Hello everyone!

The idea of this fic has been circling in my head for a while now and I finally decided to write it down about a week ago. It took this long for me to post it because I hadn't originally decided where to go with it after the first chapter, but now I have a fairly good idea.

The main pairing in this story will be Oliver and Felicity (Whether it's established or not will be revealed later) and as for the 'drug' mentioned, I didn't name it because I'm making it up as I go and that includes all effects/characteristics etc. of said drug, so it's all completely imaginary.

I don't own Arrow or any of its characters. I just constantly wish I do.

Enjoy!

"They're not coming."

His voice was mocking, his every syllable dripping with poisonous glee. "You didn't think they'd actually come for you, did you?"

Oliver tried to hold his rage in. He knew that the man was lying. He knew that his friends would never leave him.. or would they?

The darkness around him seemed to be seeping into his brain. The doubts that ate away at him were well hidden behind his mask of indifference, but he knew that he couldn't hold that mask for much longer. His captors had made sure to keep his cell dark and cold, empty even of the comfort of moon light; the window above his filthy excuse of a bed was completely shuttered. The walls were bare except for the memory of a fading green that now looked like rot.

His jaw flexed as the man eyed him with obvious triumph. Those people, whoever they were, must have done an excellent job of hiding him otherwise his team would have found him by now.

Unless.. A relentless voice inside his head whispered. They never bothered to look. Maybe they know they're better off. Maybe they won't be coming after all.

"You stupid stupid boy." The man seemed to catch the momentary falter in Oliver's resolve and latch onto it. "You believed it, didn't you? That they'd risk their lives for you.." A humorless chuckle rattled the man's chest and he shook his head at Oliver in mock pity. "Don't you know, boy? They don't care about you. No one does."

The glint in his eyes only sharpened at Oliver's sudden intake of breath.

They don't care about you. How long has he been held in here; A month or two –he wasn't sure because he had lost track of time- but it was, however, just long enough to send him doubting himself.

"You'll die down here but don't worry; we'll make sure to send parts of you back to mama dear." A few guards snickered at that –they were positioned behind their leader- and Oliver's doubts were replaced by the pulsing rage that had become all too familiar to him. "Maybe we'll even send a little souvenir to your friends." The men chuckled again. Oliver remained still.

He kept telling himself that he couldn't lose his temper now. What little strength he had should be preserved to resist the drug they were about to give him. Any minute now, the guards will be given the order to inject him with another dose and he'd have to fight the same battle he had been fighting for weeks; one against his own mind.

"Drug him." Barked the commander, "And make sure you increase the dose this time. Needle wants to see what effects an overdose would have on him." The guards opened the rusty door to his cell and slipped inside on silent legs. Four of them held Oliver, who was already shackled to the wall, with painful grips while the fifth opened a case and pulled out a syringe filled with red liquid.

"Sweet dreams." Sneered the fifth guard as he stabbed the needle into Oliver's arm.

The room dissolved into darkness.

Oliver's breath rattled in his chest. He was running through an endless maze of walls. Each time he took a turn, a shadow would appear ahead then vanish and he would only run harder. He didn't know if he was playing predator or prey in this scenario. He didn't know where the maze had come from or how high its walls went up. He only knew that stopping meant certain death. And so, he ran.

His muscles ached the more time passed and his legs screamed in protest whenever he pushed them harder. He heard strange voices coming from somewhere ahead but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make sense of them. Everything around was a jumble of lights and sounds to him and some distant part was screaming at him to stop and look around. He ignored that part. He ran.

At some point –without Oliver noticing- the huge maze had opened up into a rocky land spotted with huge trees. The strange voices were now replaced by waves crashing in the distance and he could also make out the cry of a far off animal. As he ran, his brain registered the place's familiarity but refused to offer its name. His foggy mind wouldn't cooperate on how or why he was here either. It just told him to run, and so he did.

He had been running for hours, maybe days, when the scene changed again and he found himself in an interrogation room. His hands were chained to the table and opposite him sat an ugly disfigured man. The man's mouth leered at Oliver and his eyes glinted with pure hatred.

Oliver flinched when the man leaned closer across the table. Something about him, other than his harsh features, set Oliver's nerves on edge and his every instinct screamed at him to flee. The chains made it impossible however to get away from this strange man, and Oliver couldn't help but lean forward when the man finally opened his mouth to talk.

