A/N
Here's a new idea that I've been toying around with in my head. Beware of angst galore! Drop a comment if you enjoyed and feel free to leave a like if you want. Love you guys!
The familiar sound of the doorbell echoed throughout the spacious rooms of the Queen's Mansion. Oliver lowered the vodka filled glass from his lips as a look of confusion spread across his face. It was three in the morning. Who the hell was visiting him at this hour?
Raising the glass once more to his lips, he took a swig finishing off the remainder of the drink. That had been his fourth glass that night. He didn't care. Not anymore. Groggily, he rolled the glass out of his hand and onto the table. He stumbled forward towards the parlor. A shattering sound rang behind him as he used the wall for support.
The doorbell rang again as he reached the table in the parlor. "I'mcoming!" He incoherently shouted as his words slurred together. Losing his footing, he began falling towards the ground. Luckily, he was able to catch himself on the table. He tried pulling himself up, but the table tipped over causing him to fall flat on his back. The vase of flowers slid down the fallen table and onto his stomach as water seeped through his clothes. A few sheets of papers floated down towards him.
Sighing, Oliver worked his way back into a standing position. He made it to the door and fumbled with the handle. "Dammit," he mumbled under his breath as he finally unlocked the door. He drew back the door expecting Diggle. Instead, someone only his sick imagination could have conjured up awaited on the other side.
"Oliver?" It was barely a whisper.
"You... It's been almost a month..."
"Ol..." Coughs shook her body.
"Is that really you?" He asked unsure. Her head barely moved up and down indicating a yes.
Sitting tied to a chair in front of his doorway was the woman he had been searching for the past month. She was wearing only her undergarments, with tight ropes around her wrists and ankles. Her once blonde hair was now a reddish brown from what could only be blood. Across her bare stomach, the word SNITCH had been etched into her skin with something sharp. Bruises of various colors could be found all over her body.
"Oh my God..." he trailed off as he took in the horror that was before him. Without wasting another second, Oliver grabbed Felicity's chair and lifted it up. He stumbled as all the alcohol he had drank earlier that evening caught up to his motor skills. Still, he pressed onward. He brought her into the kitchen. Setting the chair down, he grabbed a knife out of the drawer. He used the sharp blades to slice through the ropes. Her wrists and ankles were raw.
"I need to get you to a hospital," he said throwing the last bit of rope on the ground.
"No," she whispered weakly.
"Felicity, you need medical attention," he insisted.
"No," she snarled. Her hand flew out and grabbed his wrist. He looked up at her in shock. A tired, pleading gaze met his worried one. He stared at her for a minute weighing his options. She really didn't want him to take her to the hospital.
Letting out a sigh, Oliver looked down towards the ground in defeat. "Let's get you cleaned up then, okay?" He felt the grip on his wrist lessen as she nodded.
Gently, Oliver placed one arm around her back, and the other arm underneath her legs. Slowly, he eased her out of the chair and into his arms. He could tell she was trying to be brave, but he heard her wince in pain as he lifted. He also felt the tight, squeezing grip of her hand on his arm as she channeled the pain from her body elsewhere.
Carefully, he carried her frail body towards the bathroom. He used the walls as a possibility of support just in case the vodka caught back up with him. Thankfully, he had seemed to snap out of his groggy state.
He made it into the bathroom and headed towards the shower. He cautiously set Felicity down on the closed toilet seat. Making sure she wasn't going to fall over, he started the water. When it reached a comfortable temperature, he began filling up the tub. He grabbed a few wash cloths out of the cabinet as the tub filled up.
"Let's get you washed up. You ready?" He asked once the tub had filled up about half way. She nodded looking like she was bracing herself for pain. Cautiously, he lifted her once again and placed her along with her undergarments in the warm water. He wasn't going to ask her to take off those. Who knows what she had been through. He heard her suck in a sharp breath as her skin made contact with the water.
"You okay?" Oliver asked with concern heavy in his voice.
"Yes," she whispered. Oliver noticed her hand had curled into a fist.
"Take a second. I won't do anything until you are ready." He reached his hand out to hers for reassurance. As soon as his skin made contact with hers, she quickly drew back her hand and wrapped it around her leg.
What did they do to her? He wondered as he drew his hand back to his side. She was sensitive right now and he was not going to pester her with questions.
"Okay," she muttered barely audible.
"Okay. Just stop me if you need to." He grabbed one of the washcloths he had gathered earlier and dampened it in the water. Gently, he began washing off the blood and dirt off her skin. She winced every now and then, but she didn't ask him to stop.
After about ten minutes, he had finished cleaning her skin. Green and black bruises still covered her body. He noticed a few burn marks along her back as well. The marks looked as if she was branded like cattle. Sadly, he couldn't wash those down the drain. Next was her hair. He grabbed a bottle of shampoo and squirted a handful of the liquid out into his hand. Softly, he began working the shampoo into her rusty smelling hair. Oliver watched as the reddish-brown color dripped down his hands mixed with white, soapy bubbles.
After lathering all that he could, he grabbed the faucet head and turned it on the lowest pressure setting. Testing the water on his hand, he deemed it fit for Felicity's sensitive skin. The tub turned into a bloodbath as the caked-on blood came flowing out of her hair. He repeated the procedure with the conditioner.
He finished rinsing the last bit of conditioner out of her hair and turned off the water. He released the drain, letting the warm water slowly recede around her. He snatched a towel off the rack and rested it on her back. The towel draped over her shoulder in the front.
"I think Thea has some old clothes that should fit you. Would you like me to give you a minute to dry off and I'll run and grab them?" He asked.
"No...I can't... don't leave me alone," she whispered with her voice cracking. A look of terror was on her face as she stared at the wall. Her hands trembled.
"Felicity, hey," Oliver said placing his hand on hers to stop the shaking. He felt her flinch at his touch and her eyes whipped over to him. "You're safe now. Nobody, and I mean nobody is going to lay a finger on you again."
She looked up into his eyes and said nothing. "Felicity it's me. I'm not going to hurt you."
"I'm tired," she whispered turning her eyes away from his.
"Okay," he sighed not wanting to pressure her. He wished she would open up to him, but he knew from experience that trauma can be hard to talk about. Patience and time would help. "I'm going to pick you up and bring you to the bedroom. I'll get you some clothes in there, okay?"
She nodded. Wrapping the towel around the rest of her body, he lifted her up and carried her to his room. He set her on the edge of his bed and began digging through drawers to find something to let her wear. Finding an oversized shirt along with a pair of sweatpants that he never wore, he handed it to her. He turned his back and gave her some privacy while she changed.
After a minute, he took a quick glance and saw that she had finished. She was sitting on the bed just staring out into the distance. Her head rested on her knees and her arms were wrapped around her legs. She was shivering.
"Here, let's get you warm," he insisted. He pulled back the comforter, lifting her up carefully as he pulled the remainder out. With enough of the bedding out, he covered her up. She laid down, resting her head on the soft pillows.
"Get some sleep, okay? I'm going to be right here the whole time," he promised as he finished tucking her in. Making sure she was settled, he pulled up a chair and sat close to the bed. Pulling out his phone, he dialed Diggle's number.
It went to voicemail after a few rings.
"Diggle, hey... I know what time it is, but I had to call you. She's back Diggle. Felicity is back. Somebody hurt her, and when I find the sick son of a bitch that did this, they're dead."
