AN: This is a very angsty piece, so please proceed with caution. Major character death occurs, so please don't continue if you don't feel like reading that. This is in no way how I think the season will play out, but I couldn't pass up the angst. Plus honestly, if the writers truly plan on sticking to an O/L endgame, sooner or later we'll see something like this. The title was inspired by the song by Little Texas.
It wasn't supposed to end this way.
He had imagined a hundred different scenarios of how things would end in his head, but none of them had included this one.
She wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to die. He had imagined scenarios where Slade went after Thea or Laurel or Sara. Slade had gone after his mother and taken her away forever. But he had never imagined the scenario where it was Felicity was on her knees in front of Slade.
She opened her tear-filled blue eyes and met his. And God, but he could see his entire future in that instant, if he hadn't been so stubborn. If he wouldn't have held her at arm's length for the past year. He could see nights where he could sleep, and waking up in her arms. He could see her smiling at him, and telling him the things he so desperately needed to hear. The things he didn't deserve to hear, but the words that gave him hope.
Like a hero.
Maybe there's another way.
Right now, he could not see any way out of this situation. He had an arrow filled with the cure nocked in his bow, but there was no way he'd be fast enough. Slade already had his sword out, grinning at him.
"I told you one more had to die," he chuckled, running his hand roughly through Felicity's hair.
She held his gaze, shaking her head. He could hear her voice, see what she was saying in her gaze. This isn't your fault.
"Not her, Slade. She never did anything to you." If he fired now, Slade would either use the sword or block the shot. Either way, he lost. Either way, Slade would kill her.
"You knew, and you left this one unguarded."
There was so much truth in his words. He hadn't seen it. Why hadn't he seen it. She had practically laid it out for him, when he had fought with Sara a few weeks ago. He had found hope—because of her and Diggle. They had kept the darkness from pulling him under, had kept him from drowning in the darkness.
"You can not die until you have suffered as I have suffered. Until you have known complete despair. And you will. I promise." He could hear Slade's voice in perfect clarity, as he had delivered his promise in the dank freighter off the coast of Lian Yu.
Proof that the island would never leave him.
"I have decided," Slade said slowly, "that death is release you will not feel. At least not from my hand. I will not grant you that peace."
Oliver realized then that time had run out, and it was now or never. Slade was raising his sword, and he fired his bow. But Slade was inhumanly fast, and while he didn't block the arrow, Oliver was still too late. Slade had taken the sword, and plunged it through her from behind. When Slade had killed his mother, she had died instantly. But for some reason, he wanted Felicity to suffer. He knew from the angle and direction that there would be no saving her, and that she would bleed out slowly before his eyes.
The arrow struck home, in the center of Slade's chest, and he shot the second, filled with venom to incapacitate him.
And then he was by her side, his hand pressing to the gaping wound in her stomach, left when Slade had pulled the sword back with him as he fell. He felt the slick warm wetness, and knew that even more blood was pouring from her back. No, no, no. Not this, never this. He had never in his worst nightmares imagined this.
We can protect her. He'd told that to Diggle, back when he had first brought her into this. When he was nearly incapacitated from blood loss. They hadn't protected her. Diggle was off trying to save Carly from some of Slade's men, and he had been trying to find Laurel, who had been yet another distraction in Slade's game of chess. The double distraction had made them leave the most vulnerable member of their team unguarded.
He felt her hand grasp his, and he was suddenly grounded in the present. He was going to watch her die, and as much as he didn't want to do that, he could hardly not look at her. Because these were the last moment he would ever have with her. "Oliver . . . " she said his name so softly, and he could hear in it all the things she wanted to say.
He felt his chest tighten as her other hand came up to touch his cheek. He closed his eyes at her soft touch, and cupped her hand with his. "Felicity . . . Just hang on."
"No," she said. "You know, and I know, so let's not lie. We don't lie to each other."
He shook his head, and swallowed thickly. He tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come out past the tightness in his throat.
"This isn't your fault. And you . . ." she closed her eyes, and he moved his hands to her face. The one that had been trying to staunch the bleeding from her stomach left a garish painting of red on her pale skin, adding to the caked blood at her temple and under her nose from the earlier accident. Not yet. He couldn't lose her yet. She opened her eyes again, and he felt the slightest release of the pressure. "You can't run anymore. You have to live, Oliver. Promise me." She took a wet, ragged breath. "Promise me you'll live here and now, not back there. Not anymore."
He heard a shout, and knew that Dig had arrived. His friend skidded down to his knees on her other side, and took her hands. "Felicity . . . " The sound coming from John Diggle sounded like a moan.
She turned her eyes to him and smiled. "Hi, John." Her eyes shifted back to Oliver. "Promise," she said again.
He couldn't. He couldn't promise her this, because how could he possibly go forward from this. He had brought her into this world, and in doing so he had signed her death certificate. But then she reached up with one hand and took his, so that she was holding on to both him and Dig, and he knew that he couldn't deny her this. He would tell her whatever she wanted to hear. "I promise," he choked, and felt the wetness sliding down his face.
"I love you both," she sighed. "My boys . . ." Her eyes drifted between him and Dig, and then lost their focus somewhere in between the two of them. He knew that he cried her name, and that he pulled her into his lap, but his memory became hazy. She was gone. He had brought her into this world, and she was gone. Never again would she bring him coffee or sit watching him when she didn't think he was paying attention. She would never be able to call him on his shit again.
He felt Dig try to pull her away from him, saying his name. He tightened his grasp, not wanting to let her go. If he didn't let her go, he wouldn't have to live in this new world where her light was gone. "Oliver, they are almost here, you have to go." He finally looked up, and was almost shocked when he saw Dig's red-rimmed eyes. Tears flowed freely down his face, but it was his eyes that really surprised Oliver. Dig's eyes looked dead—devoid of hope. He supposed his looked the same. He shook his head. It didn't matter if they caught him now.
But Dig started prying his hands off of her. "You don't get to lie to her now, Oliver. You promised." Dig pulled her limp body out of his lap. "Now go. Go change, they'll call you soon enough."
Oliver pushed himself up, dazed. John Diggle sat in the pool of blood and pulled her into his own lap, still holding her limp hand as he stared over the rooftop at the city. It was a strangely beautiful night, still and quiet now that most of the fires caused by the mirakuru soldiers hours before had been put out. The sky was clear, and the stars blinked more brightly than they had in months. That seemed wrong, because she was dead, and the world should be dark, The night should not be beautiful. The police were coming, and he should care, but he didn't. She was dead. Felicity had joined a very long list of people who were dead because of him—a list that started with Shado and ended with his mother. But now it ended with her.
"Promise me." She had made him promise, and John was right. It was the least he could do. He looked down at her, one last time, and turned. Firing a grappling hook from his bow, he rappelled from the roof. He could swear that he heard the stairwell door open as he left, and that he could hear Sara and Lance's twin cries of horror.
She was gone.