.

The first time he meets Donna Smoak, well. It's an experience.

She arrives, dressed in a leopard dress, hair closer to God than he'll ever be, leaving red marks of lipstick on both his cheeks as she squeezes him until he can't breathe.

"Well, I'd always hoped to dress my first grandchild in cute matching clothes but since we skipped that part maybe we could jump straight to the cocktails, hmh?"

"Mom," Felicity interjects, firmly, brows furrowed together as Donna waves her off. "Oh, please honey, get your panties out of that twist." She plucks some imaginary lint off his shoulder, straightening out his hoodie. "He's almost thirteen! Which practically makes him an adult in our culture."

"I think you're confusing Vegas culture with a bar mitzvah." Felicity crosses her arms over her chest. "Don't feed him any alcohol or your grandma privileges are gone."

Donna hisses, pressing a hand to her heart as she sighs, dramatically. "Don't call me grandma, okay? Call me something cool and hip," she throws her arm around his shoulder, turning him towards the door, "Mami. Or just Donna. Isn't that a thing? Calling your grandma by her first name? Let's make it a thing."

"Mom, I'm serious! Do not feed him alco—" is the last desperate cry from Felicity he's able to make out before the door falls shut behind them.

"I love my daughter but she's so uptight." She slides her sunglasses over her nose, wiggling her eyebrows. "She should learn to live a little."

They don't get cocktails, exactly, but she gets arrested for trespassing when she wants to take him go-karting at a place that's already closed. She flirts her way out of it, and he doesn't even need to promise he won't tell his parents, because honestly? Coolest. Grandma. Ever.

.

"Well, what about her?" Donna points over at one of the waitresses who's leaning over the counter to give an order to the chef.

"She has a good ass," he comments approvingly, stuffing a fry into his mouth before swallowing it down with a swig of his 'sex on the beach'. As an afterthought, he adds, "But I'm not really into blondes."

She actually gapes over at him, long pink fingernails digging into the edge of the table. "Excuse me?"

He raises his eyebrows at her, unimpressed. "You're my grandma." Kind of. He's still not completely at ease with the whole adoptive family taking over his actual family, because his actual family was shit. A small part of him still fears they weren't just shitty to him, they were shitty because of him. And he doesn't want that to happen to anyone else.

"You're right," she admits, smiling sweetly, patting down her hair as she adds, softer and less confident, "But, still. I look good, right?"

He's about to tell her she looks fine when her face lights up, eyes landing on a girl with a pink bow in her hair, light reflecting off her braces as she laughs at something her friend's saying.

"Donna, she's totally still in middle school," he groans, taking a handful of fries and cramming them all into his mouth at once before she has the chance to say anything.

She grimaces uncomfortably, before pursing her lips thoughtfully. "So you're into older women?"

Not exactly. He's just not into children.

He shrugs, starting on his burger and Donna reaches out to put her hand on his wrist, schemingly looking over at a brown-haired, curvy woman standing in line for the cash register, nodding her head slightly towards her. She thinks she's subtle, but she's never.

"Jesus, not that old," he almost chokes on the food in his mouth, about to flush it down with his drink when the rest of the family walks in. He hadn't really planned on a family gathering, but Felicity lived for Big Belly Burger and as soon as she heard they were eating dinner there, she insisted on coming.

"Mom, he's fifteen," Felicity presses, grin fading off her face quickly, making a move to grab his drink away from him, coat and purse hanging on her free arm.

"It's virgin," she hisses darkly, her grip as strong on the glass as Felicity's, who eyes her down for a minute before giving her the benefit of the doubt. Or, she decides the hassle's really not worth it. Donna would kick her own daughter's ass over a virgin cocktail and there's not a single sorry bone in his body that doubts it.

He's shoving the bags of clothes Donna got him (with Oliver's credit card) in between his legs to make more room in the booth. And if he ends up squeezed against Thea, well. So be it.

He's moving aside to give the brunette some more space to sit down when he notices Donna looking at him, one of those secret smiles on her face, like she knows everything and he knows nothing. Which is annoying.

"Just right, huh?" She whispers under her breath as soon as she ends up next to him because Felicity and Oliver were trying to fit in their booth, too, and pokes him in the ribs.

"Donna," he mutters warningly, and Thea and Felicity are too caught up in their conversation about what burger they're going to sin with to notice, but Oliver sends him a pitying look like he's been there. Donna just smiles innocently, going on to gush over Thea's dress and then complain about her own daughter's 'lack of sequins'.

You don't know the half of it, Oliver, you don't know the half of it.

.

"The adventures of Donna and Roy Smoak," she gushes, squeezing him tightly in her arms as she hops up and down out of pure enthusiasm. She smells like cotton candy and sweet alcohol. "Roy Smoak-Queen?" She corrects herself, sending him a questioning glance.

