The following fic is part of the Olicity Secret Santa 2015.

I wrote it for Anna (AKA: Mimozka). She writes truly amazing AUs, which I adore to read, so I thought write one of my own for her. This is my first Bratva AU I've ever written, and it's based on a Nickelback song with the same title. I know it's not very holiday-ish, but it was what the muse wanted. It went in a little different direction from where I thought it would go, but I hope you like it.

I want to wish you all a happy holidays and a happy new year!

SAVIN' ME

Felicity was in a clock shop. She was lost in the maze of thousands and thousands of clocks. Antique and modern, big and small, pristine or barely holding together. There were grandfather clocks, hourglasses, cuckoos, and digital, all kinds and sizes. Every time she passed in front of one, the clock chimed. When she walked by a really big long-case clock, the gong was so loud that made her jump...

... and wake up.

She groaned when realized that the rings were not from a clock, not even her nightstand alarm, but from her landline phone. Someone was calling in the middle of the night. Who calls at three in the morning? If it was some kid trying to get fun at other people's expense, namely: hers, she was going to be pissed. Grumbling, she got off the bed and walked, more asleep than awake.

"Hello. Who is it?"

"Felicity, it's me. Can I come up?"

She finished waking up when she recognized the voice her boyfriend. "Oliver," joy exploded inside her. He came to see her.

Usually, he called much earlier in the night to let her know that he might drop by later. However, he failed to do so that night. Not that she cared. It had been weeks since the last time they were together. She had missed him like crazy.

"I'm across the street, can I go upstairs for a minute?" he asked.

Felicity moved to the window, set aside the curtain, and looked down to the practically desolated street. There was a shadow next to the pay phone in the corner that she knew it had to be Oliver.

"Felicity, please."

"Yes, of course. I'll let you in."

He thanked her and hung up. It was when Felicity registered the grim tone he had had on his voice. Trepidation grew on her. Something had happened, and it wasn't good. Oliver had many secrets and she had learned to accept them. Oliver's job, as Bratva Kapitan, required of him to do unspeakable acts more often than not. Doings that he seldom spoke about with her. He told her that he didn't want to taint her with so much violence and death.

He had said to her many times that she was the light in his world; that she had saved him of succumbing to the darkness. She had a pure heart and he wanted to keep it that way.

His only desire was to protect her.

It was the same reason why they decided to keep their relationship private. Few knew of her existence. Oliver was afraid that his enemies could use her as a mean to hurt him.

Moreover, the enemies were closer than anyone could expect.

After she buzzed open the door downstairs, she went to the door of her apartment to release all the locks on it, except the chain, and opened it. The gap was big enough for her to watch the elevator at a few feet away in the corridor. As soon as she heard the bell announcing its arrival to her floor, she closed her door, unhooked the safety chain, and open the door again, wide open this time.

She expected to see Oliver walking down the hallway, with that hell-bent gait of his. It was a combination of masculinity, stubbornness, and elegance, which most people didn't possess. She suspected that he inherited it from one of his dead parents. That arrogance couldn't come from living in Moscow's streets as an orphan.

It wasn't the time to dwell on the past, though. She had a more pressing matter to attend. Oliver was standing by the elevator door; his shoulders were slumped forward and his hand was on the wall, as if he needed the support. He was soaked to head to toe; the storm outside was the culprit of that. His head was bowed, and he was taking deep breaths as if he had run as fast as he could for too long. His other hand was hidden inside his jacket, favoring his side.

"Oliver?"

Felicity voice was only a whisper, but he heard her. He looked up with a failed attempt of a smile on his lips, and started for her. Two steps later, he tripped.

Then, she saw the blood on his shirt.

"Oh, my God! Oliver, what happened to you?" she ran to him.

"I'm fine," he lied.

"You're wounded. You're not fine," she chided, putting his arm around her shoulders, and wrapping hers around his waist to help him walk inside her apartment.

"This is nothing. I'll be fine."

