Oliver was sitting on the bed in his big empty room in the mansion.
He'd somehow managed to bring Tommy's body to the overflowing morgue in the still standing hospital. He just couldn't bear the thought of him lying discarded under the rubble.
He'd managed to check on Felicity and make sure Diggle got medical attention. He'd managed to offer a shoulder to cry on for a hysterical Thea. He'd managed to tend to his wounds and have a shower.
He'd managed to sit down on his bed.
So, when the shaking started, he couldn't help but feel betrayed by his body. After all, he had seen friends die before. He was used to having a tight rein on his emotions since the island. This was not how things were supposed to be.
For some reason, the shaking started in his left hand. He immediately grabbed it with his right hand to stop it, but this only made it worse, as he started shaking all over.
The last few hours were a haze. Since the moment he carried Tommy out of the rubble, he hadn't cried or allowed himself to think. He'd just made a list of tasks in his mind and went through them on autopilot. But now he had run out of items and was gripped by a sudden and utter hopelessness.
He didn't see any sense anymore in his crusade. What had he really accomplished? Any good he had done seemed small compared to the desolation he had witnessed today. Any impact he had made seemed buried in the rubble. What was the point of it all? He couldn't even protect the people closest to him. He felt worthless.