When Love Isn't Enough (I Still Fight For You)
Rating: M
Pairing: Oliver/Felicity
Season/Episode: Set in the future, 1 year after the tragedy in the Glades
Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Synopsis: The cuts should have been the first indication something wasn't right, but she said she'd tell him what was wrong eventually. She didn't, and now her life hung in the balance. He couldn't leave her, though. This was his fault and he was going to find a way to make it right. MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING: Attempted Suicide.
AN: This story is a continuation of "Cuts So Deep" so I've included that in the fic itself for those of you who haven't read it.
First off, I'd like to thank the two people who encouraged me to write this fic in the first place: hopedreamlovepray and anthfan. If I hadn't, I might not be here right now.
This fic is heavy on the depression and suicide themes, so I'm warning you, it's not going to be a fun ride. The beginning is rough as hell and although I have NO idea where this story is going to take me, just now it's built on personal experience and that it's me trying to deal with my own demons through characters that I have a lot of fun writing.
Sorry in advance for everything I'm doing to Oliver and Felicity, but I am going for a happy ending, so you have that to look forward to.
Second, I'd like to thank all the people who've given me suggestions, so thank you: tanya-posts, sharonvered and girlwithsixsmiles. You guys are awesome for being my betas.
Third, thank you all for reading this fic even though it's got a TON of angst.
Disclaimer: (the usual, don't own, idea was mine though)
Prologue
He wondered why he never saw her in shorts, especially on days as hot as today. No, she'd always wear a skirt that fell to her knees or pants. But never shorts. The only time he'd ever seen her in anything short was the dress she'd worn the night of the bomb collar incident. But since then, it had been long floor length gowns.
Today was no different. Even in the stifling mid summer heat she still wore a skirt that brushed past her knees. It intrigued him. Laurel had never worn anything longer than shorts on days like today. But this was Felicity Smoak, someone he knew very little about aside from what she revealed in her rambling outbursts. She was a mystery. Even the background check he'd done on her had revealed very little about her personal life.
Tonight he'd found her on the couch, curled up after a long day's work fast asleep against its cool forest green leather surface. Her knees were almost to her chest, her flowing magenta and white polka dotted skirt riding up her thighs exposing soft, creamy skin. But then he noticed something. Peeking out from beneath the ruffled fabric was a series of thin horizontal red lines that disappeared under the bright cotton.
He paused for a moment and stared at them. They weren't fresh, but they weren't old either; probably no more than a month judging by their pink edges. Taking a closer look, he realized what they were. His hand was reaching out, brushing the fabric higher before her knew what he was doing. When she jolted up, her fingers wrapping around his wrist, pulling it back, he could see he'd crossed a line.
"Oliver, what are you doing?" she asked, sitting up. She released her grip on his hand and smoothed out the skirt until it lay over her knees. The angry, questioning glare in her eyes made his mouth go dry.
"I…" He couldn't find the words. He didn't know what he was doing. He just wanted to see how many lines spread out across her thigh. It was morbid curiosity. The only other time he'd ever seen anything like that was back in college when one of his potential girlfriends told him he should stay away because she cut. He didn't know what that meant until she'd shown him the lines along her upper arms. He'd been appalled and disgusted at the time and never wanted anything to do with her again after that.
This was different. The woman before him was his closest confidant and best friend. Had he still been the petty, foolish boy he'd been in college, he wouldn't have cared enough to ask, but he wasn't that person anymore. The man he was now wanted to figure out why she felt the need to slice her beautiful skin open. What had hurt her so much?
She was still staring at him, waiting for an answer, her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?" He spoke softly, trying to be as comforting as possible without overstepping his bounds. He wanted to reach out and touch her, take her hand as she fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, but the way her mouth had become a thin line told him now was not the right time. His words could be her only comfort.
Pulling at the hem until it was taught against her knees, she scooted away, her eyes falling to her lap. The momentary flash of pain he saw in those endless blue pools tore at his heart, but she hid it quickly, slipping on a mask of indifference as she looked back up at him. "Nothing," she finally murmured.
"Okay." He knew not to push because she could be just as stubborn as he was when it came to revealing information. "You know I'm always here if you need to talk, right?"
She nodded. "I know." Her words were soft as she glanced back down into her lap. The anger had passed. Her shoulders slumped forward and he reached over, his large hand covering both her small ones in a solid show of support. When she gazed up at him, he could see a faint glimmer of tears shining under the fluorescent overhead lights.
There was a war going on inside her head. Her overly expressive eyes gave it away. Several emotions crossed those paled blue orbs before she finally looked away. He sat down beside her, his hands still covering hers. As he waited for her to say something, she sighed deeply and let her head fall to his shoulder.
Even if she didn't say a word, he didn't mind just sitting there being her pillow. "Someday," she whispered. "Right now, I'm not ready."
So he squeezed her hands and leaned back against the couch. His arm came up and wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest before the other arm enveloped her, completing the embrace. She sighed again, her head falling beneath his chin as her hand came to rest over his heart.
"I'll be here," he whispered then pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'll always be here."