Felicity gritted her teeth, annoyed by the characteristic lack of regard Oliver had for his own well-being. It wasn't the first time he knocked down the importance of his injuries. However, it wasn't the place or the moment to vent what she thought about it. Once he was inside, and she had patched him up, he was going to hear her.

After stopping just a moment by the door to put all her safety locks back on, Felicity took Oliver to her bathroom. She put down the lid of the toilet and urged him to sit on it. Grabbing a clean towel, she dried his short hair and his face. Then, she ordered him, "Remove your jacket and shirt."

Not waiting for him to obey, she turned around and took her first-aid kit out under the sink cabinet.

Oliver sighed. He knew he shouldn't have come to her home, but it was the only place he felt safe. After how his night had gone fucked up beyond all recognition, he needed to be some place where he knew nobody would stab him in the back while he was vulnerable. Felicity was his refuge. Being with her always brought him peace, as nothing or no one else ever had.

In the world he lived in there was nothing but violence, pain, and death. That's what he knew since he was a boy, living in the streets of Moscow. When he joined the Bratva, he truly believed that the brotherhood would give him that sense of family he missed since his parents were murdered. For a while, it was true, but the years, and knowledge of how things really worked, taught him different.

Until the day when he met a remarkable babbling blonde. The second he put his eyes on Felicity all changed. Being with her had changed him. He was no longer a cold-hearted man, who didn't care about others, or if he lived or died. Now, he knew that could be better than that. She was his home and the moments he shared with her were precious.

Now, she was mad at him.

Her stiff movements and squared shoulders were a big telling that she didn't want him there. The rictus of her rosy lips was the confirmation. Like if that wasn't enough, she hadn't kissed him.

Oh yes, she was furious.

Otherwise, she would have all over him kissing his lips, making up for all those weeks that they hadn't seen each other.

Definitely, going there it had been a mistake. "I better go-"

She whirled around and glared at him. "If you dare to leave that seat, you'll regret it, Oliver Queen."

He lifted his eyebrows at her warning. He was a feared member of one of most dangerous criminal organizations in the world. His presence only was enough to put a healthy dose of fear and respect in everyone. Not in her, though. Felicity treated him as if he was a common man. She gave him orders, which were expected to be followed without hesitation.

"And I told you to remove your clothes. What are you waiting for? Off, now."

Despite of the pain he was in, plus the guilt of have disturbed and enraged her, Oliver couldn't help to smirk. He always liked when she got all bossy with him. Her taking charge was always a thrill for him.

As careful as he could, he took off his leather jacket, then the tee. Felicity gasped when she saw the wound that was giving him so much grief. It burned like hell.

"Is that a shot wound?!"

"It just grazed me."

"Grazed you? It went- it went through you, Oliver!" Felicity looked the wound closely and discovered an exit wound on his back. "From a side to the other!" her words was full of concern, and anger barely contained, "You should be at a hospital. That needs stitches, at least! You could be bleeding internally."

The location of the wound was an inch below where his ribcage ended. It didn't seem to be as bad as Felicity was thinking. Miraculously, the bullet hadn't hurt any organ, just muscle and skin. He wasn't bleeding as much as before.

"No. No, hospital," Oliver emphasized.

"Why not?"

"Because. Would you drop the topic? Please?"

He reached for the first-aid kit, ignoring her drilling glare. The less she knew about it, the more protected she would be.

"Would you stay still, you stupid fool," she snapped at him. "The more you move, the more you bleed. I'm sure you've lost enough blood already. So, if you don't want to go a hospital, then stop moving!"

Her angry tirade was just a façade. Oliver knew that Felicity was tired and sleep-deprived. He woke her up at past three in the morning, and she always got cranky if she didn't rest enough. Also, she was worried about him, anxious about what had happened to him. Nevertheless, she always had put a brave face every time he appeared injured at her place or he told her about some fallout where he had been involved. She would soothe him, and make him feel better. But she had a gentle heart, which fluttered upset in every occasion.

Right there, her hands betrayed her. As she grabbed for gauze, her fingers trembled.

