Tittle: If Only
Author: TheNightSign
Words: 3.459
Category: Angst (hopefully comfort in the end)
Rating: M (this story contains mentions of death/ suicide and lethal accidents)
Discleamer: Nothing is mine except the twisted idea

A/N: Thanks to my lovely, wonderful, amazing, talented beta befitandchase (tumblr) also know as The Dirty Martini or DKM her on . Thanks for your support and your wonderful view on this story! I will dedicate chapter 2 to you!

A/N: For this story we are going to assume that Oliver and Felicity are a couple and have been for many years. Keep that in mind while you read. Enjoy! Reviews are my fuel and will make sure that I write chapter two quicker! ;) Constructive criticism aloud and even requested.

If only
Chapter One

''Is that him?''

She could act like it didn't matter, hide behind her glasses, but she knew that the tension in her voice betrayed her. She wasn't as cool or collected as she pretended to be. How could she be, after all that had happened?

It was four months after the accident. Four months since her life fell apart and everything changed for the worst. It was weeks of torment, filled with emotions she wished she never had to endure. The worst part of it had been the not knowing. Waiting for somebody who could tell her what had happened, only to find out that that somebody was in critical condition himself.

When the phone call had come yesterday, she had packed her bags and taken the first flight to Starling City. She was finally allowed to visit the only one who could give her some answers.

Now here she was, looking through a glass window into the padded room. What her blue eyes saw wasn't a pretty site. A large man was lying on the floor, his body captured in a white straitjacket. He lay on his side, his face towards the wall opposite of the window. It probably wasn't a window on his side of the room, now that she thought about it, but a mirror. A one-way mirror, she believed they were called. They used them all the time in the interrogation rooms in police station. She should know, because the last four months, she had seen more than her fair share of those rooms.

''That's him alright.''

She was startled by the words from one of the guards, already forgotten that she had asked. But she knew why she had. There was no way to see if the person in the room was the man she was looking for. He had broad shoulders, and it looked like he was quite large, but there was just no way of knowing for sure. The guard maybe confirmed that the name was correct and belonged to this person, but still…

''I need to see his face. Look into his eyes.''

The two guards that were with her in the observation room nodded to each other. One of them stepped towards the door, she assumed, to tell the man that he needed to turn around. What she didn't expect was that he would enter the room with two new guards, one of them holding something that looked an awful lot like a Taser. She stepped forward to look closer, only then noticing the chains that ran through loops in the jacket, coming together in the middle of his back and that where connected to another chain that was attached to his ankle cuffs. A big padlock kept the chains together, making it impossible for the prisoner to move. She wondered how it would be, lying there in that room, not being able to move. Alone with your thoughts for all eternity.

''It's for his own good, you know.'' The guard that was still with her in the room spoke softly. ''If we don't use the extra restraints, he will try and kill whoever is in his way. Only so he can end his own life.''

The two guards approached the man carefully, while the one with the Taser stood at a safe distance, the weapon already aimed at his back. With combined force they grabbed the man and rolled him over. Her hand clamped against her mouth as she gasped for air. A flash of recognition ran through her mind, taking over her whole body. Forced by the strength of the memory, she braced herself against the window.

''Oliver?''

''Oliver.'' She softly breathed the name while she looked into his eyes, her index finger travelling from his cheek to his jaw. His stubble scraped over her skin in a very pleasant kind of way. Her other hand lay on his chest, close enough to his heart so she could feel it beating. It made her feel safe and loved, knowing that he was right beside her. It wasn't his words that made her realize that he loved her, but his actions. The fact that he was willing to care for her, no matter what happened.

His hand shifted from her hip to her back, pulling her across the bed and into his chest. She smiled softly at him, bringing herself even closer, while her finger continued its path until it brushed over his lips. She could see his pupils dilating, could feel the intensity of his gaze.

''Felicity.'' It was nothing more but a whisper, but it made her shiver with anticipation.

Nothing in the world could have prepared her to what she saw. After the guards stepped away from his still body and left the room, she let her eyes ghost over his face. Unfocused eyes stared into nothingness, his facial features were contorted in pain. Then there were the bruises and cuts: a thick red line around his neck, stitches along his eyebrow. Some of the wounds were old, others just starting to heal, but they were mostly confined to his skin. She could imagine that the rest of his body, the parts that were covered up with clothes and his straitjacket, would look similar. But how did he get those wounds?

Some of the more faded once looked similar to hers. That meant that they were caused by the accident. So was he with her, that fatal day? Did he try to save her? Only more questions were being raised and none of them were being answered. A sigh of weariness escaped her. She needed to know what happened.

It took her a while to remember the words of the guard. ''It's for his own good''. Was she wrong and were the wounds not caused by the accident, but self-inflicted? She promised herself that she would find out. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. Seeing a human in such a state made her feel uneasy and insecure, but she had to follow this through. She turned away from the window, but not before she made sure that her façade was in place.

''I want to talk to the doctor in charge of his care.''