"Wakey, wakey." The man whispered. The room around them vanished.

Oliver's head shot up the moment his eyes opened. He knew at once that something had gone very wrong. He couldn't remember how he had gotten here, but the room around him didn't look familiar in the slightest. The walls were grimy and dirty, the floor littered with debris and dust except for a trail where something heavy must have been dragged across the room. He was willing to bet that that something was him. At the end of the room –a cell, Oliver realized with a jolt- stood rusty bars. A distant part of his brain registered that the room also had a ratty bed in the corner.

He took a deep breath that didn't seem to reach his lungs then decided that someone must have knocked him out, dragged him in here, and then chained him to the wall. He had manacles around both wrists and a long chain–long enough to allow him access to the bed- protruded from each to attach him to the cell wall. His ankles wore the same type of chains.

He was wearing a ripped bloodied T-shirt along with his gear's pants, so whoever had him must know he's the Arrow.

He struggled against the restraints for a few minutes but gave a shout of frustration when none of them budged. The moment he stopped struggling, a whistle echoed through the room.

The man whistling stood a few feet away, right next to the bars, so Oliver couldn't make out his features in the dimly lit room.

"Your strength is waning," said the man good-naturedly as he moved closer. "You should really try to save it up for later. Stop moving so much."

Oliver had recognized the voice the second it had spoken but something in him, the rational part, argued that it can't be true. However, as the shape drew closer and into clear sight, Oliver's brain struggled to comprehend both what he knew and what his eyes showed him.

"T…Tommy?" Oliver asked in disbelief. "You're… " the words strained against his throat. He couldn't say that word. Even now, he couldn't admit that his best friend was gone. Not even to said best friend. " –you can't be here."

"But I am," Grinned Tommy. His hands buried in his pockets and his eyes sparkling. "I'm here. Well and healthy… Wish I could say the same for you buddy."

Oliver just stared blankly. This couldn't be happening. It had to be another dream –nightmare- like the maze and the island. He'd wake up soon as he did from that interrogation room dream.

Although this dream would be far more painful to wake up from.

"Looks like I struck you silent," Tommy said with an easy smile. "I tend to have that effect on people." When Oliver didn't so much as pat an eyelash, Tommy sighed in exasperation. "Well, let's address the elephant in the room then. I'm dead."

"You are." Confirmed Oliver weakly. His brain struggled to take it all in. To think of the whysand the Hows.

"But I'm here." Countered Tommy. He sat down a few feet away facing Oliver.

"Again, you are."

"So?"

"So… I'm dreaming" concluded Oliver. To his amazement, Tommy shook his head in disagreement.

"You're not dreaming or asleep." Tommy, who seemed to be enjoying this, widened his grin.

"Explain." Growled Oliver; dead or undead, Tommy Merlyn was as annoying as Oliver remembered him from their teenage years. Up till now he hadn't realized just how bad he had missed this brand of annoying.

"You're no fun, Oliver. I've been dead for months and now that I finally get to talk to someone you –" At Oliver's wince, Tommy rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. You may be a little bit drugged."

"You're a hallucination." Oliver stated and this time Tommy nodded his assent.

"I'd like to think of it as your brain conjuring up something good to look at." The hallucination, Tommy, shrugged.

"If I wanted someone good to luck at," Oliver said with some effort. "I'd have thought of Felicity Smoak, not your sorry ass." His brain was sending warning signals all over. He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be conversing with the ghost of his dead best friend or smiling at it. He should be trying to escape or at least attempting to remember what brought him here in the first place. But no matter the circumstances, Oliver welcomed the chance to hear his best friend's voice all the same. Logic would have to take a backseat this time.

"The hot blonde?" Tommy carried on, his light tone faltering at Oliver's glare, and he seemed torn between amusement and exasperation. "You do realize I'm not actually calling her hot? I mean, you are. I'm a figment of your imagination, buddy."

"You sound real enough to me," shrugged Oliver heavily "The right amount of jerk."

Tommy shook his head with a shit-eating grin. "You missed me."

Oliver didn't know what to say to that and was saved forming a response when a loud noise issued through the room.

"Oliver Queen." Said a raspy voice and Oliver shot a questioning glance at Tommy. His friend returned the look dubiously.

Outside the cell stood the man from Oliver's dream; his face somewhat uglier in reality and his smile somehow nastier.