"Hey," he took her wrist gently, and pulled her closer to him. She resisted for a heartbeat, but then went to him. "I'm okay, really. It looks worse than it is. I can stitch myself."

His words and the soft caress with his thumb, where her pulse was stronger, made her relax a degree. She took a shaky breath, then another, and one more. Oliver hated the tears she was trying so hard to hold. He hated himself for being the cause of those tears. That wasn't what she deserved.

He knew he should leave her, give her the chance to be happy with someone else that didn't have so much shit on his back.

However, he was a selfish bastard. She was everything to him. He could endure all kinds of pains and sufferings, except not being with her. That would undo him in a million of pieces and turned him into the unmerciful person he was becoming when he met her. Much, much worse than that.

"Come here," he seduced her with the slightest tug to lean down to him. He caught her lips as soon as they were within his reach. It was an unhurried, soft kiss. A gentle nipping to reassure her that he was, in fact, okay. In her presence, he couldn't be any other way.

He lifted his free hand to cup her face as he deepened the kiss, but immediately regret it. It was the hand of his injured side and the movement hurt like hell. He couldn't care less for the pain it caused him, he was used to aches and bruises, but Felicity noticed his involuntary wince.

She gave him a peeved glared. "Let's finished patching you up, so I can get you into bed."

He grinned, thinking about what she was going to do to him once she put him there.

"Wipe that smile off your face, Queen. You aren't getting any of that tonight."

Half-hour later, he had lost another battle to Felicity. He attempted to leave after his wound had been taken care of, but his girl was adamant in not letting him go. He knew that every second he stated there, it was a second closer for his enemies to track him. Everyone who had accompanied him that night was dead. As the sole survivor, he became a loose end that his enemies needed to eliminate or their treacherous plans would be revealed.

Oliver was in bed. His side was throbbing badly, but the worst of it would pass soon, thanks to the painkillers Felicity had insisted him to take. He was waiting for her to finish cleaning the mess in her bathroom before joining him in bed.

Despite of his earlier thoughts, she had been right. That night he wasn't in conditions of doing any heavy physical activity. His hellish night was finally taking a toll on him, and the pills he had taken were helping to dilapidate the strength he had left.

It didn't matter, though. He only needed to have Felicity safe in her arms. To feel her soft, warm body against his to find the peace he sought. He smiled when she returned to the bedroom.

Patting the mattress, he said, "Come to bed, милая."

"You know I don't like you calling me 'honey' when I'm mad at you."

Oliver sighed. He had the hope for the conversation, or rather the scolding, coming his way would wait till the morning, but it turned out not to be the case. "Are you mad because... I came here?"

Felicity sat on the bed looking at him, and her legs crossed in front of her. Her eyes threw daggers at him. "No, I'm not mad about that. I'm glad that you did."

"Then why-?"

She huffed, "You seriously need to ask?" rolling her eyes, and exhaling sharply in frustration, she explained. "It ticks me off that you've always minimized your injuries. You think it makes you more manly or cute to my eyes. It doesn't! It only makes you look like an idiot!"

"It's not that, Felicity. I'm only trying to not worry you."

"Don't you think I worry more because I know you won't tell how really bad it is? I don't trust your word when you say it's nothing, because it might be a simple cut or bruise, or you're at two seconds to fall dead at my feet. And I rather to sin by being cautious than watching you die. Even when you're a stupid fool, I love you-"

"I love you, too."

"Shh! I'm talking," she took a deep breath and continued her tirade, "I know you only try to protect me, and I appreciate that, but I'm not made of crystal. I'm a lot tougher than I look."

Oliver knew she was. Felicity, as daughter of a single mom, learned to take care of herself at young age. She worked hard to get to where she was. That was why he tried to give her the best. If anyone in the world was worthy of the prime treatment, it was her.

"I can take anything, Oliver. Whether is you getting hurt, or the things you do. When we got together, I knew exactly in what I was getting into. I'm blonde, but not stupid. The girl of a Bratva Kapitan can't expect that the life of her man is going to be a fairy tale. My imagination is quite vivid, so, the picture in my head of what happened is, probably, a lot worse than the reality."

