John Diggle knew it was coming. He'd winced his way through more than one patriotic display. A combat veteran, he'd already experienced the adrenaline spike and corresponding crash, shakes and all. Fireworks, pop-caps and sparklers going off every other second were no longer a source of adolescent glee.
The previous 4th of July, Oliver had been on Lian Yu—probably the furthest a person could get from a Glorious 4th celebration. This year, though, he was in Starling City. Despite the recent traumatic loss of life and horrendous property damage (for the second year in a row), there would still be fireworks and parties across the city. Digg knew if he approached Oliver directly the younger man would brush off his concerns. But, this was the same man who still flinched during thunderstorms. He'd just lost his mother. His life was a shambles. Oliver could project all the bravado he wanted; his body wouldn't be fooled.
PTSD didn't give a rat's ass for logic, bravado, or patriotic traditions. By the time the sun set, Oliver, Diggle, Lyla, and even Felicity would be emotionally wrung out.
So, Diggle enlisted Felicity's help. As usual, she put her brain to work solving the problem, but with the extra does of empathy that she gave every aspect of her life. Felicity organized a BBQ at the Queen mansion with a night of movies to follow. When Oliver protested that the house wasn't ready for entertaining, she waved off his objections with a smile and just a touch of snark. They weren't, she quipped, entertaining jet-setters. Diggle and Lyla were attending, as well as Felicity and Roy.
Because she cared, and because she was the one truly "good" person John Diggle knew, Felicity invited Laurel and Detective Lance. Laurel had never given Felicity much cause to like her, but that didn't stop the former IT girl from knowing that the Lances' presence would relax Oliver. He would need those closest to him, since there would be glaring absences, as heart-wrenching as they were unavoidable. Sara was gone again. No one knew where Thea was.
The evening of the 4th arrived. Around the backyard fire-pit, gentle chatter just managed to mask the distant booms and sharp cracks of pyrotechnics. One or all of them would still occasionally turn his or her head sharply toward a distant rumble, but there were no panic attacks, no sweating palms, and no shaking hands reaching for weapons. The encompassing warmth of friends, all suffering through the same hard times, got them through yet another night.
Oliver walked up behind Felicity as she sat staring into the fire. He laid his hands gently on her shoulders and squeezed. He murmured his thanks. She titled her head back, smiled, and told him that it was all Diggle's doing. John Diggle looked up, caught Oliver Queen's eyes and tipped his beer bottle in salute.
John Diggle knew that celebrating independence, for those who'd secured independence with their own sacrifice, blood, and loss, was a bittersweet thing. He also knew that being surrounded by friends and family was the only way to remember why they suffered.
A/N: This one is dedicated to my brother and all those ( from all walks of life) who struggle with PTSD. This isn't a disease confined to combat veterans. If you or a loved one is struggling with PTSD, please seek help. (A simple Google search will put in touch with respectable, free, professional organizations.)