''There is no doctor, Miss Smoak. After Mr. Queen assaulted the third one that was assigned to him, the board of directors decided that he will be spending the rest of his time in this cell, with constricted socializing. Two guards are assigned to his daily care, and the head of our team makes the decision regarding his treatment.''

She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes for a moment to regain her composure. If she would show how messed up she felt on the inside, she would sure as hell end up in one of the rooms in here. She was damaged on the inside, as well as the outside, but that was something that they didn't need to know.

When she opened her eyes again, she looked at the man in front of her. He looked back and she could feel how he took everything in. She smothered the feeling that urged her to speak, and gave him the time to see just how bruised her body was. It didn't take him long to look away, but she had already seen the pity in his eyes. And for now that was okay.

When people felt sorry for her, they usually tried to do something to make it up to her. Like they thought, ''Well, your life has been shit, but maybe if I do this on thing for you, it will all get better.'' It helped people with their guilt, but things wouldn't actually get better for her. She had learned that lesson fast enough. No matter what other people tried to do, her scars would never disappear and the things that she had lost, she would never get back.

''I could try and arrange an appointment with him. The head of the guards I mean." And there it was. His one random act of kindness so that he could keep his conscience clear.

''Good. Let's go talk to that guard then.''

She turned back to the window, looking in those lost blue eyes that didn't even blink. It made her feel uncomfortable and just for a second, she wondered if he knew that she was watching. If he knew that she was there, feeling just as lost as he looked.

''Miss, there may be, -''

Interrupted in her thoughts, she turned sharply to the guard. His tone, while still soft and careful, told her just the way the conversation was going to go, and she wouldn't hear another word. She wasn't interested in stories about why the appointment had to wait. He couldn't back out now. Not when she was finally getting a small step closer to her goal.

She straightened her back and lifted her chin up. She found the strength within herself to keep her voice steady and strong.

''I want that appointment. Right now. Right here. I'm not leaving until I've spoken to this guard of yours.''

''His name is Captain Wade Bellick. ''

''Right. Captain Bellick. Go get him for me, will you? Tell him his patient needs attention. Tell him there are journalists in this room, who would love to write about the care Oliver Queen is getting. Honestly, I couldn't care less about how you get him here. Just make sure that he does.''

The guard nodded, impressed, and left, thereby leaving her alone in the room. She sighed and let the iron grip on her emotions slip. Tears weld up in her eyes, reflected by the window into which she was staring. She didn't let them fall, knowing that the tear stains would stay on her cheeks for a while and that her eyes would be all red and swollen. She needed to be vulnerable but strong, so that she could exploit every bit of advantage that she had on them. Normally that would've made her feel bad about herself, but not today. Today was the day that after four months of hospitals, therapists, police stations and questioning, she was going to get her answers.

-

It didn't matter how many times he had been here already, walking into this place still felt strange. It had nothing to do with the amount of lunatics that were occupying the building, nor with the guards that tried to keep those lunatics in line. It was just one of those crazy people that made him feel so out of balance. A man that used to be his friend.

He knew exactly why he had taken the job as a mental institution guard. Oliver Queen. Four months ago he had been in Starling City General, held in a coma so that his body could heal. From the very first moment that the billionaire had woken up, he had put up a fight against his care takers. And none of those had enough practice in restraining a man as highly trained as Oliver.

He was there, the first time it had happened and he had intervened without even thinking about it. It didn't take long before there was some kind of understanding between him and the nursing staff. In order to keep everybody calm and Oliver healthy, his former bodyguard would step up and fight against his friend. His intensions were always to restrain him, to try and calm him down. But everything had felt different from the moment he had put his hands on his body. There was desperation to every movement.

After that first month in a coma, Oliver was kept under surveillance in the hospital for another two weeks. Those two weeks had been a constant nightmare. Oliver would wake up, kicking and screaming, calling for help. Crying out to her. Then, as soon as he felt the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, he stopped speaking at all, but he fought harder, trying to do whatever he could to escape.

He had learned long ago to stay away from Oliver when he was in such a state, knowing that he would cause damage to whatever it was that came near him. However, the times that he did manage to escape, he needed to stop his former protégée for everybody's safety. At those moments, some brutal fight would ensue until Oliver gave up or the nurse would put a sedative in his IV. Because the truth was, Diggle never really won against Oliver.

The worst part of such an episode would present itself after the fighting, when the panic was over. Oliver would stare at one point in the room, not seeing, nor hearing anything. Hell, he probably even tried not to feel anything.

The fighting wasn't good for his health. He still needed to recover from whatever happened that fatal day, and every time he woke-up from a nightmare, he would do more damage to himself. That was why, when some fancy people decided to bring him here for his safety, John Diggle decided to take up a new job. Because after a month and a half of looking at his friend, seeing his pain and his struggle, he realized that he couldn't leave him behind. He needed to help Oliver, even if he was beyond helping.