"You want me to tell you how I got shot," not a question but a statement.

"Yes, I want to know. But only if you trust me."

Oliver looked at her, trying to find a new argument against her claim, but he came up empty. Once she had implied that she was unworthy of his trust, she had won the argument. For Oliver, that was essential among them. It had to be complete and absolute trust in their relationship. He heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead.

He didn't know where to begin.

Apparently, she sensed his troubled thoughts. "Would you tell me who shot you?"

"There's a new group trying to take territory from the brotherhood. We found where some of those stupid sonabitches were. Things didn't go as I thought they would."

Felicity eyes widened in surprise. "Fighting territory with the Bratva? Are they lost their ever-loving minds?"

"They have a death wish, that's for sure. But..."

"But, what?"

Oliver pursed his lips. His instinct was to measure his words with a teaspoon, but Felicity had asked him the whole truth. "We- I got more pressing concerns than that. There is a traitor in our midst... or more than one, I'm not sure."

"A traitor? You know who?"

Shaking his head, he said softly, "No, I don't know... yet. I'm thinking that's someone with a high rank."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because tonight... I was sent to an ambush. There were a lot more men than what I was told. They had prepared a full execution assault."

"WHAT?! Oh, my God, Oliver!"

He gritted his teeth, watching Felicity's reaction. That was why he didn't want to tell her. He could see in her eyes the fear, the trepidation, inside. He almost could see the cogwheels of her brain turning as she sought for a way to keep him safe. She was looking for a way to help him. But in the process, she would expose herself to his enemies, that wouldn't hesitate in harm her, just to get back at him.

"Don't worry, hon."

"How can I not to, Oliver?! Someone close to you wants you dead, and you have no idea who it is! Maybe I could dig in a bit, and see if I-"

"Don't you dare, Felicity," he sat up, ignoring the pain at his side, and looked right into her eyes. "This is why I didn't want to tell you. I know you're only trying to help. But by using your hacking skills, you're going to put a bull's eye on your back. I can't allow that. I won't let you do this."

She lifted and eyebrow, "Excuse me? Who are you, to let me do something or not?"

"I'm your boyfriend... your man!"

Oliver fell back to the bed, huffing and biting back a groan of pain.

"So?!" Felicity snapped back. "I'm my own person. I decided what to do. It's my life, my choice."

"Felicity..." the marked pronunciation of each syllable of her name should've told her that Oliver's patience was running thin. "Don't do it."

"Oliver," she climbed off the bed and stood with her legs slightly apart and her arms akimbo, "You can't order me like one of your men. I'm the woman you love; therefore you'll respect the decisions I make, like I respect yours."

"You didn't respect my decision to keep from you what happened to me tonight."

"Nuh-uh. You're wrong. I gave the choice to tell me or not. If you hadn't I wouldn't have liked it, but it would have been your decision and I'd have respected it."

She was right, as usual. Dammit!

"Can we leave this discussion for the morning? I have not enough energy to fight anymore." It was his best exit without conceding the victory.

Her eyes softened. "Sorry, I should have until you were rested to ask anything."

He shook his head. "Don't apologize. You needed to get it out of your chest," he gave her a small smile while offering a hand for her to take. "Let me hold you."

They both needed to be close.

She bit her lip. "I don't know. Your wound..."

"It's okay. I need to hold you, Felicity. Please."

She finally gave in, and got into bed again. After turning off the lamp on the nightstand, Felicity cuddled next to him, using his shoulder as a pillow. However, she wasn't close enough for Oliver's liking. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him.

Her soft skin, her sweet scent, and her warmth were all he needed to mitigate the trouble of his life. Right there, in that bed, seemed like nothing could get to him. Not the violence ever-present in his days, nor the threat of an unknown enemy... not even the bitter memories of a rough childhood that still haunted him in his adulthood.

She was the balm his soul needed. The light that his black heart desperately required to keep beating.

AN: Sinceriously, if you haven't read Anna's work, you better go to her profile as Mimozka and be amazed by her talent. You won't regret it *winks*