It took three showers for Felicity to wash the memory of the Count's touch from her skin and hair, and even then she couldn't quite manage to forget him running his fingers up her arm while he talked to Oliver on the phone or playing with her ponytail while they waited for him to arrive. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel his hands on her shoulders where he'd gripped them while taunting Oliver, his vise-like grip on her arm from when he'd dragged her in front of the window that he'd plummeted through not long after.
Stepping out of the shower for the third time, Felicity shivered as she dried herself off, memories of the last few hours springing unbidden to the forefront of her mind once more. Dressing herself in her softest, most comfortable pajamas, she padded out into her living room and curled up on her couch, wrapping herself in a blanket and staring off into space, too wired and on edge to even consider going to sleep, despite the lateness of the hour.
A knock sounded at Felicity's door, breaking the silence and making her jump.
"Felicity?" someone asked. Oliver- she recognized the voice in an instant. "It's me. It's Oliver." Since she already knew that, Felicity didn't respond, and she didn't move from her spot on the couch, deciding instead to remain where she was and wait for Oliver to tell her why he was here.
"I thought you might need some company," Oliver said after a moment. "And a drink." A pause, then he added, "I brought a bottle of wine." There was a soft thump that Felicity realized must be Oliver resting his head against the door.
"Felicity," he said. "Please." His voice was soft and laced with desperation. It was the desperation that made Felicity realize that he needed to see her just as much as he thought she needed company. It was that realization that got her moving. She got up from the couch and walked to the door, opening it to find Oliver standing in the hallway, still in his white t-shirt and slacks from before, a bandage visible on his upper right arm.
"Hey," he said with a small smile.
"Hey," Felicity replied, stepping aside to let him through the door. Neither of them spoke until they were both seated on the couch, glasses of wine in hand, and even then it was a while of them sitting and drinking in silence before either one of them dared break it.
"Are you alright?" Oliver asked, seeming not to care how stupid the question sounded. Felicity shook her head.
"I can't get him off me," she whispered.
"What do you mean?" Oliver asked, brow furrowing with confusion and concern.
"The Count," Felicity elaborated, voice trembling. "I took three showers, but I can't wash away the memory of his touch. I just keep feeling his hands on me." Oliver moved closer to her on the couch, and Felicity felt like she couldn't breathe from the nearness of him, like his physical proximity was sucking all the air from her lungs.
"Where?" he asked, reaching out to gently brush her shoulder with his fingertips. "Here?" She nodded, and the touch turned into a caress, finally wiping away the memory of the Count's touch. A whimpering sound escaped her, and she took a sip of her wine to fortify herself, dimly noticing that the bottle was half gone already.
"Where else?" Oliver asked, his fingers hovering an inch above Felicity's skin. She pointed to her other shoulder and his hand came to rest there, his thumb tracing soothing circles against her skin. Then his touch moved to her arm, where the Count had grabbed her when he'd dragged her in front of the window, then to her wrists, where he'd tied her to a chair, erasing the memories of his touch, little by little.
By the time Oliver reached up to tangle his fingers in her hair, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone, they were less than an inch apart, so close that his breath fanned across her face on each exhale.
He's going to kiss me, Felicity realized. She had enough wine in her by now that she thought she just might let him do it. And indeed, she didn't resist when he closed the gap.
The kiss was gentle, featherlight, the barest brush of Oliver's lips against hers. Felicity wanted more, needed more, but before she could deepen the kiss, Oliver pulled back, letting his hands drop to his sides and moving further backwards on the couch.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, and Felicity couldn't for the life of her figure out what exactly it was that he was apologizing for. Then she realized- he was apologizing for kissing her. For whatever reason, he thought he shouldn't have done it. "I should go. It's late, and you need your rest." He got up from the couch and went to the door.
"Wait!" Felicity cried when his hand was on the doorknob, hating how desperate she sounded. "Please don't go."
"The Count is dead, Felicity," Oliver reminded her, as if that was the only issue here. "He can't hurt you anymore."
"I know," Felicity replied, "but I-I can't be alone right now." It was only as she said it that she realized how true it was. Alone, the nightmares would come for her. Alone, she'd never be able to sleep. She'd spend the whole night waiting for the next attack, waiting for someone to jump out of the shadows and grab her. But if Oliver were here, she might at least feel safe.
"Will you please stay with me?" she pleaded, locking eyes with Oliver so he would see how badly she needed this. "Just for tonight?" For a moment, Oliver hovered by the door, appearing indecisive. Then he nodded and came over to sit back down on the couch.
"Of course," he whispered, taking her hand in his like he'd done back at the Foundry. "Whatever you need." There was a rueful twist to his mouth, like he was starting to realize that there was no request she could make of him that he would possibly be able to refuse. All the same, Felicity couldn't help but feel heartened by his decision.
Maybe now I'll feel safe, she thought. When she finally went to bed, Oliver told her, "Remember, I'm right in the next room if you need me." Felicity nodded.
"I know," she whispered before retreating to her bedroom, and it was only that knowledge that allowed her to at last fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.