"Needle, our own genius, tells me you have taken well to the overdose. No vomiting or screaming so far. You must be tougher than he thought." The man appraised Oliver with a look of begrudging respect. "You won't remember this, but you have been on the drug for a while. You see, we've been experimenting on you ever since we caught you playing Robin Hood near our warehouse."

Red lights were flashing in Oliver's head. He didn't recall being caught or drugged before. In fact he didn't recall a mission involving any drugs or a warehouse, and he sure as hell didn't think he had seen this man before.

"I think," Oliver started slowly. Trying to sound as threatening as an imprisoned man can. "You're lying. I haven't been here for long and I haven't seen you before." His head was starting to ache. "I'd have remembered someone that ugly."

"Good job, go poke the bad guy with a stick, Oliver." Said Tommy with a frown. "That would definitely get him to like you."

"I'm not trying to make him like me," Muttered Oliver. The man's head shot up at Oliver speech and his eyes narrowed.

"How about we try for the not-getting-myself-killed-today attitude at least?" tried Tommy and despite Oliver's best efforts, his eyes focused on his dead friend for a moment. That was a moment too long because the man's features shifted as understanding dawned on him.

"You're having a hallucination," The man concluded delightedly. "A waking hallucination. Is that who you were talking to before I arrived?" He shook his head with a disbelieving smile that looked wrong on his face. "I have to say, that's a first. We haven't gotten such results before."

"You know what?" Tommy narrowed his eyes at the man. "You can poke the jerk with a pole. A pointy pole."

Or an Arrow. Oliver provided mentally. Tommy didn't seem to hear him. So much for telepathic hallucinations.

"Who are you?" Oliver asked out loud. Noticing that his headache only worsened and that his skin was breaking into a sweat.

"You're going through withdrawal." Tommy voiced what Oliver couldn't. "Damn it."

"They call me Aliah." The man, oblivious to Tommy's glares, supplied. "You knew that yesterday. You'll ask again tomorrow." He said almost cheerfully. "My men will be back to drug you again. We could do it now but they like seeing you thrashing around." The glee in his eyes sickened Oliver. If the man wasn't on the other side of the bars and too far out of reach, Oliver would have strangled him. "The withdrawal effects will completely settle in shortly. Enjoy."

With that, the man walked away and Oliver was left once again with the ghost of Tommy.

"They'll interrogate you." Tommy's voice startled Oliver. He was losing control of his body and needed to focus. "They'll ask what's happening to you now and make you describe it. They have been doing it for a while."

Oliver was slowly regaining control. What Aliah didn't know is that Oliver had been in far worse situations. He had gotten drugged so many times that he ended up learning how to recover some of his body's functions instead of leaving himself to the mercy of a drug. His head still throbbed but he managed to keep his thought process.

"How.. do you know... that?" Oliver laid his head against the wall as he spoke and shut his eyes tightly. He focused his mind on counting his breaths. If he could focus long enough, his heart rate would drop.

"Some part of your brain must have stored something about it," Tommy answered. "and is projecting it through me. After all, I only know what you do. I'm dead, remember?"

"So you keep telling me." Oliver didn't open his eyes for a while after that and Tommy didn't speak again. It was taking all of Oliver's willpower to keep still and not scream in agony. The withdrawal hit him much harder than anticipated and Oliver used every trick he knew to keep himself coherent.

Oliver didn't know how long he kept his eyes shut or if Tommy had left during that time, but when the pain became too much to handle, he decided that he could use the distraction again at the moment. Maybe Tommy could conjure up imaginary cards out of thin air and do the ridiculous tricks he used to show Oliver when they were kids.

"Hey Tommy," Oliver kept his eyes closed and gritted his teeth at the effort it took to talk. His muscles were burning and he needed something to hold on to. A memory, an idea, a friend. Anything. "Know any ...good m- magic tricks?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but they don't teach those in MIT." Said a female voice. Oliver's head whipped up at her voice. His eyes widened in disbelief.

There, in the place where Oliver saw Tommy last, stood Felicity Smoak.

A/N: I should probably point out that this story was my way of bringing Tommy back without having to write something that took place before the undertaking. I really hope that you guys liked him here and I hope that you liked the chapter in general.

Let me know what you think and if I should go on with this fic. Do you have any thoughts on what may happen next?

Thank you so much for reading!

Review!