"It's still Harper, you know," he answers, considerably less excited. "Like it's been for the past five years."

"Don't ruin it, sourpuss," she informs him, eyebrows raised to express she's completely unimpressed with the grumpy look on his face. She takes his head in both hands and uses her thumb to smooth out the skin on his forehead. "Don't frown so much either, I've never seen a kid your age with a wrinkle this big."

Then, she takes his arm and pulls him along, passed the coffee shops and fast food restaurants and out of the airport. She takes small steps when she walks, and it's not until he looks down that he realizes she's wearing heels the length of his pointer-finger, but he still has to try and keep up.

"It's a pity your folks couldn't get the weekend off," she comments, offhandedly, and she's smiling while she says it, but there's a sad look in her eyes. "You'd think Oliver being the CEO of the company his wife works at would give them more free time."

He just hums in response, and tries to get a cab to stop as she pulls him along the sidewalk because she 'knows a spot'.

"Maybe they just don't want to see me," she adds, casually, glancing at him sideways to gauze his reaction. Unfortunately for her, he has a killer poker face.

"That, or Felicity's eight months pregnant, Donna."

She stops them abruptly, sending him a way too emotional look. He doesn't really do emotional. "You know you'll always be my grandbaby, too, right? No matter how old you'll get, kid."

"Donna," he presses, looking around awkwardly at the busy crowd surrounding around them. He doesn't really do emotional. Especially not in busy crowds.

"No, I'm serious," she sniffs, patting at the bottom of her eyes with a tissue she collected from the bottom of her fluffy neon-pink handbag. "You'll always be my first."

"Your first grandchild," he echoes, quickly, eyes wide, checking to see if anyone overheard her. He grabs her by the shoulders, because he needs her to understand the difference. "Your first grandchild."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Same difference," she waves him off, pursing her lips. "What I was trying to say is that family—it's, it's not about blood, it's about who you go to at the end of the day and," she drifts off, smiling brightly as she pinches his cheek like he's still the twelve year old little kid who came into her daughter's life out of nowhere, who she just accepted from the get-go, no questions asked, "drink cocktails with." She rolls her eyes, brushing some lint off his shoulder. "Or would like to, anyway."

The corners out of his mouth turn up a little, and he shakes his head. His face is still blank, he knows this, but inside, he feels—good. Wanted. For all that it's worth, considering he doesn't have much to compare her to, she's the best grandma he's ever had. "I guess you want another hug now?"

She scoffs, playfully as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. "Don't pretend you don't enjoy them, kid."

.

He doesn't really know why he gets into fights, at school and at home, especially not the ones that don't make sense. Like this one.

He knows he's wrong. He stayed out too late, and woke up the baby in the middle of the night because he was too high to be able to tell how to discreetly walk up a staircase and close a damn door. He even almost burned the house down when he tried to bake himself an egg.

He doesn't even catch the first half of Felicity's ramble, just sees the way her eyebrows are wrinkled together and how her eyes are shiny and it scares him, that he could do that, to her, to someone who took him in when he was so lost. During every fight, part of him wonders if this is it, this is going to be the final straw, and she's going to kick him out.

That is, until Oliver pulls down his headphone so it's around his neck instead.

"Like you never stayed out late," he spits, eyes dangerously narrowed, and interrupting Felicity. "Or did some weed. Not while you attended six different private schools, and especially not at one of the four, was it, colleges you went to, right?"

Oliver just huffs, humoured, shaking his head to himself. His arms are crossed over his chest as he takes in a sharp breath, before finally looking at him, collected but Roy knows by the way his jaw is clenched that he is pissed off. "You've got some nerve."

Donna is cradling the baby—his sister, he thinks—in her arms as she looks from one person to another with a confused frown, all the while trying to shush her.

"I never did anything to endanger a three month old baby, what if I hadn't seen you left the stove on?" Of course. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. It's all about her.

"Nevermind what he did, or I did," Felicity insists, like she's ever done anything bad in her life, "We never wanted any of that for you. That's the whole parenting thing, you know? You want better for your kid—"

"You're not my mom," he bites, jaw clamped shut and he doesn't care how she looks like she's about to cry, or how Oliver looks like he just personally stabbed him in the back. He is just still so angry, all the time. And a lot of the time he doesn't know how to feel all that rage, without wanting to explode.

"Well, I'll be damned," Donna starts, calm and collected, but her eyes are narrowed as she hands the baby off to Oliver, putting her hands on her hips.

"Mom," Felicity tries, soft but it comes out squeaky. "Just leave it."

"No, Felicity," she says, making sure no one mistakes her shaky voice for anything but anger as she turns back to him. "He needs to hear this."

He crosses his arms, scoffing. There is anything she could say he hasn't already told himself.