But honestly, he wasn't sure if he could keep helping Oliver. If he really did what police accused him of, then he wouldn't even want to help him. But the law had been wrong before and he hoped with every bone in his body that this was one of those times. Until somebody had hard evidence of the fact that Oliver caused the accident, he would be here. Besides, if he believed that Oliver caused the accident, then he would also believe that...- He clenched his fists in a reflex. No, Oliver had nothing to do with the death of his wife. It couldn't be. The fact that she was dead was already hard enough to accept without adding a conspiracy plot to it.

Oliver didn't kill her. He just didn't.

He kept repeating that when he lay awake in bed, wondering what had happened that day. Oliver was the only one that had survived, and he hadn't spoken since he had woken up from the coma. Unless you counted the times when he screamed her name in agony, cried it out loud or whispered it lovingly into the silence.

Getting the job hadn't been as hard as he had expected. The staff at the hospital recommended that Oliver needed a face that he could recognize, somebody that could visit him and remind him that he wasn't alone. He then had taken the chance to point out that Oliver knew him and that he could be helpful in the healing progress. The staff had been enthusiastic, until he made it clear that he wouldn't be visiting. He wanted to help protect him. Wanted a job.

When they started to grumble, he had simply remarked that he was valuable. Without him, they would have had even more problems with Oliver, wouldn't they?

And the rest was history. Oliver Queen got transferred and his former bodyguard got a new job.

There were three shifts that a guard could get in here. You had the first, which covered 6 AM until 2 PM, the seconded one that covered 2 PM until 10 PM and the last one, that was from 10 PM till 6 AM. He had gotten the second shift today, but as always, he had made sure that he was early. He used his time so that he could take a look at Oliver before he got to work. He knew that he would see him while he was busy doing his job, but for his own sanity, he visited Oliver every day before and after his shift. His friend had been there for him and he would return the favor, even if Oliver didn't realize it.

While he walked through the hallway, he looked at the sheet that he had picked up by the administration. The sheets were there to inform the guard what had happened since they had their last shift and if there would be special chores that needed to be done that day. There wasn't anything surprising though. Some new medicines for a madman in cell six, a day of isolation for the woman in number twelve and… a visit for cell twenty-one.

He stood completely frozen, finger tracing the lines that separated the columns to make sure that he had read it correctly. A visitor for Oliver? Oliver didn't get visits. His mother was still in jail, Thea had chosen to believe the police, which meant that she blamed him for the accident and Laurel hadn't been seen in Starling City for months. Besides himself, nobody cared for Oliver anymore.

It was probably one of those damn reporters, trying to get a scoop on Oliver's health. Well, then they were in for a surprise. He was not going to let them walk away so easily.

He had already been on his way to cell twenty-one, but fueled by his hate against the reporters he started to walk faster. From the very first day that Oliver had been in the hospital they had been looking for information: Creating gossip, feeding lies to the people and taking pictures for new headlines. He had been able to break a few cameras and intimidate some writers, but apparently they were trying again, posing as a friend to get in to the cell, only to entertain the people who read those stupid magazines. It seemed that they had reached a new low, even for them.

Knowing that he couldn't walk in like this, he took a deep breath to calm himself down. With his composure in place, he walked through the door of the observation room that was connected to the cell. His eyes did a quick survey of the room, only to fall back on the petite woman that stood beside the window, her back turned to him.

Her short blond hair was cut in a bob, exposing her small neck which looked to be full of scar tissue. She was wearing a grey sweater, black jeans and had ballerina flats on her feet. He looked back up to her face and saw a glimpse of a spectacle frame.

There was something about her. The way she hold herself, her posture... He looked her over once more and that was when his eyes felt to her shoes. Pink with black, and on the nose the face of a panda.

''Felicity?''

He had spoken the name without realizing it, filled with the shock of resemblance. But it couldn't be. There was just no way. She was dead. He went to her funeral. Oliver lived in hell because she died. This was just a woman with blond hair and glasses, who happened to wear the same shoes as her.

She turned around when she heard him and smiled softly.

''Yes?''

Struck by the large scar on her face, he almost missed it, but the smile was still the same. Her eyes had the same expression and although the color of her glasses were different, the design was still the same. He just stared at her, eyes blinking, trying to take it all in. Felicity was alive. He didn't know how, but she was alive. Damaged, scarred, but breathing.

''I'm sorry, but am I supposed to know you?''

The question blew him away. Why would she pretend that she didn't recognize him? There wasn't anyone in the room that could question their friendship.

But then she continued to talk and the world slowly fell to pieces all over again.

''I think I should, since you know my name. But I don't know yours, which is kind of happening a lot lately. Everybody knows everything about me, except me.'' She shrugged her shoulders. ''So I really am sorry if I should know you, but I don't. Please, don't take it personally. I wouldn't be able to recognize my own brother if he was standing before me. That is, if I have a brother. Oh god, please don't tell me that you are my brother, that would be weird. Because you are black, and I'm not… Not that I have anything against black people.. or white ones for that matter.'' She took a breath and continued.

''I'm sorry, apparently I talk when I'm nervous.'' There followed another breath and he could she how she tried to compose herself. ''What I'm trying to tell you is... I have amnesia. I don't remember anything."