underneath. "A family that comes with a lawyer who's exploring her sexuality, a mysterious British law enforcement consultant with excellent hair, and a cousin who looks like she stepped out of a Tim Burton movie. Lucky me."
"Don't forget the charming billionaire playboy with devastating good looks and a hero complex," Tommy added with self-deprecating humor, grateful for any opportunity to lighten the emotional weight of the evening.
"Delusional billionaire playboy with decent hair and an overactive guilt complex," Delphini corrected with characteristic precision.
"My hair is better than Oliver's," Tommy protested with mock indignation.
"That's debatable," Laurel muttered, earning the first genuine laugh from Thea that any of them had heard all evening.
As Tommy navigated his car through the quiet streets of Starling City, heading toward the Queen family mansion with its marble facades and complicated family dynamics, he found himself thinking about the nature of family—chosen and biological, simple and complex, the kind that rejected you gently and the kind that showed up in service alleys when you needed them most.
Thea would be fine. Embarrassed, hungover, and probably avoiding him for a few weeks while she processed her feelings and his rejection, but ultimately fine.
And maybe, Tommy reflected as he watched Laurel and Tonks in his rearview mirror engaged in quiet conversation while Delphini kept watch over Thea's condition, that was what really mattered in the end.
Not the romantic complications or the social expectations or the charity fundraisers or the family reputations that required careful management.
Just the people who showed up when you needed them, regardless of whether it was convenient or appropriate or socially expected.
That was family. And maybe, for someone like Thea Queen who'd spent too much of her young life feeling invisible and dismissed, that was exactly what she needed to learn.
That she was worth showing up for, regardless of the circumstances.
And that sometimes, the most important moments happened not in ballrooms or boardrooms, but in alleyways and backseats, where people could drop their social masks and just be human beings taking care of each other.
"You know what?" Thea said quietly from the backseat as they pulled into the Queen mansion's circular driveway, "I think I'm going to remember this part more than the part where I made an ass of myself in front of three hundred people."
"The part where you discovered you have people who care about you?" Tonks asked with gentle amusement.
"The part where I learned that family isn't just about blood or social obligations," Thea replied with the kind of insight that suggested she was processing the evening's events in ways that might actually prove beneficial. "It's about who shows up when you're at your worst and stays anyway."
Tommy felt his chest tighten with something that might have been pride mixed with affection.
Maybe this whole disaster of an evening had taught them all something important about the difference between the families you're born into and the families you choose.
And maybe, just maybe, that was worth a little public embarrassment and a lot of expensive champagne.
---
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