A noise from the other room jolted Oliver from sleep. Disoriented, it took him a moment to remember where he was. Then a cry of distress rang out in the silence, and the second Oliver recognized the voice that had made it, everything came rushing back.
Felicity, he thought, leaping up from her couch and crossing the apartment to her bedroom. He paused for only a moment before bursting through the door. Something was obviously wrong, and he didn't have time to worry about intruding on her privacy.
Once inside, Oliver stopped and took in the scene before him. The light from a nearby streetlamp filtering in through Felicity's bedroom window, dim though it was, provided enough illumination for him to see her whimpering and thrashing in her bed, clearly in the grips of a nightmare. Oliver felt like someone had taken hold his heart and squeezed. He had relived his traumas in his dreams enough times to know what it looked like.
"Felicity," he said in a low, urgent voice, crossing the room to her bed and attempting to shake her awake, determined to pull her out of her nightmare. "Felicity, wake up." She jerked upright with a shriek of surprise and fear and, still in the throes of her dream, lashed out at her perceived attacker, making Oliver have to lean backwards away from her to avoid being struck by one of her flailing limbs.
"Hey, hey," he whispered, sitting down on her bed and drawing her into his embrace. "It's alright. It's just me. It's just me."
"The Count," Felicity said in a desperate, panicked voice, struggling in Oliver's arms. "He's coming. He's going to hurt me-"
"The Count is dead," Oliver interjected gently. "He can't hurt you anymore. You're safe. I promise you, you're safe." He held her tightly, reaching up with one hand to run his fingers through her hair while he rocked her gently back and forth and continued to murmur reassurances, trying to calm her down.
After what seemed like an eternity, Felicity finally quieted, pulling away from Oliver slightly and seeming to come back to herself, the terror fading from her blue eyes as they looked into his.
"Oliver?" she asked, seeming bewildered, her breathing still quickened by residual panic.
"I'm here," he murmured, understanding how much she needed the reassurance right now. He realized in that moment how impossibly close together they were, their legs tangled together, their faces inches apart. Felicity had one hand on his shoulder and the other resting lightly on his waist. He still had one hand in her hair, the other at the small of her back, his fingers splayed flat against her spine. A part of him wanted to kiss her, but if hadn't been taking advantage when he'd done it earlier, it definitely would be now, so he restrained himself.
"What happened?" Felicity asked in a soft, trembling voice, yanking Oliver's runaway train of thought back onto the right track.
"You had a nightmare," he said, perhaps more bluntly than he'd meant to. "About the Count."
"He was alive again," Felicity whispered. "He came after me, tried to hurt me, and this time… this time, you weren't there to stop him."
"It was just a dream," Oliver reassured her. "I'm right here, and I'd never let anyone hurt you." The conviction in his voice surprised him. He hadn't realized he felt so strongly about that.
Sensing that Felicity needed space, Oliver pulled his hands back, letting them fall to his sides.
"I'm sorry," Felicity said, as if the gesture had been some kind of signal.
"For what?" Oliver asked, frowning. He wondered if he should reach out to her again, take her hands in his, but something about the way she was anxiously twisting her fingers together in her lap told him not to try it.
"For waking you," Felicity said. "For putting you through… all of this. I really thought that this wouldn't happen if you were here…" She trailed off.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Oliver assured her. "You can't control what your subconscious does in your dreams. Trust me, I know that better than anyone." Felicity frowned, a pained expression flashing across her face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and Oliver understood that this time it was meant as an expression of sympathy rather than an actual apology. He shook his head, indicating that his trauma wasn't important right now.
"It's fine," he said. A pause, then he asked "Are you going to be okay?"
"I think so," Felicity replied with a slight nod. Oliver smiled the smallest of smiles, reaching out to give her hand a reassuring squeeze before getting up from the bed.
"Wait," Felicity called out when he reached the door. He stopped and turned to face her.
"Will you please stay?" she asked. "It… it might help." Oliver nodded.
"Of course," he said, crossing the room to her bed for the second time that night. "Whatever you need. You know that." Felicity nodded, appearing relieved as she watched him come around to the side of the bed she wasn't sleeping on. She didn't take her eyes off of him until he'd climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up to his shoulders.
At first, Oliver lay with his back to Felicity, facing toward the window, keeping to his side of the bed so as not to make her uncomfortable. But her bed was only just barely big enough for two people, and as a result he could feel how stiffly she was lying beside him, the tension she was holding in her whole body. When the minutes began to turn to hours and she still didn't relax, he realized- she was afraid to go back to sleep, afraid of what might happen when she did, of what she might see in her dreams. With a sigh of sympathy, he rolled over to face her, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her against him. She gasped in surprise at the unexpected contact.
"It's alright," he murmured soothingly. "You can sleep now. I've got you. I've got you."