"Felicity and Oliver took you in when you were just a twelve year old brat. Frankly, you were a twelve year old brat with an already extensive juvenile criminal record, but they still did it. I wouldn't have done it," she admits, genuinely, giving the both of them an earnest look, shaking her head slightly. "I would've been too selfish. To try and raise you better?" She huffs. "I can't speak for Oliver's parents, but I can speak for myself when I say it was a whole lotta better than how she was raised." She sends a shaky smile Felicity's way before turning back to him, taking a step closer. "I'm not asking you to call them 'mommy' and 'daddy', I'm asking you to respect the fact they're your parental figures, whether you like it or not. So apologize. Because they're not only there for you when you think you need it, but also when you think you don't. Like right now."

She lets that sink in a little, only to dramatically pick back up, "Because they care about you and don't want you drinking alcohol when your underaged and will even fight their poor middle-aged mother over it, and nag and nag about you making your homework because they want you to succeed, and," she sends him a pointed look, "yell at you when you're being an insufferable ass."

She leans closer and pats his arm, quietly into his ear she tells him, "For the record, you're just supposed to sit there and take it. That's all they want from you."

He purses his lips, the frown slowly dissipating from his face as he looks at his parental figures. Felicity looks a little guilty, but Oliver isn't afraid to look like he personally whispered every word into Donna's ear.

He sighs, sinking down on the couch as he watches Felicity's eyes light up, bumping her arm lightly against Oliver's, and Donna smiling all-too-proudly. "Okay. Give it to me."

By all means, their verbal smackdown was nothing compared to Donna's.

.

She does however, finally offer him a real cocktail on his 18th birthday. "In the land of our people the legal drinking age is 18, so bottoms up."

"Vegas?" He asks dumbfounded, staring at the pink frilly drink she shoved towards him on the bar. He's had beer before, but it feels wrong to tell her this when she's so excited.

"No, Israel, you dummy." She nudges him with her elbow, back towards the bar, eyes on the look-out, talking out of the side of her mouth. "I would've gotten you something stronger but I think your mom was on to me. Eyes like a hawk that one."

"I don't know what's been up her hoo-hah for the past week but it's draining me out," she complains, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder like she's making a point, looking at Roy for confirmation.

Because, right, Oliver was off with Sara and Diggle on some investigation on an 'island' which was the whole reason they had to postpone his birthday party and he was hanging with his grandma instead. Whatever.

He spots Thea, talking to some guy she's waitressing. He knows she's only flirting to make extra tips, but it makes his blood boil and feel like he should go over there and—

"Yeah, she's always ten times more on edge when Oliver is gone," he notes, absentmindedly, downing the drink at once before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Donna perks up at this, turning towards him with wide eyes, then pokes her bottom lip out, nodding like she's impressed. "Looks like you take after your good old granny after all, kid."

He just makes a noise in acknowledgement, that sounds more like a groan than anything, watching Thea laugh at some joke that's probably not even funny. Suddenly she turns her head, as if she could feel him watching her, and waves, sending him a wink. He smiles back but she's already back to the guy.

He clenches his hands into fists, gritting his teeth and Donna takes a sip from her own drink, by sucking on the tiny straw lodged in her martini.

"Calm down, kid. Jealousy isn't too good of a look on you," she whispers like it's a secret, although she still sounds quite loud.

Roy shakes his head to himself, trying to relax a little as he rolls his shoulders back. She puts a hand on his forearm, squeezing lightly, that all-knowing look on her face. "She's a pretty thing that girl, ain't she?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mutters, lamely, and for the first time the loud dance music is making his head pound.

"I'm dumb but I'm not blind," she continues, slurping loudly on her drink before putting her hand up to order another one. "I've watched you look at that girl like she hung the moon since you were twelve years old."

"Don't," he starts, sighing but she shakes her head, linking her arm through his as the barman refills their drinks. "I also noticed how she's been looking at you. Ever since you grew into that body," she taps a fake nail to his temple thoughtfully, "and mind of yours."

"Donna, I appreciate it but I don't really think she's into me."

"Not if you act like this no."

"Like what?" He asks, obligatory as he takes a swig of his cocktail, the taste not so bad as it was at first.

She raises her eyebrows, tilting her head slightly. "A pussy."

He almost chokes on his drink, coughing loudly as Donna hands him a few napkins, keeping one to dab at his dress shirt that Felicity made him wear.

"I'm sorry, kid, but it's the truth. Girls like a little," she shakes her upperbody, purple sequined dress blinding him, "confidento."

He doesn't really remember the word for confidence from his Spanish class, but he's sure that's not it. It seems useless to point it out though, besides, he doesn't actually care.

She slaps his arm, simultaneously gulping down her drink, foregoing the straw completely. "A little grit!"

"What also works great is showing them how great of a time you're having without them," she adds, shrugging a little, obviously already a little buzzed. She pushes him towards the dancefloor, wiggling her eyebrows, "Now dance with me!"

.